Life as a looper on the LPGA Tour.

You won’t have job security, and you’re not going to make much money. That’s what a caddie told me when I started looping on the LPGA Tour a decade ago. I thought he was joking or perhaps trying to weed me out. Within a month I realised he was just telling it like it is. Well, mostly. You can build tenure and make a living as an LPGA Tour caddie. If you do it right, you can have a good time in the process. But, boy, you’d better be ready to hustle.

Let’s start with the dollars. In the 2023 season, 28 players made $US1 million or more. For context, 139 PGA Tour players earned more than a million in their 2022-2023 season. Forgive me for laughing at my fellow PGA Tour caddies anytime I hear them talk about financial hardships. 

You don’t have to work for one of those 28 LPGA Tour players to make a living, but it has to be a top-70 performer. That’s roughly the cutoff for players making more than $US400,000. By commission (assuming 8 percent of winnings), that translates to $32,000. We also have a weekly fee of $1,000 to $1,300, and we work 25 times a year. You won’t have a deep retirement fund, but if you’re rooming with other caddies and not having steak dinners every night, you can get by. 

As for job security, yes, caddies on the LPGA Tour get fired with greater frequency than the caddies on most men’s tours. Some say these firings have coincided with the influx of international players, that they are quicker to get rid of caddies when things go south. It does happen, but I don’t attribute this to cultural differences. It has to do with parenting. Many of these players are in their teens and early 20s. No matter what country you’re from, you’re going to lean heavily on your parents at this age. With fewer agents and managers in the women’s game, parents have a larger role. When players are struggling, managers aren’t as quick to blame us, but parents are; clearly their child has never failed until we were paired with them. It’s not unusual for some LPGA players to go through three to five caddies a year. 

However, I’ve noticed that when players get to a certain level, they tend to show the fledgling stars the ropes, and part of that education is how to treat caddies. Veterans, and especially league officials, know LPGA Tour players have a reputation of being caddie killers, and they’re doing their best to combat it. 

Aside from money and security, there’s also the socialisation aspect, or lack of it. Players and caddies on the PGA and European tours don’t hang out as much as you might think, but on the LPGA Tour, that socialisation is almost non-existent. I’ve been lucky to work for several women with whom I’ve had an off-the-course rapport, but I’m the exception. It makes sense when you think about it: most caddies are men, ranging in their late 20s to early 50s. The players are women in their late teens to early 30s. Look at your workplace; I’m guessing the cliques are more age-related than you might think. 

If you want socialisation, look to your fellow caddies. There are two groups – golf nerds and pub crawlers. Those are your two options after work: find a local course to get some swings in or find the nearest tap, preferably near a TV. Maybe because we’re all in the same situation more so than our PGA Tour colleagues, everyone gets along well. 

Another important point: you must be professional. I was told this unequivocally when I started, and I remember being offended. Did my fellow caddie think I wasn’t taking this seriously? I did my homework on the course, got my players’ numbers dialled in. But I quickly found out what he was talking about. The PGA Tour occasionally resembles what you see in your weekend game – dirty jokes, horseplay, “boys-will-be-boys” stuff – but the LPGA Tour is more like an office environment. You have to be on your best behaviour. The LPGA prides itself in being a family experience, and that includes us.

So why do I do it? Frankly, being on the LPGA Tour is more enjoyable. There’s pressure but no real spotlight. The women are easier to deal with than PGA Tour players. The egos aren’t there. We travel to as many cool and exotic places as the men, and the LPGA Tour really does its best to make everyone – players, caddies, officials, fans – feel like part of a family. 

The game is also purer. There’s more strategy than just bombing it 350 yards. Don’t get me wrong – these women hit it further than 98 percent of male amateur golfers. But if you’re drawn to finesse and strategy, this is where it’s at. 

Selfishly, caddies have a bigger role here. Because the players are younger, they’re more willing to listen, more eager to seek help. I’ve had wins on major tours with men and women, and I swear on my 7-iron, winning with my LPGA player was more fulfilling. You hear “we” a lot now in the professional game, and often that’s overblown. But on the LPGA Tour, it really is a team. Forget money and security; I want to feel like I’m part of something that matters. Isn’t that ultimately what everyone is chasing?   – with Joel Beall

Illustration by Juliette Toma

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Golf style is having a moment. 

You probably know that already after seeing some 20s-something pairing putting out on the 18th dressed like they were enroute to a concert, not the clubhouse. 

World No.19 Jason Day knows it and Aussie musician Cameron Avery most definitely knows it: “Personally, I think dress shoes with ankle socks look very weird.” 

Avery, of “Tame Impala” fame, knows his way around the course and recalls the day he was told to change his socks at a Melbourne Sandbelt club because they had the slightest hint of tie-die design on them. “I think you should be able to wear whatever the f–k you want if you can play off scratch!”

PGA Tour winner Keith Mitchell would agree with that sentiment: “If more golfers were allowed to wear their own style, I think a lot of guys would blossom.” 

So, what is this ‘moment’ exactly – and how long can it survive in an environment that’s been so resistant to change? Post-COVID, there’s been an undeniable surge in rounds played, drawing in people from diverse backgrounds and generations. This influx is reshaping the landscape of golf fashion as we know it, ushering in a newfound inclusivity influenced by urban street culture, skateboarding, even hip-hop. The boundaries between traditional golf attire and contemporary styles are blurring as designers infuse their collections with elements borrowed from high-end fashion. 

‘Cashmere Keith’ is as qualified to speak on all matters golf fashion as anyone, as he is, according to Golf Digest’s style experts, the best dressed player on tour. Aussie fans might disagree, perhaps even recommend the GD panel refer to Adam Scott’s immaculate attire before coming to such rash decisions. Either way, both men would lead the ‘Shots Gained: Style’ category if such a measure existed.

Now well into his forties, Scott remains the walking definition of ‘It’s not what you wear, it’s how you wear it’. Adds Golf Digest style guru Marty Hackel: “You can buy Adam’s entire outfit on any given day at UNIQLO for a hundred bucks and get change back. It’s not about how much money you spend or about what fancy labels you buy; it’s about wearing the correct size, wearing the correct colours, and putting them all together.”

While UNIQLO has its price point worked out, I’ll never understand its brand strategy to omit the red and white logo on golf polos sold at retail. At the peak of his powers, when he was winning Australia’s first green jacket, kids all across the country would have loved nothing more than to have dressed like their hero Scott. While they could purchase the brand’s golf polos, there was no way of telling they were sporting the same gear as Scotty. Without that now-synonymous UNIQLO logo on the chest, it may as well have been a $5 polo from Target.

Similar frustrations have been raised about Original Penguin, worn by Scott’s heir apparent and current flavour of the month, Cameron Smith. Despite getting their logo sorted, how many kids have you seen walking around wearing Smith’s colourful ensemble, before or after he became the 150th Open champion? Another huge opportunity missed.

For comparison, your author had no such problems donning that famous Shark logo during the ’80s and ’90s, or the Nike tick in a red offering during the early 2000s. Back in the day, if I wanted Seve’s navy sweater, complete with Slazenger markings, it was readily available too. Which brings us back to ‘the moment’ – and what you’re likely to see hanging in your pro shop very soon.

“There’s such tradition in golf, but it’s still a game, and it’s fun, and that’s reflected in what you want to wear,” says Ralph Lauren’s chief innovation officer David Lauren. “We’re seeing a desire to return to a more classic style and spirit of heritage – sort of a quiet luxury – both on and off the course. Our customer is looking for beautiful and thoughtfully designed pieces that can take them from the course to a board meeting to a school drop off seamlessly. We’re looking at how to build our collections with a broader lens with versatile lifestyle pieces like knits, cashmere and layering pieces that live beyond the course and that are comfortable.” 

Adds TAG Heuer chief executive officer Julien Tornare: “With about 60 million golfers worldwide, it’s normal that different layers of the population will start entering the sport and challenging the status quo. That’s what’s happening right now.” 

Call it dressing for all possible occasions or an act of self-expression, when the dust settles on golf’s new peaking popularity, the brands still standing, it seems, will be the ones brave enough to be different without completely ditching their past. 

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What to do when you find your golf game at crossroads

I recently bid farewell to a dear and much-loved friend: my single-figure handicap. While my initial reaction is to hope it returns – and soon – I get the feeling this might be a lengthy parting.

Perhaps mine is a story some of you can relate to. I first reached single figures in June 1994 at age 18. So I didn’t quite make 30 years when I drifted out to 10 this April. Through wavering form and myriad changes to the handicap system, I managed to keep the number next to my name in single digits, despite residing in the 8 or 9 bracket for a sizeable chunk of those three decades. Alas, after a year of sporadic competition play, and play that was far from scintillating, I ‘went out’ this autumn.

It wasn’t hard to see why. Scouring my handicap history, I last broke it in May last year – and by only a solitary stroke. While most of my Stableford scores tend to be in the low 30s rather than the 20s, there simply haven’t been any high points hauls to prop up the lesser ones. Ergo, handicap goes up.

The streak ending didn’t bother me as much as I thought it would, probably because I had seen it coming. I rarely practise, have taken exactly one lesson in the past 10 years and have had more two and three-week breaks between rounds in the past year than I can remember for ages. Plus, there’s the added capacity these days to be able to forecast your handicap movement, so the task of staying in single figures began to look daunting several months ago. The writing was very much on the wall.

My game gave me plenty of on-course signs, too. I have lost some distance and probably accuracy, too, as I sense I’m losing flexibility as age 50 nears. My short game – of which I was once quite proud – is now lacklustre at best and downright horrible on occasion. I mis-hit more chips and pitches than I strike proficiently. I three-putt a lot more often. I lack confidence, sure, but I also feel what little ability I have slipping away.

With my game at a crossroads, the decision about what to do from here appears to be twofold. I could knuckle down, rededicate myself to practice, get some lessons and play more often. Or I could accept my waning competence and simply ride the outgoing wave. I’m still not sure which path I want to travel.

That’s the thing about golf – for me, at least – it’s very much a ‘reap what you sow’ affair. I’ve planted nothing for a while now, so can’t complain when no green shoots appear. I just don’t know whether the planting process is worth the potential harvest. I also don’t envisage having the time to dedicate to my game, especially during winter’s limited daylight.

However, more than lacking the required time, I’m not sure I can be bothered with the effort. Would I like my single-figure handicap back? Sure. Do I want it back that much? I don’t know that I do. I kind of like the idea of five shots per side and now getting a handicap stroke on my club’s often-tricky fifth hole.

The next mental hurdle will surely be: am I a B grader? I am a rarity in club golf in that my highest-ever 18-hole handicap was 14. I played a lot before finally getting a handicap at age 15 – and played well when my initial cards were being submitted – so have never known that feeling of descending through the 20s and high teens. Not yet, at least.

So, while I’ve been in B grade before, it’s been so long that I have no memory of it. Do I see myself residing where so many club golfers do? In a few months, I might have no choice. It’s quite common to set handicap goals in golf; you just don’t expect them to be for one higher than you already have. 

 istock.com/Nutthaseth Vanchaichana

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Australia’s top-ranked golfer on her two wins so far this year, the upcoming majors, her long-distance marriage and why the Australian Open needs to move dates

Wow, what a year it’s been, on and off the course. Away from golf – well, kind of away from golf – I married my husband, Jarryd Felton. On the course, it’s been a really incredible start to 2024 with my LPGA Tour wins at the HSBC tournament in Singapore and the JM Eagle LA Championship, my second straight year winning that event at Wilshire Country Club, a course I love playing.

I’m really, really excited for the majors this year. As this issue was hitting shelves, the US Women’s Open at Lancaster Country Club in Pennsylvania was about to start. Regardless of my result this year, I think the US Open is my best chance to win another major going forward after winning my first – the 2019 Women’s PGA Championship. I’ve been to Lancaster Country Club before, it’s actually where I met Karrie Webb for the first time when I won her scholarship to come and watch her play the US Women’s Open in 2014. I can’t believe it’s been 10 years.

The US Open is the one, on paper, that I think would set up best for my game, especially if it is tougher conditions. I feel like that’s what you expect at a US Open. That’s what I hope the conditions will be like at Lancaster.

Looking ahead to the Women’s PGA Championship, obviously as a past winner I have confidence in that event. It’s later this month and it’s being held at Sahalee Country Club near Seattle, which is a past PGA Tour course. I’ve heard it’s really narrow and tree-lined, so I’m really going to have to have my driving accuracy dialled in.

The Evian Championship is obviously in France, and that’s in July. I’ve been to it many times, and it’s not my favourite golf course that we play. A T-30 is my best result in five times there. I have a love/hate relationship with that golf course! So that’s going to be something I’ll have to really work on.

The event I’m most looking forward to is the AIG Women’s Open (August 22-25) because it’s going to St Andrews. We’ve only been there twice and it’s the Home of Golf. I really like links golf, even though my results would not suggest that. I feel good about all the remaining majors and for the rest of the year on the LPGA Tour. We’ve got some exciting tournaments coming up.

My game is really, really good at the moment. I’m ranked No.7 in the world and, growing up, I never dreamed that I’d be the top-ranked golfer from Australia. It’s such an amazing honour. I’ve had two wins this year, and I feel like I’m capable of getting another trophy in my hands this season. But I don’t want that to be my focus; I just want to make sure I’m thinking day by day and round by round versus lifting trophies on Sundays. I’m a process person.

Personally, life is good both at home and away at tournaments. It’s been amazing to be married since January and I’ve definitely not seen Jarryd as much as we would like. He’s a tour player as well and he’s trying to play tournaments as he can, and we understand what comes with professional golf. He came to the US in May, which I really looked forward to. We’ve been dating for so long and we chose to become golf professionals when we first started dating. We knew the sacrifices. We understand those and it does suck. I hate having to say that I haven’t seen Jarryd for six, or seven weeks [at the time of writing].

I’m also not the only pro golfer to be doing long distance. In a way, the majority of pros are doing long distance unless you are bringing your partner out on the road and that can be expensive. I guess I’m just in a minority where my husband is also a tour player. It’s just one of the realities of life on the road and I’m not complaining, although it is tough.

Another reality is just the less glamorous side of the LPGA Tour, which people probably wouldn’t know about. Even though the Fort Worth area, near Dallas, has become somewhat of a base for me where I have a regular golf club and I practise there, I’m still living out of a suitcase a lot and checking in and out of hotels and Airbnbs. I was hoping season two of Netflix’s “Full Swing” would show more of the gritty side of travelling. Obviously, the LPGA and the PGA Tour are very different. I don’t think anyone’s flying privately on the LPGA.

I stayed in an Airbnb the week of my LA Championship win. When I landed into LAX at 7am on a Monday, I couldn’t check into the Airbnb until 4pm. So, I went to my caddie’s house and slept on the couch for a couple of hours. Just little things like that… they don’t happen all the time, but they do happen. People would look at how much I’ve made on tour and assume that’s the exact amount in my bank account. Again, no complaints, it’s just that every job has a tough side to it. I’m from Perth, so you can imagine while I’m on the road I miss my family, my husband and everyone in Perth. Even then, it’s more about being at home versus being on the road.

The one week Jarryd and I can guarantee we’ll see each other is during the Australian Open, which since 2022 has been played concurrently across two courses, first in Melbourne in 2022 and in Sydney in 2023. I enjoy the mixed format together, but it’s the timing of the women’s event that is a problem. The Australian Women’s Open used to be held in February and it was co-sanctioned with the LPGA Tour. Most of our top players came down. We want it back in the old time slot around February. What drew the girls to come was because it was right before the Asia Swing. So it was a similar time zone and not that far, even though it sometimes can be an eight-hour flight.

It has to be in February because nowadays you have the Grant Thornton Invitational – a mixed teams event with the PGA Tour – in December, which makes it difficult for tour pros to get to Australia for our Open at a similar time of the year. But I am all for men and women playing at the same time and at the same venue.

But by the time we’ve arrived at the Australian Open, hopefully I’ll have kicked some more goals on and off the course. 

Getty images: Donald miraLle

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Professional golf’s civil war has made us rich, but at a cost 

We don’t care – not anymore, at least. That’s probably not the answer fans expect to hear from caddies about the battle between the PGA Tour and LIV Golf, but, like many of you, we are fatigued with the daily drama. Although it affects our livelihoods, it’s hard to get worked up over something we have no say in. 

Before coming off as ungrateful, let me say this: no one has benefited more from the recent cash infusion into golf than caddies. The players? Please. I hate the narrative of the haves and have nots when it comes to players; it’s the haves and have mores. Most of the players complaining are not superstars, which makes the noise even more deafening.

Caddies have seen the trickle-down benefits from the higher purses. On the PGA Tour last year, 26 guys made more than $US6 million, meaning caddies for those players (assuming they worked the entire year) made at least half a million. Sixty-two players made more than $US3 million, so a quarter-mil is a safe
assumption for their loops. Five years before, the number of players that reached those thresholds were five and 29. Hell, Ted Scott has made more money in the past two years working for Scottie Scheffler than many pro athletes. It’s not generational wealth, but it is wealth, and those who say money doesn’t buy happiness have never been poor. I’ve been with multiple guys who finished in the top 10 on the moneylist, and I’m in a much better position now with a player who, well, we’re not close to the top 10 in earnings. For the first time, being a caddie is a sound financial decision.

But with our newly padded bank accounts comes a cost: the job is not as fun as it once was. There’s too much talk about greed, power and control. The state of pro golf remains the top discussion, and you can’t escape it. (Note to all pro-am contestants: if you want to turn off your pro, ask him what he thinks of all this on the first hole, which I’ve now seen half a dozen times.) Also, caddies have been even more sidelined when it comes to what “matters” with the sport because for all the talk about re-imagining what pro golf should be, caddies are not part of the discussion. 

For example, earlier this year, my player and I were with two other player-caddie combos in a practice round, and one of the players has serious sway with the PGA Tour. This player-leader was going on and on about the tour’s new partner, the Strategic Sports Group, how players are finally going to have a say in how the tour is run, how forward-thinking the tour will be, blah, blah, blah. This blabbering went on for three holes. Eventually, this player turned to the third caddie in the group, who has been out here for decades, and asked what the caddie thought. “I’m just waiting for y’all to talk about someone besides yourselves,” the caddie said in a Southern drawl. Everyone laughed, but us caddies, well, we laughed for a different reason. After the round, the quick-draw caddie shook his head and told me, “They have no idea. They’re the CEO complaining about first-world problems to the mailroom clerk.”

I understand why some paint this as a war between good and evil. Given all the things Saudi Arabia has been accused of, I understand the hesitation towards LIV and the worry of that money coming into the tour, but caddies have a somewhat different view. It wasn’t long ago that caddies were in a lawsuit against the PGA Tour. We were forced to wear bibs that displayed tournament sponsors, and we didn’t get any cut of the money. If we protested, we were threatened with tour expulsion. We were also asking for simple health-care benefits. Not until Jay Monahan took over did the tour finally start to treat us like human beings, but we still don’t get a cut of those bibs. We have a ton of hurt feelings on our side towards tour leadership. Players are being forced to pledge allegiance to one tour or another, but we are loyal to our players, and that’s it. 

Heck, even that can be misplaced loyalty. One of my friends was let go by a big-name player. They had a good run together, but the relationship – as they tend to do in this business – had run its course. There was nothing acrimonious at first; my friend took a short sabbatical before the new season because his player promised a bonus that would get him through the unemployed months. Unfortunately, months went by, and the bonus never came. Fast forward to LIV, and my friend, still looking for a bag, got work on the other circuit. Later that summer, he found out his old player’s family had been telling other players not to pick my friend up and that the PGA Tour would strongly discourage it given the LIV ties. My friend ended up losing an opportunity to grab a job from a player who is consistently in the FedEx Cup Playoffs; he had been contacted by a player’s manager and had come to an agreement, but the final call never came. He attributes that drop to those whispers. 

As for LIV, one of my fellow caddies discussed in this column why working on LIV during its inaugural season was one of the best decisions he made. Two years later, most of those perks are gone, including having travel expenses covered. Some team captains, like Brooks Koepka, take good care of their caddies. Brooks is loyal to his looper, Ricky Elliott, and whatever you think about Brooks, he doesn’t treat Ricky like a butler. That grace extends to the rest of the caddies on his team. It’s not the standard, and though the guaranteed money remains a selling point, a lot of players are not paying out the 8 to 10-percent cuts like players often do on the PGA Tour.

While we’re here, many say the framework agreement between the Public Investment Fund and the PGA Tour took away some of the stigma that comes with defecting to LIV, yet I have plenty of friends on LIV who still feel like they’ve been excommunicated from the game. 

So, yeah, we really don’t care who wins golf’s tug of war. No matter who comes out on top, we know we’re the ones that will ultimately have to carry the rope away. 

Illustration by Klaus Kremmerz

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Why golf is as much about the score as it is about the costume

Sartorial elegance is not the sine qua non of an outstanding professional golf career. Indeed, every one of us golfers, amateur or professional, are in some way a prisoner of our era, and that includes the way we dress when wielding our golf clubs. The issue of costume on the course, however, can give rise to a cloud of confusion and distract from the essence of our beloved game. Yet it does matter, and it makes its presence known in unpredictable ways and places and individuals.

Taiwan is much in the news these days, though sadly too few of us in Australia know much about the country or appreciate the small but significant role it played in post-war professional golf: the first Asian player to contend in the final round of a major was Lu Liang-huan (Mister Lu, as he was affectionately known), who narrowly went down to Lee Trevino in the 1971 Open.

Mister Lu was a close friend of my father and looked after me when I was in Taiwan in the late 1970s studying Chinese. He was always beautifully dressed, and wore a certain hat that he tipped to the gallery in a modest, gentlemanly fashion when they applauded his fine play. This gesture earned him many fans, especially in Britain. In Chinese there’s a lovely phrase: a flowering branch attracts the eye. It’s one of those elegant Chinese metaphors for being well dressed: hua zhi zhao zhan.

Over time it’s been a mark of golfers to dress well. Among the early amateurs it was de rigueur to dress well on the links, a snobbish way of distinguishing themselves from lowly caddies or rough-hewn professionals. Superior clothes cost plenty of money back then.

Yet the history of golf attire is not simply a matter of cost. Few people these days realise that from the 1860s onwards – until perhaps the beginning of televised golf in the 1960s – professional players struggled to overcome a perceived stigma, many wealthy amateurs condescending to them as inferior in social status. For a professional, dressing well on the golf course was one way of demonstrating that this condescension was both unfair and misguided.

Norman Von Nida took pains to dress well in clothes that attracted fans. Bobby Locke, son of a haberdashery owner, was always impeccably dressed, following Gene Sarazen, Walter Hagen and certainly the young Bobby Jones. I never saw my father or Kel Nagle or any of their peers in plus-fours, but neither did I ever witness them wearing shorts (except when at the beach or fishing from a boat).

Fast forward to the present day and the matter of golf attire is, to put it gently, somewhat fluid, along with a lot of other hitherto firm and fast social norms. Collared shirts are still part of the dress code at most golf clubs, as is the rule against denim trousers. The old standard mandating long white socks with shorts has vanished like the cassette recorder, though both were considered necessary in their day.

The PGA Tour has a dress code, as do all the majors. This year Jason Day was the object of a remonstrance from the powers-that-be at Augusta for wearing a jumper on the Friday that offended sensibilities, and he dutifully complied by saving the wretched garment for events of lesser stature. Let’s be frank: clothing that distracts from the beauty of golf is unwelcome on the course. Baron Ridley and his committee were acting sensibly; Jason was not.

If there is a gap between what we club golfers are allowed to wear and the stricter code for the golf tours (LIV excepted) and the majors, it’s a matter of different roles. Images of we everyday hackers are not inflicted on the public via television – no bad thing, I venture to suggest – but the professionals are on display to the world, something underwritten by commercial sponsors with goods or services to sell. The players must dress well in order to burnish the brands paying for their prizemoney. Yet dressing well does not necessarily mean looking old-fashioned.

Change is constant. Stasis is the enemy of joy in sport. What matters is the character of those players pursuing change and the decorum with which they do it. In the end, if you want to go down that path in dress or haircut or with your advocacy, you need to show champion play with your clubs to prove your case. Golf is as much about the score as it is about the costume. 

Getty images, David Cannon

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What kind of golf is best for major championships?

It’s not a new question, although it wasn’t that long ago that a fitting answer would have been, “Well, isn’t it obvious?!?” But with Xander Schauffele shattering the 72-hole scoring records at a major in a thrilling finish at Valhalla, things have become more interesting. There are more elements at play in golf’s current ecosystem, and perhaps a reconsideration is in order.

Traditionally, fast-and-firm conditions – with a steady breeze as a bonus – have been the sought-after ideal for major championships. Setups that make par a valued score, and present a challenge designed to reward the most complete player. The principles the USGA has incorporated with the US Open, which has always prided itself on being the toughest major, was built on.

Of course, since switching the PGA Championship from matchplay to strokeplay in 1958, the PGA of America has employed a softer approach to set-ups at its signature event could be described as US Open-lite. The higher rate of birdies and low scores, once looked on as a reason the PGA unofficially ranks fourth in prestige among the majors, could become a positive in golf’s changing landscape. It all depends on what the beholder values. Here’s the case for each.

When a championship course plays fast and firm, it becomes more difficult to control where the ball ends up. Off the tee, the increased bounce and roll of ball can more easily send it off the fairway and into trouble. That affords those players who can bend their drives to best fit each hole a way to find more short grass.

On approach shots, a firm green makes it more difficult to stop the ball in the intended spot. Hitting the proper landing area is vital, and a player’s ability to properly shape an iron shot can result in using the contours of a firm green to his advantage. The tighter turf also puts a premium on a solid strike. Mishits will generally result in a shot that does not hold, or lands in a place that takes if further away from the hole.

Especially around a firm green, the highest degree of contact, variety and finesse is required on chips and pitches to keep saving par. Putting requires more touch and nerve on faster surfaces, especially those with undulation, as second putts tend to be longer and three-putting a constant fear.

PGA Championship 2024: How Xander Schauffele’s hard-luck losses ultimately led to the major title he desperately craved

Simply, faster and firmer setups demand more good golf. On occasion, both the USGA and the R&A have tried too hard to ensure that demand in their championships and pushed some setups into unfairness. But even on their fairest setups, the imposed difficulty can dictate defensive play, where avoiding bogeys is more important than trying for birdies. It’s how Ben Hogan and Jack Nicklaus each won four US Opens. But to some tastes, and maybe a number that’s increasing, it’s too much of a slog.

Especially at the PGA among the majors, when a course design is relatively easy, or the weather turns wet, the already more permissive setup becomes noticeably vulnerable. In general, with less roll, fairways become effectively wider, and the demand to work the ball in different directions is lessened or eliminated. With more margin for error, the emphasis moves from cautious accuracy to maximised carry.

Similarly, into softer or more receptive greens, hitting straight shots at the pin carries less risk than into a fast and firm green. It’s an almost exclusively aerial game, with little concern for what the ball will do after it lands, other than perhaps spin back too much. The result is more shots landing and staying close to the pin. Balls that miss the green do not bounce as far away, so short-game recovery is easier. And on slower greens, bolder putting is easier to summon. It all promotes offensive golf, producing more birdies and fewer bogeys, and lower scores.

Valhalla, more than any recent major, had these conditions. When it was assaulted by the modern power game, it surrendered the lowest total and under-par winning score in major-championship history, and very nearly the first major-championship 61 (by Shane Lowry). According to stats guru Justin Ray, Valhalla produced the lowest combined score by the field in a major – 214-under-par – shattering the previous low of 40-over-par at the 1995 PGA at Riviera. We’ll do the maths for you: that’s 255 shots lower.

There’s not much question that fast and firm asks for higher quality golf. It places a greater demand on skill, nerve and temperament. The most revered major-championship performances in history have been achieved in fast-and-firm conditions.

But the question remains, are the higher scores and more conservative strategy what today’s golf fans want to see and today’s players want to play? Is it the best golf for major championships? Because there are some advantages to softer conditions. With the skill demands on players lessened, more of them can handle the test at hand, causing fields to stay more closely bunched. That often leads to more players in contention on the final day, increasing the chance of a crowded stretch run and a more thrilling finish.

On a softer setup, especially one softened by rain like Valhalla was, such virtuosity is more readily attained. With an increased margin for error, players were freed up to try more full-bore shots at the very limits of their athletic talent, exemplified by Bryson DeChambeau’s 220-yard 8-iron approach to three feet on the 70th hole followed by a 196mph ball-speed tee shot on the 71st. And the moments were intensified because DeChambeau was in a dog fight with Schauffele and Viktor Hovland.

So it was at Valhalla, a style that can be celebrated as exceptional entertainment, or dumbed down tournament golf. The casual and new fan to the game is more likely to see it as the former, the purist/traditionalist, who until recently has held sway, might lean towards the latter. But there isn’t much disagreement about which way the pendulum is moving.

With the current fracture in professional golf, the term “product” is now routinely used to describe the PGA Tour and even the major championships. The commercial urgencies have made it depressingly necessary to reduce the highest level of the game to another striving competitor in the entertainment business. It always has been, of course, but the sheer mastery required to shoot the lowest score was considered entertainment enough. But I fear that the need to hype a suddenly insecure pro game means that setups, even at the majors, will bow to the attention seemingly paid to distance and easy birdies.

Or maybe this is just an aficionado’s precious argument about aesthetics. What happened at Valhalla doesn’t have to be a signal of decadence. Regardless of the style of play allowed, the best golfers in the world were still trying to shoot the lowest scores possible. And by the way, in the end Schauffele still had to go old-school, closing with a nervy pitch and a gutted-out six-footer.

In the words of the legendary Charles Price: “Ordinary golf… is like walking a tightrope when it’s just off the ground. Tournament golf is when they raise the rope to 60 feet. Championship golf is when they take the net away.”

Valhalla had a net. Give me more artistry and skill – more Scottie Scheffler. Golf, at the very highest level, has more of it than any other sport. Which is the best claim it has to being the greatest game of all.

The post Why an ‘exciting’ major and a ‘good’ major are two different things appeared first on Australian Golf Digest.

[PHOTO: Michael Reaves]

They yelled his name from start to finish and Bryson DeChambeau reciprocated with a show they had come to see, punctuated by a pirouette off his left foot with his hands reaching for the sky as his final putt disappeared. His celebration was too visceral to be choreographed and the same can be said for the guttural cry that putt produced. While that scene at Valhalla’s 18th hole may have been a surprise for those watching from home, the truth is that had been the sequence all afternoon, the California native and Texas resident turning Kentucky into a home game. As he departed the green and made his way through the human tunnel that was compressing with fans reaching out for a fist bump – many of which he supplied – the indelible, incontrovertible truth is this: golf needs Bryson back.

He didn’t didn’t win, through no fault of his own. Shooting a final-round 64 for a 20-under total, a score that would have tied the previous 72-hole tournament mark? All DeChambeau can do is tip his cap to the man who came out on top.

“I gave it my all. I put as much effort as I possibly could into it and I knew that my B game would be enough,” DeChambeau said. “It’s just clearly somebody played incredibly well. Xander’s well deserving of a major championship and, yeah, emptying the tank, I certainly love to do that and give the fans everything I can.”

While not the champion, DeChambeau was the unquestioned main attraction on the final day.

He not just entertained but galvanised the thousands that followed and they in turn returned the favour. He couldn’t make it more than 10 paces down the hill from the clubhouse to practice green before a “Let’s go Bryson!” was yelled his way, a shout that served as the soundtrack for most of his afternoon. It’s not unusual for crowds to cheer players as they make their trek around the course, but most keep their head down, acknowledging those outside the ropes with a wave only after a good shot. DeChambeau? In-tune with the cries in his direction, because he returned most of them with a nod or audible, “Thank you.” After his third round he took pictures and signed autographs for anyone that asked. For the better part of five years DeChambeau has been known as a divisive figure, yet you would’ve had a hell of a time explaining that to anyone in Louisville.

Bryson DeChambeau is FIRED UP

He a grabs share of the lead#PGAChamp pic.twitter.com/jCyFzp6QYh

— PGA Championship (@PGAChampionship) May 19, 2024

This hasn’t been the norm. At last year’s PGA Championship, DeChambeau was loudly booed on Oak Hill’s first tee in his Saturday pairing with Brooks Koepka. Fans at the Open Championship the past two years, where the fans are more in tune with the havoc golf’s civil war has wrought and only give forgiveness when it has been requested, have treated him with aggressive indifference. The patrons of the Masters do not have an appetite for the brashness of one who calls Augusta National a par 67. LIV Golf fans… well, three years into the schism it remains unclear if LIV has fans in America. DeChambeau has desperately craved attention since his arrival and, for the most part, the attention has not been of warmth but curiosity. But at Valhalla? Nothing but love.

No, he’s not quite the DeChambeau you remember. The Hogan cap is gone, his once-beefy profile now slimmed to a sinewy figure. His hat and shirt and bag are adorned with a skull and crossbones, the logo of LIV’s Crushers outfit. But the fidgets and mighty lashes and the power are still there. So is the distance; DeChambeau had wedges into greens that his competitors attacked with 6-irons. It begets an aggressive mindset that makes every hole a birdie opportunity. It may not be nuanced or enlightened golf yet that muscle is a magnetic pull for a significant portion of the golf populace.

It’s not just his game. DeChambeau has been mocked for his devotion to his social media brand. That overlooks how big of a brand he has built, with more than 600,000 YouTube subscribers and more than a million followers on Instagram. Such numbers can be bought and fudged, yet walking with DeChambeau and hearing fans yell out the name of DeChambeau’s “Break 50” show underlined there are plenty of real people in those figures. He credits leaning into that world with helping him with this rapport with galleries.

“It’s actually funny, YouTube has helped me understand that a little bit more. When the moment comes, knowing what to do, what to say, how to act is really important,” DeChambeau explained. “You know, when I was younger I didn’t understand what it was. Yeah, I would have great celebrations and whatnot, but I didn’t know what it meant and what I was doing it necessarily for. Now I’m doing it a lot more for the fans and for the people around and trying to be a bit of an entertainer that plays good golf every once in a while.”

DeChambeau the person is different, too. He seems more at peace with himself and the attention he commands. For years it seemed DeChambeau did whatever he could to gain adulation. He’s now got it, not by pandering but being himself. Some of that comes with age (he turned 30 last September), and part of that maturation has come from his LIV Golf teammates, the lone wolf now part of a pack. Weird as it sounded, perhaps DeChambeau needed to get lost in LIV to find himself.

Ah, yes, LIV. DeChambeau plays an instrumental role in the breakaway circuit. He was not just one of the first formidable players to defect to the Saudi-backed circuit; he was one of the 11 that sued the PGA Tour, the last player to leave the lawsuit and – according to the tour’s antitrust lawsuit – DeChambeau recruited for LIV when he was still a PGA Tour member. Reconciling a theoretical return to tour membership for LIV players remains a thorny question regarding possible unification, especially of those players that filed the suit that put the tour in a vulnerable financial position. That DeChambeau wasn’t exactly the most popular guy in the locker room when he left doesn’t help his case.

And make no mistake, some of the oddities remain. He’s now playing 3D-printed clubs because of course he is. On Saturday he talked about something called “finite element analysis”. His normal actions continue to be meme-able, and look no further than DeChambeau picking up a Masters crosswalk sign last month and carrying it like a backpack. Conversely, golf has long suffered the stigma that many of its players are of the cookie-cutter variety. That includes its best player in Scottie Scheffler, who apparently needed to get arrested to become interesting to some. No matter what you think of DeChambeau, there’s no doubt he’s colourful, and this sport could use some of that in its sea of vanilla. For him to be stuck on a glorified member-guest tour, for him to compete in notable tournaments just four weeks of the year is no good for him or the game.

DeChambeau watched Schauffele’s final hole from the practice range, keeping his body ready for a playoff he believed wouldn’t come. He was right; when Schauffele’s putt disappeared on the driving range’s video, DeChambeau put his head down and marched up the hill towards the Valhalla clubhouse, attempting to escape a disappointment he knew he couldn’t outrun. In that moment, golf’s entertainer very much looked like a battle-worn competitor, understanding that while he didn’t lose another was its victor.

“I got to learn from this and learn a lot about – look, I learned a lot about myself over the past year, and being able to perform at Augusta and being able to perform today shooting seven-under – I’m just rambling, it’s just I’ve got a lot of thoughts in my head going right now,” he said.

With that, the showman was out of sight. Hopefully golf will see him soon.

MORE GOLF DIGEST PGA CHAMPIONSHIP COVERAGE

The post PGA Championship 2024: Golf needs Bryson back appeared first on Australian Golf Digest.

[PHOTOS: Getty Images]

A compilation of the best elements of the LIV Golf League.

I. Let’s get this one out straight away: how the league actually visits Australia.

II. The calibre of the fields. There are 27 major championship wins by 14 different golfers within the LIV Golf stable.

III. The birth and evolution of Ripper GC.

IV. How innovation is at the core of LIV Golf. As good as the Adelaide stop was last April, they still found ways to make it better this year through additions such as the two-storey ‘Flight Deck’ viewing area overlooking the practice ground.

V. Adelaide’s enthusiasm as a host city for the Australian event and the South Australian Government treating golf as a priority.

VI. The overall energy LIV Golf creates.

VII. The ways in which the players get involved with each host city through off-course activations, such as Henrik Stenson hitting golf balls (a winning a fan a car) at the Adelaide Oval during the Port Adelaide vs St Kilda AFL match on Friday night.

VIII. The weather. April in Adelaide is ideal for golf.

IX. The wide range of hospitality options. The Birdie Shack, Club 54, Gallery and Barossa lounges, Cellar Door and the like each offer different grandstand experiences.

X. The wide range of broadcast options. Whether viewed on Channel 7, 7plus or online, LIV can be seen anywhere.

XI. The TV ratings. Over the first two days of LIV Golf Adelaide, 1.9 million people tuned into the Channel 7 broadcast.

XII. Golf Australia chief executive James Sutherland showing up this year and our national body having a relationship with LIV Golf Adelaide after staying completely away last year.

XIII. Cam Smith’s putting stroke.

XIV. How relaxed and inclined to interact with fans the players are. The number of selfies and player-and-fan photos taken peaks at LIV events.

XV. The after-golf concerts. The upbeat vibe doesn’t end when the final putt of each day drops.

XVI. That it drew Anthony Kim out of hibernation.

XVII. The team component of the competition. Pick your team, then ride the wave of their performances.

XVIII. How the shotgun-start format condenses the daily action into a neat, four-and-a-half-hour window.

XIX. The total setup of LIV venues. Grange Golf Club, by virtue of having 36 holes, creates freedom to move and ample room for the requisite non-golf infrastructure.

XX. How LIV attracts non-golfers to a golf tournament.

XXI. How much there is for kids to see and do at tournament venues. The Fan Village has a kid-centric feel to it as well as being a place to refresh and relax.

XXII. Dustin Johnson’s unmistakeable gait.

XXIII. The on-course music. It’s not blaring nor jarring.

XXIV. The “Watering Hole”. OK, so the potential for the revelry to get out of hand is high (poor Nick Pugh – Lucas Herbert’s caddie – was hit in the head on Saturday by a flying bottle), but the concept has merit. And it’s LOUD!

XXV. The general frivolity of LIV events (providing it’s tasteful).

XXVI. Bryson DeChambeau losing his socks in a post-play putting-green bet with a punter.

XXVII. The quality of the coffee available at LIV events (trust us, the working media appreciates this!)

XXVIII. The smoothness of the entry process through the gates.

XXIX. Phil Mickelson’s short-game artistry.

XXX. Dom Boulet’s perceptive on-course commentary insights.

XXXI. David Feherty’s savvy turn of phrase with mic in hand.

XXXII. The positive ways in which the league has shaken up men’s professional golf.

XXXIII. The innovative stats, graphics and concepts – like the virtual caddie and scoring hexagons – incorporated into LIV Golf broadcasts.

XXXIV. Matt Jones’ refreshingly swift pace of play.

XXXV. Grange Golf Club’s cheeky sixth hole. The “Watering Hole” 12th gets all the eyeballs, but the little sixth owns far more charm. Some club members even putt the ball from the tee to front pin positions.

XXXVI. How the residents of the apartment blocks overlooking the sixth hole get into the spirit of LIV Golf Adelaide, sans tickets, in the “Granny Shack”.

XXXVII. The way it’s possible for non-LIV golfers to play their way into the league.

XXXVIII. Bryson DeChambeau’s brutal power (and good nature).

XXXIX. Shoeys.

XL. The prospect of twin playoffs at each tournament.

XLI. Greg Norman’s drive to ensure LIV Golf is successful – especially in his homeland.

XLII. The Majesticks GC quartet, despite regularly finishing last in LIV team events, retaining the determination to improve.

XLIII. Talor Gooch’s iron play.

XLIV. The team logos. We like the Crushers GC one best.

XLV. The players’ collective fashion sense.

XLVI. That the players are permitted to wear shorts.

XLVII. How roars echo across the course. LIV gallery roars just sound different.

XLVIII. The course signage, which is about as informative as it gets at golf tournaments.

XLIX. The sheer range of merchandise options.

L. Brooks Koepka’s swagger.

LI. The global schedule LIV Golf has built.

LII. Course setups that test the field but aren’t overly arduous. Birdies are plentiful and aggressive play is rewarded.

LIII. The clever recruitment of Jon Rahm.

LIV. That it’s coming back to Adelaide next year.

The post 54 things to like about LIV Golf appeared first on Australian Golf Digest.

Cast your mind back to early 2022, when LIV Golf was confirmed as going ahead with its intentions to disrupt the ecosystem of professional golf. Back when the notion of “no one likes change” was at its strongest, and LIV was getting the most pushback from fans in its 2.5-year timeline. Back then, could you have imagined a world where, 2.5 years later, DeChambeau would be golf’s most watchable pro?

Probably not. Despite winning the 2020 US Open at Winged Foot after an extreme bulking regime, the eight-time PGA Tour winner was coming off slow play accusations, rambling about his scientific approaches to golf and was about to leave the riches of the PGA Tour for even greener pastures.

Fast forward to April 2024 and the big-hitting DeChambeau is arguably the greatest show on turf.

Has any tour pro come out of the schism between golf’s major tours with a more improved image? Really think about that. Is any professional golfer more exciting to watch in 2024 while golf’s biggest stars, sans Scottie Scheffler, struggle to fire?

Some tour pros have taken a hit to their reputations in the pro golf divide. Some have come away unscathed. Others have remained true to themselves. But no player has revamped his image like DeChambeau. It’s the latest of his many transformations.

Ratings don’t lie. And given we’re in the YouTube age, this column isn’t talking about only TV numbers, as important as they are. TV ratings, after all, are telling us that the PGA Tour’s numbers are not good. The Masters lost about 20 per cent of the CBS viewers from Jon Rahm’s win in 2023 to Scottie Scheffler’s second green jacket two weeks ago. The ongoing improvements to the Masters app viewing experience are partly responsible for diverting traffic. But that couldn’t save the following week, when the ratings for the RBC Heritage at Harbour Town said the same thing: people are tuning out of the PGA Tour. CBS drew 2.151 million viewers for the final round at Harbour Town, down from the 4.152 million who watched last year as Jordan Spieth battled, and lost, to Matt Fitzpatrick in an epic duel.

DeChambeau is literally getting almost half the eyeballs on his YouTube uploads that CBS is getting for an entire PGA Tour final round. Don’t believe us? Take a look at his upload last year where he challenged fellow LIV player Phil Mickelson to a nine-hole match at The Greenbrier, a former PGA Tour host course where only days later DeChambeau shot 58 to win that LIV Golf event. The match against Mickelson drew 2.5 million views. That’s his greatest show. What about DeChambeau and 2017 Masters champion Sergio Garcia trying to break 50 for 18 holes two weeks ago? 724,000 views. How about he and golf influencer Paige Spiranac trying to break 50 from the red tees at a golf course? 856,000 views. Last week, DeChambeau bought a set of kids’ clubs from Walmart and tried to break par using them. That video drew 854,000 views.

It’s a remarkable turnaround for a guy who has drawn plenty of criticism over the years. Like in 2020 when he called Augusta National a “par 67” for himself and definitely didn’t shoot 20 under, or win. Or a year later when he said his “driver sucked” at the 2021 Open Championship. For years he has been criticised for slow play.

There was a time golf fans couldn’t cop him. Now, they can’t their eyes off him.

As professional golfers lull us to sleep with talk of “my team” and “going through my processes,” DeChambeau dares to be different. His vibe is not for everyone. But everyone can agree he’s not boring.

At LIV Golf Adelaide this week, DeChambeau has been arguably the strongest crowd favourite behind local hero and 2022 British Open champion Cameron Smith. DeChambeau has been gracious with fans and media while his LIV peers have declined interviews hand over fist. He has signed autographs up the wazoo. Earlier in the week, he spent 20 minutes outdriving Australian Golf Digest’s editor-in-chief, Brad Clifton, left-handed in a video before the tournament. (Clifton is left-handed).

DeChambeau, fresh off a career-best T6 at the Masters two weeks ago, has actively pumped up the Adelaide crowds on most holes at The Grange while shooting 68, 68 to sit eight under after two rounds and in contention.

On Saturday’s second round, having made par on his first five holes of a shotgun start from the 17th, DeChambeau came to the tee at the 326m par-4 fourth. Playing companions Talor Gooch and Cameron Tringale had laid up into the fairway off the tee, leaving a short approach.

DeChambeau reached into his bag and pulled out his driver, which is a Krank product used by World Long Drive competitors. Such a move brought wild applause from the crowd. After a practice swing, DeChambeau put the driver back in his bag and pulled out an iron. The crowd groaned. But the Californian walked back to his bag and again pulled the driver back out. Huge cheers. He waved his index finger to let everyone know he had taken the mickey right out of them.

The former world No.4 – who famously pounded a 332-metre drive over the water at the par-5 sixth at Bay Hill during his 2021 Arnold Palmer Invitational win on the PGA Tour – then blasted a 326-metre drive on Saturday at LIV Adelaide’s fourth hole. His ball landed in the greenside bunker, from where he got up and down for birdie.

His playing partners, Gooch and Tringale, also made birdie at the fourth.

But who would you rather watch?

The post Opinion: In a world of ratings, Bryson DeChambeau is golf’s most watchable pro appeared first on Australian Golf Digest.