I’m not generally a fan of the journalism model that involves getting media access somewhere fancy, then regaling readers with tales of good times they can't attend without the aid of a time machine or a barrel of cash. But my day at the U.S. Open was a definite curiosity, both for the golf and the sheer spectacle of it all. Part of that spectacle, as the Seattle Times discusses today, is the corporations and businesses hosting people in sponsorship tents. The rest of it is the course itself and the general logistics of jamming tens of thousands of bodies onto it while not interfering with play.

In my experience, golf = drinks, dating back to the hypersweet grape sodas from the roving cart when I would play with my parents back in Portland. And since my invite came via the Washington Wine Commission, it's no surprise that beverages shaped my day of spectating. Here, a brief account...

10:15am: Time to board the shuttle, which is stocked with snacks, Treveri sparkling wine and screens playing Happy Gilmore. Bellowing “Are you too good for your home??” absolutely killed later that night when trying to land spoonfuls of dinner in my toddler’s mouth.

11:45: People have been here since 6am and still the attendant manages to say “Welcome to the US Open,” with much pomp and circumstance as he scans my ticket.

11:46: First you pass through the spectator plaza—a first aid tent, phone charging station, and concessions. Duh, there's a Starbucks tent. Frappuccinos are $6, a latte is $5. Next door at the Ruth's Chris tent, a steak sandwich is $15 but a lobster roll only $13?

11:50: There's a reason everyone is talking about the elevations on this course. Putting aside the challenges for players (of which there are many), the grandstands set up on high bluffs, the rows of red, white, and blue pennants snapping in the breeze, and the crumbling remnants of the cement plant that used to stand here set a scene more akin to a medieval jousting match than a golf tournament.

11:55: First order of business: find the tent shared by the Washington Wine Commission, Visit Seattle, and Delta Airlines, part of a line of tents near the first and 18^th tees. I assumed the commission’s presence here was a play to expose visitors to Washington wines. But most attendees at the Open are relatively local; these corporate tents are all about wooing clients and business partners who might not have time to come do a tour of Walla Walla wineries but are more than happy to be the Wine Commission's guest at the US Open, sampling the 140 local wines in the tent while watching the action on the greens.

12pm: It's noon, meaning my glass of San Juan Vineyards siegerrebe is entirely socially acceptable. Wines in the tent come from a range of vineyards—established and emerging, higher and lower prices—and survived a massive blind tasting by a few sommeliers. Each day of the Open has a different slate of wines. Though someone assures me, "If you want a wine that's pouring on another day, just let us know and we can Coravin it."

12:14: Sitting on the tent's little deck, watching the slippery-fast greens and using binoculars for a better view. Overheard: "You know who's a pretty good golfer? Brennon Leighton."

12:34: Cheers erupts at Phil Mickelson walks on the hole. His arrival looks more like a parade, populated by attendants, a cadre of guys lugging cameras and tripods. There's something surreal about seeing guys making shots on a green surrounded by what appear to be actual law enforcement officers.

12:40: I didn't want to leave my plastic cup of Betz Besoleil, but it was time to explore the rest of the Open. Then the volunteer at the hospitality tent entrance uttered seven words that changed the whole day: "You can take alcohol anywhere you want."

12:51: Actually, scratch that jousting tournament simile. This place looks like a well-run military camp from a World War II period drama. Except instead of fatigues, the people teeming up and down the network of pathways sport a rainbow of golf shirts and uniformly khaki shorts. Trucks and shuttles lumber up and down a particularly steep hill between the clubhouse and the links.

1:08: Did I mention these paths are insanely dusty? Woe to anyone who wore cute shoes. I encounter another concession stand further into the course, but anyone shelling out for a $6.50 Bud Light immediately gets a fine coating of airborne dirt atop their foam.

1:17: Huzzah—I find my colleague Seth, someone who has actually played this course. We watch play on the second hole, which seemingly pauses every time a train passes by on the adjacent tracks.

1:19: Even if you're a seasoned golf viewer, it's tough to fully see what's going on without the aid of TV cameras and zoom lenses. Sometimes the cheering or abject groans of fans with a better vantage point were more informative than actually seeing a shot land.

1:50: Back to the tent village. At this point it has the air of a genteel bash on fraternity row, each structure offering its occupants its own form of revelry. The margaritas over at the Avalara tent look tempting, but a rumor that the Sports Illustrated tent has popsicles proves unfounded.

2:28: Tiger Woods tees off. The spectator village gets very quiet as everyone gathers around the nearest big screen.

2:30: Except in the merchandise tent, where the frenzy over polos and hats and beer mugs and golf balls makes Black Friday seem tame.

3pm: Back on the shuttle. The Treveri sparkling wine makes a reappearance but sadly no more Happy Gilmore. I clutch my little plastic cup as the bus eases into I-5 traffic and find myself drifting off to the particular sleep that comes with drinking in direct sunlight.