For a large swath of golf fans, the rise of LIV Golf has been unsettling. Even if the league does unwind here, and it may not, the damage already done will take years to fix. The billions of petro dollars that the Saudis pumped into the pro game via LIV, too good to be true or sustainable from the start, ultimately revealed a certain opportunism among some of our golfing heroes. The broader pro game has taken a hit.
Phil Mickelson, Dustin Johnson, Brooks Koepka, Bryson DeChambeau, Patrick Reed, Sergio Garcia, Jon Rahm and others blithely broke off from tradition, the tradition that formed them. And for what, $100 million here and $300 million there? Who would have thought their loyalty could be bought at all? Did they not see that LIV Golf, creating this new hybrid model, was way too far removed from traditional tournament golf, the golf on which they were raised? Did they not see that the founding principle of LIV Golf was borrowed from The Dating Game?
We want you. We don’t want you.
The players who LIV left behind, the stars and near-stars of the PGA Tour, lost their way, too. They have been diminished. They allowed their fearless leaders — commissioner Jay Monahan, Tiger Woods, the Strategic Sports Group investors and, more recently, CEO Brian Rolapp — to dismiss the very thing that made the Tour so singularly attractive: guaranteed nothing. Earn it, earn it, earn it. (I’m surprised that Woods even accepted that lifetime exemption into any event — doesn’t sound like the Tiger of yore.) Earn the right to play in 2026 based on what you did in 2025, that’s golf. Earn the right to play on Saturday and Sunday based on what you did Thursday and Friday. Yep. Has worked forever.
On that basis, Joel Dahmen and Scottie Scheffler started each week as equals. On that basis, every event was a fresh start, with a certain level of meaning (even if it was highly localized) baked into the Thursday starting times. The PGA Tour did not need a for-profit arm. Local charities, a different one every week, provided golf with all the fuel it needed. LIV Golf tried to turn tournament golf into something it is not, a global spectacle, 14 events in 10 countries this year. Just as all politics is local (Tip O’Neill), all fandom is, too. Most fandom is, anyway. The British Open belongs to the world. The Winter and Summer Games, the World Cup, the same. They’re on your calendar and always have been.
LIV Golf played an indirect role in the sunsetting of the PGA Tour’s mark-your-calendar Hawaii stops. (The PGA Tour, as we know it today, has been recreated in LIV Golf’s image, at least to a point.) Swaying palms in winter, swinging golfers underneath them, trying to get the new year off to a good start. The locals put on a show, and the rest of us could watch or not. What was there not to like? More tournaments will be 86ed here, in the name of Rolapp’s scarcity model. Fewer tournaments with fewer players for more money. How is that good for . . . us? Or Joel Dahmen? Joel Dahmen is American/PGA Tour golf every bit as much as Justin Thomas is.
American tournament golf, from the early Ben Hogan years nearly 100 years ago to the rise of young Jordan Spieth a fast decade ago, represented the purest and most civilized form of hunting, of capitalism, of sport. A guy could (in Tour parlance) “stay out” until he played his way off the Tour. It was so . . . manly (before that word had its legs cut off). Also beautiful.
The beautiful game is a lovely and fitting phrase that has been attached to soccer for 60 or 70 years now. The whole world plays fútbol, because all you need is a ball (any ball) and a field (any field). That’s it. The way the ball and the players move through that field is truly beautiful. I only wish we, dues-paying members of the global tribe of golf enthusiasts, had come up with the phrase first. Because golfis a beautiful game, too, simple in theory, confoundingly difficult in practice, played on all manner of fields. Every true golf fan knows what I’m talking about here.
That’s why we have had held the best golfers in the highest esteem. They did what we did, but at a level we could not grasp. Their golf shots were magic tricks. But they also choked like grass-eating dogs on their way to the bottom of the 72nd hole. In one four-day tournament the human experience in all its richness, or close to all, could be revealed. At the biggest events — with the best fields on the most demanding courses — that was even more true. Exhibition golf cannot offer that. The Masters last month surely did.
Back in the day, pre-LIV, the money the Tour players made was the money the Tour players made, there in agate form for all of us to see. But it never made any particular impression on any of us, except as a convenient shorthand for who was playing best. Yes, the fellas played for large sums of money but also, and much more significantly, handsome and often historic trophies. These men played a game. That’s all they did, and it was enough. Jordan Spieth created 18-hole scores like Paul and John created four-minute songs. They played and played until there was this . . . thing. A song, for the Beatles. A score, for the golfers. A place on the leaderboard. Work? Work was something you did for . . . money. For Jordan and Co. money was just a byproduct. It wasn’t the be-all and end-all. I grew up on Tom Watson. In his prime, he was a difficult and demanding person. He played golf the right way. I was mesmerized by it.
Our golfing heroes played a difficult game well. They played the game we dreamed about playing. That was and should be the glue of the fan-pro relationship. In that context, those LIV teams — the Crushers and the rest — were always going to be a tough sell. Those TGL teams, rosters packed with your favorite PGA Tour stars, the same — a hollow sideshow. Justin Rose down the stretch, spilling his guts out in a futile effort (so far) to win a second major, that’s the beautiful game. Is Justin Rose even on a TGL team? A special prize to anybody who can tell me whether he is — and why you care.
Hogan, Palmer, Nicklaus, Watson, Tony Jacklin and Lee Trevino, Seve, Faldo, Norman, Tiger, young Jordan Spieth, thousands of others, played the beautiful game. If you halved the prize money for which they played, would they have done something else? Of course not. They were like us. First and foremost, they were golfers.
I don’t fault Greg Norman for having an audacious idea for a global golf tour, and having enough self-belief and charisma to sell it, ultimately, to Yasir Al-Rumayyan, bossman of Saudia Arabia’s enormous national wealth fund, the oddly named Public Investment Fund. (What’s public about it?) The idea of having the best golfers in the world play one another on a more regular basis certainly sounds appealing. American golf fans will watch the British Open, because of its antiquity and to see these treeless royal courses. Japanese golf fans will watch the Masters, because of Augusta National’s lush beauty and the tournament’s social cache. But those events are outliers.
As for the golfers, most are homebodies. They don’t want to play the world. The only way to get them to do it is to pay them and that’s not good or healthy or sustainable. The answer to golf’s future lies in its past. That is, professional golf, played the world over by the best players in the world. The rest of us can get our tee times via the internet. That’s way better than the old system. Shortly after the PIF people made their statement about their LIV Golf exit, a friend happened to send me a photo depicting golfers on a dirt field. The beautiful game.
This article originated on Golf.com
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