Louisville, Kentucky · November 12–15, 2026
Four days of golf, clays, fishing, and side quests you won't see coming — twenty-five men, one leaderboard, and a green jacket somebody's going home wearing. It's the most fun you'll have all year. And somewhere in the middle of it — mid-round, mid-laugh, around the fire — you'll remember the man God made you to be. That's the whole plan.
Twenty-five men. One leaderboard. And then it's on.
Points for everything — every hole, every clay, every fish, and side quests the game master springs on you when you least expect it. No teams to hide behind. Every man carries his own score, and yes — there will be wild-card challenges where you'll get thrown together with men you just met and have to win something as a pair. Then it's right back to war.
And at the final fire, one man puts on the green jacket.
Yes — a green jacket. There's a skull on the back. The Masters gives theirs out in a quiet ceremony; we give ours out at a bonfire with twenty-four men booing. It's the ugliest, greatest trophy in men's sports, and next November somebody's coming to take it from you.
That's the FIGHT Cup.
Friday morning, shotgun start. Contests on the holes, points on the line, and a pro shop keeping score so nobody's cousin does. Haven't swung a club in years? Perfect — the scramble hides your sins and rental sets are waiting. Show up and swing.
Friday afternoon, a private drive in our own bus.... Bourbon is a story about time: families who filled barrels they wouldn't taste for ten years. You'll walk the rickhouses and taste what patience makes. Some things only get good slow.
A course cut through the November woods — station to station, shotgun in hand, targets crossing, dropping, and running like they owe you money. Never shot before? Coaches at the stations and loaner guns in the rack. By station five you'll be talking like you grew up doing this.
Rod in hand, points on the line, and men on the bank offering advice that gets worse the longer you fish. Every catch scores. Every miss gets remembered. Gear's handled — just don't be the one who comes back skunked.
Wild Card
The game master runs the board all weekend, and not everything's on the schedule. Points show up where you don't expect them. That's all you get to know.
Saturday night. A butcher-catered spread with steak fresh from the grill at the center of it, a long table, and the Cup on the line down to the last quest. Then the jacket. Then the fire. You'll be full, loud, and exactly where you're supposed to be.
Every night lands at the same place: a fire outside Louisville, bourbon in hand, cigars lit, twenty-five men replaying the day's robberies and heroics.
Thursday the Cup opens — the rules get read, the trash talk starts, somebody's already talking too much. Friday it's the loudest night of the weekend. And Saturday, after the feast, after the jacket — the fire burns down, and the conversation goes somewhere most men haven't been in years. Not because anyone makes it. Because that's what a real fire does to men who've spent two days becoming friends.
No stage. No name tags. No breakout groups. Nobody will make you share anything. But you'll probably want to — and you'll be glad you did.
Arrive on your own time. First fire at the house. The Cup opens.
Shotgun scramble in the morning. Whiskey Row in the afternoon. Chicken, cigars, and the fire.
The Farm all day: clays, the water, side quests. The feast that night. The jacket. The last fire.
Coffee, a short word, a table. The send. On the road by ten.
$1,895 through September 30 · $2,500 after
Payment comes after your application is accepted — $495 holds your seat once you're in. Your rate locks the day you apply.
Apply NowThe scramble (everything included). The Farm — clays, loaner guns, ammo, coaching, lunch. The private bourbon tour. Every night at the house. Thursday dinner, Friday dinner, Saturday's feast. The Cup. Sunday morning.
Getting to Louisville. A car — we're not covering travel to and from the house or to any of the places we're going. Your hotel — we'll send you the shortlist near the house. Breakfasts. Golf-day incidentals. Whatever you lose betting on yourself.
Registration closes October 31 — not for pressure, for headcounts. The course, the Farm, and the caterer need real numbers. 25 seats. When they're taken, they're taken.
Men who could use the best weekend they've had in years.
Men with plenty of guys to watch the game with — and a suspicion there's supposed to be more than that.
Men who haven't laughed until it hurt in longer than they'd admit.
You don't need to be a golfer, a shooter, a fisherman, or a bourbon guy. Every station is coached, every rental is handled, and the scoring gives every man a way to win — including you.
Three days. One jacket. Twenty-five seats. If that's you, take one. If it's not your year — no pressure. The fire will be lit next November too.
Fly into Louisville (SDF) or drive — most men are within a day's reach. The weekend runs from Thursday evening through Sunday mid-morning.
You'll book your own hotel; after you register, we'll send the short list of hotels ten minutes from the house, along with everything else you need — what to pack (layers, boots, a rain shell — it's Kentucky in November), where to be Thursday night, and how the Cup works.
Questions before then: contact@thisisthefight.com
November 12. A house outside Louisville. Twenty-five men, a jacket nobody's won yet, and three nights that don't happen anywhere else in your life right now.
The only question is whether you're standing at it.
