Well, sports fans, the U.S. Open has landed like a contestant on Nailed It—chaotic, endearing, and already a glorious mess. This year’s beauty beast is Oakmont Country Club, where the course is part haunted hedge maze, part fashion crime scene. Yamashita here, sake in hand and spirits high, joined by my brilliant co-host and better half, the Norse Goddess, as we break down a Day One that had more meltdowns than a summer sidewalk popsicle.
The Course: Oakmont or Apocalypse?
Let’s talk Oakmont. The rough? Longer than your last CVS receipt. The greens? Glassy enough to glimpse your own soul—and we’re not convinced the pin placements weren’t devised by a gremlin with unresolved childhood trauma. With full coverage showing every flub and flop, there’s no hiding from the carnage. Yammie watched all of it, folks. Pure dedication… or masochism. Either way, I earned this sake.
Twenty-some brave souls managed to finish at par or better, but don’t expect that to hold. This was Oakmont at its kindest. The rest of the week? Cue the violins and bunker rakes.
Meltdown Central: Three Tantrums and a Microphone
- Shane Lowry snapped—literally. After botching a chip, he took it out on a poor, unsuspecting microphone. The mic didn’t flinch, but his scorecard sure did.
- Scottie Scheffler, usually ice-cold, let the rage thaw on the 14th—slamming a wedge into the turf like it owed him money. Dirt and drama, a potent combo.
- Bryson DeChambeau brought the rules drama, appearing to forget how golf works. He and his caddie needed a refresher course—or perhaps a timeout.
Yammy’s hot take after one too many sakes? Even-par might win it. Two under might take the trophy. By Sunday, we may only have four or five guys left in red numbers. Oakmont is the alpha in this relationship.
Fashion Files: Send Help
But let’s address the real tragedy: the outfits.
Riki Kawamoto, bless his daring heart, showed up in a black mock tee… featuring a stormtrooper. Now, Yamashita is usually a classic threads kind of guy, but even Norse couldn’t Jedi-mind-trick this one into fashion redemption. Stormtroopers are famous for bad aim, and poor Riki lived the metaphor—sitting at +8 with one to go. But shoutout to the caddy and that Darth Vader-esque umbrella. Dark side chic.
The Nike Boys once again phoned it in. Monochrome to the point of monotony. The only drama came from Dustin Johnson, who paired Air Jordans with an otherwise okay fit. DJ, we get it—you’re rich. But those shoes? Not it. Jordans belong on Finau, who at least knows how to tie a fit together. Between that hosel rocket on 18 and the fashion misstep, DJ is 0-for-2 today.
Bright Spot: Swedish sensation Ludvig Åberg turned heads in powder blue pants that had Norse all aflutter—and then birdied his first two holes for good measure. Adidas, don’t mess this up. Keep Ludvig flying the fashionable flag into the weekend.
Otherwise? Crickets. Golf fashion remains trapped in a beige purgatory. A few pastels here, a splash of something there, but overall we’re in a funk—and it’s not the funky-fresh kind.
Closing Toasts and Tartan Dreams
As the sun dips behind Oakmont’s old stone clubhouse and the scent of crushed fescue dances on the breeze, Yammie and the Norse Goddess raise their glasses—sake and aquavit, respectively—to a day of glory, gaffes, and gray slacks galore.
Tomorrow, we pray for better fashion and fewer microphone casualties. But be warned: if Friday’s fashion doesn’t improve, Norse might start tweeting authentic Viking style tips. Leather tunics and fur pelts, anyone? Trust us, you do not want to see the Norse Goddess have one of her legendary meltdowns—she makes Shane Lowry look like a meditating monk.
Skål and Kampai,
Yamashita & the Norse Goddess