PGA Tour 2K25 Shines as the Top Golf Game in Years, Yet Marred by Unfair Tactics and Greedy Practices

There’s something incredibly satisfying about sinking a putt in digital golf. Personally, I can’t get enough of it. I even have a Golden Tee arcade setup in my house. Growing up, EA’s Tiger Woods games were my go-to whenever I needed to unwind as a teenager. Now that I’ve evolved into an adult with a set of real golf clubs gathering dust in the garage (because carving out time for the actual greens isn’t easy), I’m acutely aware of how perfectly a golf game fits that void in my life.

Recently, I noticed a space in my gaming lineup and thought, “Why not fill it with the latest release, PGA Tour 2K25?” I had a pretty good impression when 2K first dabbled in the world of golfing sims, and I was curious to see how the game has evolved. Excitedly, I logged into Steam and decided to treat myself to the Premium Edition for early access. Initially, my decision felt spot on.

Reflecting on my somewhat hazy memories of 2K’s 2021 golf game, it’s clear the 2025 edition is a noticeable upgrade. It’s sleeker, more polished, and incredibly user-friendly. The assists system caught my attention, drawing a parallel to racing games like Forza Motorsport. It smartly offers both a realistic simulation and the fast-paced excitement of an arcade game all in one.

In essence, this iteration of the game cleverly pays homage to those nostalgic PS2-era Tiger Woods titles, allowing your custom character to gain a full 100% experience per round. The payoff increases if you switch off certain features, earning more experience points beyond the standard.

This setup reminded me of a racing game, where turning off the racing line gives you an extra points boost. In this context, I felt confident enough in my driving skills to disable assists that compensate for crosswinds, making the game less forgiving on poorly executed swings. But putting? That’s another story. I’m not skilled at all with that, so I leave those assists turned on.

After fine-tuning my settings, I was set to earn a 120% bonus on experience points. Even more seasoned players could potentially earn much more.

Experience points matter, as they unlock player upgrades, access to new gear, and the currency needed for various purchases. What I appreciate about the game is its balance; I enjoy the ease of play with some assists on, but I can ramp it up for a tougher challenge if I desire.

This dovetails nicely with the career mode’s structure, which doesn’t force you to play every single hole by default. Typically, you play a select few, while the AI handles the rest. If you’re a purist and want to take on every hole yourself, you can easily switch that in the settings. Off the course, there’s plenty to do with training mini-games, press conferences, rivalries, and more.

It’s reminiscent of what I adored about older golf games. They provided a mix of sports simulation and casual gaming fun. Golf itself is accessible—borrow some clubs, hit the course with friends, and enjoy. The joy of a golf video game, for me, is the chance to simulate a career at a high level, indulging in a more laid-back experience far removed from the sometimes stressful real-life game (trust me, I know).

Despite everything I love about PGA Tour 2K25, there’s an undeniably problematic element lurking beneath its elegant surface. While the game’s a blast, a sneaky side to it was revealed with the release of its first update.

Your custom character—or ‘myPLAYER’—advances using currency you either earn through gameplay or, predictably, buy. Whether you want new clubs, attire, or to boost your player’s abilities, it all costs Virtual Currency (VC).

This setup isn’t entirely unusual. Many games use an in-game currency exchange model, mirroring how RPGs work, for instance. Yes, buying VC with real money feels like flirting with the line of unfair advantages—but you could brush it off. Until, that is, 2K decided to double-down on maximizing their profit.

Shortly after PGA 2K25 entered early access, allowing the biggest fans to dive in, the game experienced an overhaul of its in-game economy. Without much fanfare, a patch adjusted the VC balance. The earning rate took a nosedive once the game reached its full release—in sharp contrast to the relatively fair system I enjoyed pre-release.

Justifiably upset Redditors crunched the numbers; the time to max out your character leaped from 92 hours—already plenty long—to an eye-watering 214. Costs for leveling up and acquiring essential gear soared, skyrocketing by up to 60%. The original progression pace wasn’t particularly brisk, but 2K evidently concluded that it wasn’t slow enough to incentivize extra spending. So they moved rapidly, the way Augustus Gloop would sprint to that enticing chocolate river.

While I wasn’t deeply embedded in the PGA 2K community prior, even my casual playstyle highlighted the stark difference in VC earnings post-patch, pushing me toward Reddit and the bitter truth. Steam reviews became harshly critical, frequently citing “greed,” though “predatory” more accurately captures the sentiment. Let me throw in my own adjective: disgusting. There are more colorful descriptors I’d use for the developers, but they’re not fit for print. Use your imagination.

Initially, PGA Tour 2K25 genuinely thrilled me—but these developments have dramatically diminished my enthusiasm. Before, my only qualm was slow menu browsing due to excessive transitions and pop-ups—problems now overshadowed by an aggressive cash-grab progression system. Its approach resembles that of a free mobile game, demanding endless hours to remain competitive online, or—let’s be honest—continued financial investment. Facing such a painstakingly slow progression, transparently engineered to siphon more money via microtransactions, I’m emotionally stepping back.

To speak candidly, these mechanisms might be tolerated in a free-to-play game, but that’s not the case here. This game can cost upwards of a hundred pounds, £60 for the standard edition alone. It’s quite frankly a bad joke, one that mars what might have otherwise been the finest golf game I’ve played in ten years. Similar to missing a straightforward putt for a double bogey after a perfect green approach, 2K crafted something extraordinary, only to ruin it at the last stroke. What a shame.