You don’t need a private jet to get to your Masters tournament—not in Toronto. All you need is a full set of clubs, a Presto Card, and the determination to take your swing underground.
This Saturday at Union Station, I spotted two everyday legends making their way through the concrete corridors, golf bags in tow. No chauffeurs, no caddies, just pure hustle. It was as if they were headed to the green, but first—Line 1.
The first golfer looked like he was already mid-round, tapping away on his phone, perhaps checking course conditions or planning his subway-to-bus transfer. His clubs jutted confidently over his shoulder as he walked past the columns of Union Station like a man on a mission.
Then came the second. Dressed in Crocs, joggers, and a patterned fleece, he wasn’t here to impress Augusta’s gallery—he was here for comfort and convenience. With a golf bag slung low and a laser-focus on his destination, he could’ve been heading to the 19th hole or just hoping to find a seat on the next train north.
In a city where golf courses are on the edge of town and green space is always a commute away, these guys weren’t just playing the game—they were navigating it. Fairways by Finch, bunkers near Bloor, par-3's in Parkdale? Who knows. But what’s clear is that they were taking the TTC to tee time.
I couldn’t help but admire it: golf, but make it public transit. A kind of urban pilgrimage, blending two great Toronto pastimes—riding the rocket and chasing the perfect swing.
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