Golfers tend to cherish the traditions of their sport, its centuries of history, its indomitable champions. The British Open, the oldest of the game’s four major championships, is revered around the globe in part because the format of 72-hole tournaments has never varied. You can tell at a glance whether Brian Harman, who won the claret jug this past July, played Royal Liverpool better or worse than Harold Hilton in 1897, Bobby Jones in 1930, Tiger Woods in 2006, or Rory McIlroy in 2014. This parade exemplifies golf’s traditionalism, which to the dismay of many has lately been shaken to the core—a persistently breaking sports story that has much to do with business, social norms, politics, morality, and money, money, money.
In 1968 a group of touring professionals created the PGA Tour. It grew steadily over the decades, and in 2017 veteran golf promoter Jay Monahan became the Tour’s fourth commissioner. He guided it through the Covid pandemic, but then another crisis broke out: A competing tour called LIV Golf emerged in 2021, under the leadership of Greg Norman.
It wasn’t the first time the blond Aussie golf star, who earned the nickname “the Shark” by winning more than 90 professional tournaments in a career that started in the 1970s, had tried to upend the PGA Tour’s hegemony. In the 1990s he attempted to create a limited series of big purse tournaments but was blocked by the PGA Tour (with an assist from Arnold Palmer, no less). Norman’s second try, however, was backed by Saudi Arabia’s Midas-level wealth, which enabled him to build a rival league with golfers enticed by signing bonuses that defy understanding: Reportedly Phil Mickelson was paid $200 million and Dustin Johnson $150 million, with $125 million sufficiently convincing for Bryson DeChambeau, $100 million for Brooks Koepka and Cameron Smith, and $50 million for Bubba Watson.
Spectators at a 1955 tournament in Palm Beach, Florida.
LIV’s first-year roster of 48 players was soon filled up, and suddenly a sport that had long been defined by traditional British and American conventions was upended by bank vaults full of Middle Eastern cash and an ace with a grudge.
Tiger Woods was rumored to have been offered between $700 million and $800 million to join the new league, but he was dismissive of LIV and said defectors “turned their back on what allowed them to get to this position.” Many top players took the same stance, but tradition and legacy weren’t the only reasons. Sportswashing is the word often used to describe Saudi Arabia’s forays into the enormously popular and expensive realms of soccer and Formula 1 racing, made to camouflage the country’s less appealing endeavors. Many observers suggest that Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman isn’t hoping to reinvent his kingdom, just the perception of it in the wider world. Mickelson’s own account provoked outrage even before LIV’s inaugural season began. “They are scary motherfuckers to get involved with. We know they killed [Washington Post reporter Jamal] Khashoggi and have a horrible record on human rights,” he told one writer. “They execute people over there for being gay. Knowing all of this, why would I even consider it? Because this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to reshape how the PGA Tour operates.”
And so professional golf went to war with itself. Monahan swiftly banished players who had gone AWOL and enhanced his tournaments’ purses to better reward his best players. Meanwhile, Norman and LIV continued to recruit additional troops from the PGA. Each side started suing the other.
LIV star Brooks Koepka at a 2023 invitational in England.
Players who chose LIV were grilled about Khashoggi’s torture and murder, and about Saudi Arabia’s alleged connection to the September 11 terrorist attacks, with grieving protesters conspicuous at many events. Those who stood by the PGA Tour were possibly hoping they could afford the choice they had made. Worst of all: Since LIV superstars were barred from PGA tournaments, the thrill of stiff competition declined sharply.
Did professional golf need reinventing? Many fans would say no, and longtime enthusiasts were disgusted by the sideshow spectacle of LIV’s no-cut, 54-hole, shotgun-start tourneys, which incited “You the MAN! Go in the HOLE!” behavior in keeping with LIV’s “golf, but louder” mantra. There were bands blaring in the midway and skydivers (including Navy SEALs and Greg Norman himself) descending onto fairways. Monahan quickly seized the high ground with his famous apostrophe to LIVers: “Have you ever had to apologize for being a member of the PGA Tour?”
When Peace in Our Time was declared in early June, it came with a shocking proposal: The PGA Tour would merge with PIF, Saudi Arabi’s public investment fund, LIV’s funder. Publicly Monahan said it was time to enter a new modern era of golf, that the PGA was strong and this would make it stronger. But it was really about money, and the fact that the squeeze the Saudis had put on him worked. Legal fees, the cost of keeping up with LIV—it was all unsustainable.
The clumsiness of the Tour’s announcement suggests a state of panic, which is never reassuring. Players—the de facto owners—were bewildered and/or offended, since they hadn’t heard a word about any agreement. Rory McIlroy felt like “a sacrificial lamb” and added that “if LIV Golf was the last place on earth to play golf, I would retire.” Jon Rahm and Scottie Scheffler noted that they didn’t know anything about essential issues, and others stated that their trust in Monahan had diminished.
“I realize that people are going to call me a hypocrite,” the commissioner said right after the announcement, “but circumstances do change.” A month later he sent out a memo in which he assured every PGA Tour member that negotiations were “ongoing” and at last addressed questions that were obvious, and pressing: How are the players who had remained faithful to the PGA Tour going to be compensated for the millions upon millions they turned down? What will be required of LIV players who wish to regain their Tour membership?
Then, on August 1, the PGA Tour announced that Tiger Woods would be joining its policy board. The most powerful figure in the game had never served on any committee, and he had remained mute about the LIV partnership for nearly two months, yet his sudden participation guaranteed that the players’ representatives henceforth will be involved in all major negotiations and decisions, and they cannot be outvoted. “This is a critical point for the Tour,” Woods said, having been one of over 40 leading pros who signed a demanding letter sent to Jay Monahan the day before. The commissioner immediately met their terms, stating that he was “committed to taking the necessary steps to restore any lost trust.”
There is still widespread skepticism about the joint tour, which now sounds more like a corporation with the new name PGA Tour Enterprises. But it has at least one fan: Donald Trump, who was a supporter of LIV from the get-go, welcoming many events at his clubs (for an undisclosed fee). The former president christened the alliance “a big, beautiful, and glamorous deal.” A month later LIV announced it would be moving its season-ending team championship tournament, slated for this fall, out of its original location of Jeddah. The new setting? Miami’s Trump National Doral.
This story appears in the October 2023 issue of Town & Country. SUBSCRIBE NOW
