Brian Jack served as hype man at a Republican presidential campaign rally in Rome, Georgia last month. One-time political director of Donald Trump’s White House turned candidate for a Congressional seat in his home state, he unfurled quite the yarn.
“I’m not sure if I should say this,” said Jack. “But, just a few weeks ago, president Trump put to shame two professional golfers. I ain’t gonna mention their names but just know he shot a 70 on 18 holes.”
Not long after, Trump declared he had won both the club championship and the senior club championship at his eponymous course in West Palm Beach, Florida.
To lend credibility to his braggadocio, Jack Nicklaus, who you would wrongly assume might know better, was on hand to present the 77-year-old with the Trump International 2024 most improved golfer of the year award. Like former Roman emperor Commodus once claiming to have a record of 12,000 wins and 0 defeats as a gladiator at the Colosseum, it’s true because he says it is.
The most famous golfer in America (a boast Trump can legitimately make since Tiger Woods’ decline) certainly got the star treatment when he turned up at Doral last Sunday. Spontaneous rounds of applause from adoring fans and some of the sport’s biggest names taking time out to chat with him on the putting green and driving range.
Proffering obsequious handshakes and simpering smiles, the likes of Dustin Johnson, Bubba Watson and Bryson DeChambeau slobbered all over him as if he isn’t the same man daily spewing so much hateful bile and racist rhetoric into the political atmosphere.
Just like strangely gullible 27-year-old Rory McIlroy when he chose to golf with him back in 2017, perhaps they remain somehow ignorant of what he truly stands for. They haven’t heard him comparing people to animals, accusing immigrants of poisoning the blood of the country, or saying African Americans love him because of his mug shot.
Maybe DeChambeau et al were all just relieved Pele, his nickname for kicking the ball so much when nobody’s looking, wasn’t teeing it up at the LIV event in case he’d embarrass them with his prowess.
Last time their Tour swung through one of his courses he took on the same tough Bedminster track a fortnight later and managed a 67. His score bested 47 of the 48 pro cards in the final 18 holes of that competition. Indeed, only six of the 144 rounds played by the LIV roster that week were better than his. A statistic to make the late Kim Jong-il (of 11 holes-in-one in a single outing fame) blush. Surely the charming Saudis must soon consider paying Trump to play in as well as to host their Potemkin tournaments.
Given there’s a good chance he will be elected to a second presidential term next November, it shouldn’t be a surprise that many from the most Republican of sports still lickspittle around him. No matter how extreme his political positions are getting. The right side of the green is always far more important to these lads than the right side of history. But this is only part of golf’s ongoing Trump problem. The other is the recognition factor. He’s more box office than anyone else in the game right now.
Most casual sports fans can tell you the 45th president won two club championships the other week and have seen the photos of him and Nicklaus. The same people couldn’t name the winners of many PGA Tour events so far this year. Austin Eckroat? Jake Knapp? Chris Kirk? Mathieu Pavon? Fine players. Incognito champions.
The Masters represents the one weekend in the calendar when golf has the undivided attention of Americans. March Madness has finally ended, the NFL is in hibernation, baseball is only sputtering into gear, and the endless NBA play-offs haven’t started.
With Rae’s Creek dyed with food colouring, various other botanical sleights of hand, and Stalinesque television coverage, Augusta National looks sumptuous on screen and, to many, the familiar theme music represents the sound of springtime. People want to be lured in. Yet, beyond the existence of rival tours, the game has a major identity crisis as it rounds Amen Corner.
Many of those drawn to the sport by Woods, and, to a lesser extent, Phil Mickelson, have no rooting interest in the crop who came after them. Generation beige doesn’t move the needle. Scottie Scheffler has been the number one player in the world for nearly a year, and he can walk down the streets of New York city unrecognised.
A wonderful talent, too milquetoast to impact beyond the cognoscenti. Most casual fans couldn’t tell you the difference between Scheffler and Xander Schauffele. And, elsewhere in the top 10 rankings, they’d struggle to pick Jon Rahm, Patrick Cantlay, and Wyndham Clark out of a line-up either.
As it tried to come to terms with the inevitable post-Tiger swoon in interest, the splintering of the sport could not have come at a worse time. And herein lies golf’s true major problem. This is why the PGA Tour created the mortifying $100m Player Impact Program (PIP) to reward those who generate most interest in it through, among other criteria, Google searches and media mentions.
A desperate measure but they need characters and storylines to capture the imagination that badly. If only there was one larger-than-life, headline-generating golfer in America who relishes feuding and relentlessly self-promotes.
