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There are games that stay with us because they were groundbreaking, revolutionary, and unforgettable in the history of the medium. But there are also games that stay with us for a much simpler reason: because of who we played them with. For me, two games stand above all the rest in terms of the bond I shared with my dad. The first was The Legend of Zelda II: The Adventure of Link, which I wrote about in my tribute to him. The second was something completely different, a game that might surprise anyone who knows me as a lifelong fan of fantasy role-playing adventures. That game was Pebble Beach Golf Links on the 3DO.
It was not a title built on swords and sorcery. It was not about battling dragons, rescuing princesses, or solving ancient riddles. It was golf. Quiet, deliberate, and grounded in the real world. Yet somehow, my dad chose this game, and by choosing it, he gave me memories that remain just as powerful as anything that ever happened in Hyrule.
From Zelda II to Pebble Beach
Our adventure in Zelda II was intense. We spent months grinding, strategizing, and slowly chipping away at one of the toughest games ever made on the NES. When we finally beat Dark Link in 1989 or 1990, it felt like conquering Everest. My dad worked at that game with me until we won, but then he swore he would never pick up a video game controller again. And for years, he held to that promise. He had pushed himself through that brutal quest, and when the credits rolled, he put the controller down and stepped away.
That is why it surprised me so much when, a few years later, he suddenly chose to play Pebble Beach Golf Links. After saying he was finished forever, after swearing off games entirely, he somehow found his way back to this one. I still don’t know why. Maybe it was the calmness of the gameplay. Maybe it was the realism of seeing Pebble Beach on screen. Whatever the reason, this unlikely return gave us another short but memorable chapter together.
A Father, A Son, and a Golf Game
Sometimes it happened after school, other times on a weekend when the house was calm. My dad would sit down, pick up the controller, and play a round of golf with me. I never asked him why he chose Pebble Beach Golf Links out of all the games available, and he never explained. Maybe he liked the idea of golf. Maybe it was the slower pace. Maybe it was just something about the calmness of the presentation. Whatever the reason, he picked it, and we played it together.
We probably played a full round ten or so times as a team. I remember the little laughs at missed putts, the way we would celebrate when a drive landed closer to the hole than expected, and the simple back-and-forth of shared concentration. And because he showed an interest, I played the game even more on my own. For me, Pebble Beach Golf Links became more than a digital golf simulation. It became a quiet bond between me and my dad.
My father will most likely never read this. He was never a man of the internet, never one to scroll through blogs or articles. And that is okay. What matters is that I remember these moments, and that I hold them close.
The 3DO and a Glimpse of the Future
To understand why Pebble Beach Golf Links stood out, you have to understand the time it came from. The 3DO Interactive Multiplayer, released in 1993, was a system that promised to be the future of gaming. Developed by The 3DO Company and manufactured by partners like Panasonic, it was billed as a “next generation” console years before the PlayStation and Saturn would arrive. The catch was the price: at launch, it cost around $700, making it one of the most expensive consoles ever released.
Despite its commercial struggles, the 3DO was a technical powerhouse for its time. It offered CD-ROM storage, high-quality audio, and graphics that felt far ahead of what players were used to on their 16-bit consoles. In many ways, the 3DO was a glimpse of the future that came just a little too early.
One of the showcase titles for the system was Pebble Beach Golf Links. Unlike the cartoony sports games of the NES or SNES era, this was a serious attempt at realism. It recreated the legendary Pebble Beach course with digitized photography and smooth animations. At a time when most gamers were used to pixel art and scrolling backgrounds, this felt like stepping onto an actual golf course.
Graphics and Gameplay That Felt Real
Looking back now, it is easy to forget just how stunning the game was in 1994. The digitized visuals of Pebble Beach looked like nothing else at the time. The ocean sparkled. The fairways stretched out in vivid detail. The bunkers, trees, and greens were rendered with a realism that made you feel like you were walking the course. For a kid who had grown up with 8-bit sprites and simple backgrounds, this was jaw-dropping.
The gameplay was equally deliberate. Each shot required timing, patience, and precision. It was not about mashing buttons or lightning reflexes. It was about calculation. It was about paying attention to wind direction, judging your swing, and adjusting your aim. To many kids my age, this might have seemed boring compared to the excitement of RPGs or platformers. But to my dad, it was just right. He could sit down, play at his own pace, and enjoy the process.
And because he enjoyed it, I enjoyed it too.
The Bond That Mattered
In truth, Pebble Beach Golf Links was not a game I would have gravitated toward on my own. I was more likely to be playing Final Fantasy, Chrono Trigger, or Dragon Warrior… the game I unwrapped one magical Christmas morning thanks to my mom, as I wrote in my tribute to her. But when my dad picked up that 3DO controller, something shifted. Suddenly, the game became about more than golf. It became about spending time together, about having his attention, about sharing a small part of his world.
It was never about beating the game or unlocking secrets. It was about presence. It was about the rare and precious moments of a father stepping into my hobby and saying, “Let me play too.”
Tying Together Zelda, Dragon Warrior, and Golf
It is funny how these memories connect. On the surface, Zelda II and Pebble Beach Golf Links could not be more different. One was a punishing side-scrolling fantasy adventure that required reflexes, patience, and a bit of guidance from the Nintendo Power Line. The other was a methodical golf simulator meant to showcase the technical power of a console that never quite found its audience.
And yet, both stand together in my heart because they were games I played with my dad. One taught me about persistence, patience, and the thrill of victory. The other taught me about calmness, rhythm, and shared quiet. And layered on top of that was my mom’s gift of Dragon Warrior on NES, which opened the door to fantasy storytelling and sparked a lifelong love of role-playing adventures. Together, these games became the building blocks of who I am as a gamer and as a person.
Even the oddities of gaming history weave their way into these memories. For example, I once wrote about how Link was originally depicted as a Christian hero and how Nintendo’s early games carried themes you would never expect today. It might seem unrelated to Pebble Beach Golf Links, but to me it all ties back to the same truth: games are more than just games. They are cultural artifacts, snapshots of a time, and sometimes, they are the backdrop for our most personal stories.
Why I Write These Memories
My dad will likely never read this. He has never been one to sit on the internet and scroll through articles, and that is fine. This is not for him to read. This is for me to write.
It is my way of holding onto the memories of sitting on the couch, controller in hand, watching him line up a shot on Pebble Beach. It is my way of remembering that he chose a game, any game, and decided to share it with me. It is my way of saying thank you for the small moments that became big ones.
And just like my mom making Christmas magical with the NES under the tree, these are the kinds of memories that matter most. They are the things I want to pass on to my own kids, not just the love of games, but the love of being present, of sharing time, of making ordinary days into lasting memories.
Pebble Beach Golf Links will never make the lists of the greatest games ever made. It will never be remembered with the same reverence as Zelda or Dragon Warrior. But for me, it belongs in that category for one simple reason: it was one of the few games I shared with my dad.
So thank you, Dad, for picking up that controller, for playing a golf game on a console most people have forgotten, and for showing me that what matters is not the game itself, but the people you play it with.
The game may be old. The console may be obsolete. But the memory is eternal.
