“[Understanding] depends on things themselves…but also, crucially, on our bodies, our skills, our situations, and our interests. We achieve the world’s presence and we do so dynamically, and actively.”

You may remember a controversy around the third hole at the 2023 Masters. It’s a short four with two options: bang driver up near the green and pitch up the hill or lay back with an iron and approach the green with a full wedge. The choice, effectively, is a shorter pitch or the added spin of a fuller swing.

A former player in the commentating booth advocated for the layup when the pin was up front. The front shelves, his school suggests, are just too small to hold consistently without spin and too elevated to allow the steep descent of a high lob. Laying back and hitting a full wedge is the only way to come in high and soft enough to hold the tricky green.

The statisticians disagreed. Any way you slice the data, there simply is no greater correlation to lower scores than proximity to the hole. By the expected-value calculations, a fifty-yard wedge is always easier than the same hundred-yard wedge, full stop. Anyone who laid up (or suggested that one should) didn’t understand the simple patterns that underlie scoring.

Back in 2003, a decade before Mark Broadie’s seminal paper invented modern golf statistics as we know them—even a year before ShotLink recorded its first shot—Tiger Woods came to the third tee wanting to hit his patented long-iron stinger. His caddie, Steve Williams, had 

 that Tiger should hit driver to get closer to the green. Tiger eventually conceded to his caddie and hit driver. He hit it terribly. He refused to say a word to Williams for another six holes, and Williams considers the dispute the biggest on-course conflict he had with Woods.

Twenty years later, Tiger returned to the third tee at Augusta National. Those twenty years saw more data collected than could fit in your local library in 2003—data that (if you listen to the experts) suggest unilaterally that hitting driver is the objectively correct play on the third hole. Yet Tiger hit iron.

This contradiction requires one of two things to be true. Either Tiger has overlooked one of the most obvious and valuable pieces of golf strategy in history, or has stubbornly carried an unhelpful memory for twenty years, and is either way undeserving of his image as the smartest and most ruthlessly competitive golfer in history. That, or the statistical analysis isn’t quite as conclusive as the statisticians will tell you.

Consider a story about a lump of clay. On some indeterminate Monday, this lump of clay sits on a table. On Tuesday, a skilled sculptor shapes the clay into a beautiful statue. It sits on the table through Wednesday and is admired by many for its beauty and effect. The sculptor squashes the statue beyond recognition on Thursday. On Friday, the lump of clay sits on the table.

This simple story illustrates a substantial claim: that two ordinary objects can exist in the same place at the same time. No tricks, no obscure physics or linguistic gimmicks, no smoke or mirrors. The lump doesn’t cease to exist when the statue comes to be, though the statue wasn’t there before it was sculpted. There’s no trick: on Wednesday, the same stuff truly does make up two unique things.

It’s easy to see why the data revolution appears to be the Eye Test’s death knell.

Our modern lives are inseparable from our procession through data, leaving more data in our wake. This statement is banal to make and hacky to expound upon, both of which only affirm that data [gestures wildly] characterize our age.

Golf has been a game of numbers since the gutta-percha revolution, never mind silicon—a game of yards and inches, of carry numbers and elevation adjustments, of green speeds and wind directions, of handicap indexes, cut lines, and winning scores. After all, despite the incomprehensible complexity that keeps us hooked, golf boils down to nothing more than strokes on a scorecard.

This numerical nature makes golf the perfect target for statistical analysis. Simply, because golf is scored by strokes and strokes alone, any metric that measures progress to the hole in units of strokes thus measures golf’s essence. Strokes Gained statistics behave exactly this way; this is what makes them so valuable. With our oceans of ShotLink data (as well as even larger amateur datasets), we can predict an average expected number of strokes to hole out from any position on the course. By adding and subtracting these expectations from each other—for instance, from a shot’s start point to its end point—we can quantify how many strokes were gained or lost with each swing.

Statistical advances such as these have illuminated other sports with greater clarity than ever before. Whereas reading “0-3, 3Ks'' in a box score leaves you only with a rudimentary—even anecdotal—understanding of what happened last night, you can watch baseball today and know exactly why your fastball-hunting glove-first centerfielder hitting below the Mendoza line isn’t touching this guy’s .090xwOBA wipeout splitter.

But with golf, the further claim is that these statistics don’t just tell better stories; they tell the whole story. Golf success is measured by numbers of strokes; Strokes Gained measures in units of strokes; therefore, Strokes Gained measures golf QED. For a game of such nuance, the ruthlessly uncomplicated way of determining who wins and who loses is nothing more than the score you shoot. As such, at the end of the day, it’s all just a game of strokes.

That modern statistics measure golf so fundamentally has upshots that reverberate all the way up golf’s intellectual ecosystem. For instance, golf strategy—once the subject of fierce books- and decades-long debate—turns out to reduce to a few simple commandments: advance the ball as far as you can toward the hole, avoid penalty strokes at all costs, and just get it on the putting surface (and definitely don’t short-side yourself if you miss). The exceptions to these rules are few, if any—for nearly any subjective assessment of two lies, there’s a data scientist to inform you of its statistical insignificance. Considering approach angles, hitting it below the pin, or getting lags to the hole to give it a chance, these all have been debunked as fallacies that the evidence simply does not support.

With modern statistics measuring so close to the game’s essence, less and less is up for discussion. Subjective debate withers in the face of objective answers. More and more, the guy arguing against the numbers at the 19th hole finds himself in an indefensible minority. Golf moves ever closer to being a computationally solved game, like tic-tac-toe or connect-4, where subjective assessments are trivial in the face of settled objective fact. The Eye Test no longer passes as evidence.

Responses to the statue and clay story—attempts to reconcile a compelling train of logic with the intuitive sense that “something’s up”—come in abundant flavors, none without aftertaste. One of the most common is to deny statues. This is nihilism, the deeply skeptical position that nothing exists beyond mere collections of particles and that any words (“statue” or “lump” or “sculptor”) are nothing more than tools of reference, “useful façon de parler.” While the particles might take on new shapes, nothing changes besides our own psychological interpretations—judgements that are illusory and detached from the real, cold, hard truth that there are no statues. Aesthetics and human value judgments are bunk. We live on a floating rock, nothing actually matters, at some point, the sun will explode, etc. etc. It’s all just stuff—stuff that’s subject to our mushy, illusory human interpretations, but really just mere lumps of stuff nonetheless.

As difficult as this position appears to escape, it has a fatal flaw: if it’s all just lumps and nothing more, than what explains the sculptor? Or whoever believes the “just stuff” theory? Or whoever’s reading about it? Are these really best understood as mere stuff?

Returning to the third hole at the 2023 Masters, it’s easy to see why the statisticians are so confident that driver objectively is the correct play. This is the upshot of expected-value-based predictive statistics: they very quickly become prescriptive statistics. Once the expected score can be calculated for any position on the golf course, they can be calculated for any possible position or region. From these data flows a strategic implication that based on statistical expectations, certain strategies objectively are better than others. The choice is simply between two average scoring outcomes, and any debate is between a better scoring opportunity and a worse one.

And in reality, players who hit driver really did score better than those who laid up—significantly so. Per Lou Stagner, 

to the front two pins, players who got the ball within 50 yards of the green averaged 0.30 shots better than those who laid back outside 85 yards

. It’s undeniable that the better strategy appears to be to go for the green; despite any reason to hit a full wedge, players who hit driver simply scored better. On the strength of Strokes Gained data, the debate appears settled and the “lay up” argument debunked.

Except, curiously, players did lay up. Also from Stagner, 

from 2019 to 2022, players got the ball within fifty yards of the green 164 times, but they laid back outside eighty-five yards 216 times

. These data are skewed by past champions and mishits, but the fact remains that many of the best players in the world decided to lay back and approach the green with a full wedge. Presumably, they did this despite the data telling them to do otherwise.

The participants at the Masters are the best players in the world. Each week, they play golf for their livelihoods and for millions of dollars. In their arena, single shots are the difference between keeping their job and losing it, between wearing the jacket or not, between playing Augusta National for thirty years worth of Aprils, or staying at home and watching on the couch. A lot rides on their performance, and this performance boils down to nothing more than getting the ball in the hole in the fewest number of strokes. Considering how robust the statistical analysis appears, it seems impossible for a competent player to do anything other than what it prescribes. And, in the words of Michael Wolf, these players are “probably better at golf than any of your friends are at anything they do for a living.”

So what gives? Why would anyone lay up? It’s no stretch to suggest that the players who laid up—professionals of the highest class—considered the strategies far more thoroughly than we have. It’s even less of a stretch to suggest that anything these top players do is intended to help them post the best score. If the predictive statistics were really so objective, it seems like everyone would have hit driver. That so many players laid up is evidence enough to question if predictive statistics are really so objective—maybe there’s more up for debate than we thought.

If the data revolution has taught us anything, it’s that one of the best bets to be made—be it to shave three shots or sell toasters or serve up spicy content or make Scrooge McDuck piles of money—is that past results will predict future outcomes. It’s on this basis that the description-prediction-prescription chain makes good sense. Numbers, when used properly, tend not to lie. But we can question whether they tell the whole truth—specifically, if there’s anything the numbers fail to capture, or even never can.

The Strokes Gained thesis, if you will, rests upon strokes being golf’s fundamental particles. Because golf is scored simply by the mere addition of strokes, its atoms are indivisible, fungible, and identical. At the end of the round, you simply add up the strokes and you sign. As such, any math done on strokes should capture the essence of the game—literally, the part that counts. There are no pictures on the scorecard, so it’s frivolous to consider golf an aesthetic exercise. There are only strokes. They all count the same. They are just lumps.

But strokes are counted on the basis of shots hit, and these shots always have aesthetic properties: good or bad, beautiful or ugly, well-struck or missed, lofted or flighted, pounded or finessed, fortunate or unlucky, clutch or tragic. In this sense, golf’s fundamental particles are not strokes, but shots. To say that golf is essentially a game of strokes is to say that some version of golf exists without these aesthetic elements, as mere points on a course map. But, considering chickens and eggs, the shot always comes first. A stroke is merely the counting of a shot—a shot that always expresses all its beauty (or ugliness) and comes to rest before you can scratch something on a card. No final position of the ball exists without the way that it got there. There are no strokes without shots; for every lump, there must be a statue.

To revisit the baseball analogy: none of that .090xwOBA splitter’s success comes from the numerical information—not Whiff% or Chase%, not even the sub-900 spin rate or the 27” of vertical break. It comes from the fact that, when your centerfielder watches the ball coming, he thinks it’s a fastball in the zone and chooses to swing before the bottom falls out of it. The numbers merely try to describe a kind of pitch the batter will think he can crush before it tumbles into the dirt. And, if your second baseman sees the exact same pitch and lays off it, it loses all its effectiveness. In the end, the only thing that matters is the way the batter sees it.

In this way, while these modern statistics are undoubtedly useful for the insights they give us, they have no causal connection to the most fundamental way we play—as humans, having those human experiences the just-stuff folks want so badly to argue away. Golf, like all human activities, is an essentially aesthetic experience. Even the most technical players can’t hone in carry numbers or spin rates without the experience of doing so, and—while the numbers are great indicators of how well they executed—it is only by recreating that feeling that they can do it again.

Golf, in every sense, is played by golfers who experience the game. Similarly, while statistics can teach us plenty about scoring, no statistic can capture what it’s like to score, to play winning golf. If they could, the statisticians would be racking up major championships. But execution comes down to a person producing a quality golf shot, and there’s no way for people to produce that shot without the feeling of doing so. There’s a reason we use the same word for sensation and for developing aptitude—whether it’s a swing feel or a body position or confidence itself, execution relies on experience.

For those who write off these aesthetic ideas as distractions from some cold, hard, numerical truth of the matter: let’s not forget that Rory beat the robot. Golf isn’t played in a dome, in a lab, or on a computer—it’s played, in Bobby Jones’s words, “on a five-inch course—the distance between your ears.” Maybe these experiences constitute something truer about the game than numbers can capture. Maybe our aesthetic understanding isn’t a distraction that keeps us from statistically perfect golf; maybe it’s a wisdom that, in some well-tuned moments, can let us transcend it. The finest golf robot in the world can deliver a club to a ball with literally inhuman precision, removing any variance we could ever think to control. That this robot fell to a very much human Northern Irishman suggests something unquantifiable about our game—something that cannot be captured but can only be seen.

As for our own eyes—eyes of those of us without four major championship wins—we can all remember looking down some putt we had no business making and knowing dead-to-rights it was going in the heart. These are moments in which our vision—not just sight, but the entire human experience—lets us transcend any statistical expectation. The numbers might say your chances are slim, but in those beautiful moments when you see the ball going in before it’s struck, you aren’t a probability; you are a golfer.

It's exactly this humanity that lets us do the incredible things that make sports magical. Ask anyone—from your buddy who drained a twenty-five-footer to win seven skins last Saturday morning to a journeyman pro who stuck a six iron to seven feet to secure his first pro win—whether they believe these shots are mere statistical anomalies. Try to tell them that nothing more than a favorable dice roll lets their ball deviate from the mathematical expectation with exact imprecision to produce glory. They’ll look at you confused for a moment, probably offended, before saying, “No, I hit it.”

Statistics undoubtedly yield insights that are both true and useful, and the strategies that these statistics prescribe can be just as helpful. Stats tell us about our capabilities in the aggregate, suggest our limitations over time, and suggest strategies that help us maximize our performance. And, if we hit average shots all the time (it’s worth noting: all golfers hit a lot of average shots), these strategies are a wonderful way to improve our scores. Make no mistake: much money has been won on the golf course by maximizing expected value, and to disregard the insights modern statistics give us is foolish.

However, matters of strokes may or may not be settled, matters of shots certainly aren’t. Statistical predictions have no causal governance over our ability to hit each shot for ourselves. We uniquely create each outcome on a live course in the context of a live game, and, as long as we’re on the golf course, the outcome is still up to us. And, while we size up a shot, we can consider the numbers, but these only tell half the story. The aesthetics really do matter; statues are just as real as lumps. If we’re to understand our game in all its beauty, we must be able to see both.

Connor Belcastro graduated yesterday from Princeton University, where he majored in philosophy while playing on the men’s golf team. He is writing occasional pieces this year for No Laying Up while he pursues a professional career.

The Eye Test Manifesto

Welcome to the fifth installment of GHIN & Tonic. Our hope is that this space serves as a callback to the spirit of the original writing that appeared on No Laying Up dot com: unvarnished, wide-ranging, and somewhat random, but with golf as the loose thread. Some will be more golf-heavy, some golf-light - think TrapDraw Podcast plus some golf sprinkled in. We’ll pass the ball around on these on a weekly basis and all will be personal in nature. And if you can’t figure out which sections are “GHIN” and “Tonic”, that’s on you!

Welcome to GHIN & Tonic: Volume 5. I just got back from our NLU Club Championship at Erin Hills, which (no spoilers) I suspect you’re going to enjoy when that video comes out. But on the trip home, I couldn’t stop mulling a question I wanted to throw out for this week’s G&T.

What do we want the PGA Championship to be?

The day after the final round at Valhalla, I threw up a poll on my Twitter account asking that question. I was feeling a little concerned that me and my fellow NLU colleagues were feeling a little disconnected from public sentiment because we didn’t find the course — or the setup — particularly compelling. The final round, which saw Xander Schauffele hold off Bryson DeChambeau and Viktor Hovland, was certainly enjoyable. But what exactly differentiated it from a regular event other than the fact that we don’t get to see players like DeChambeau and Schauffele face each other in major championships?

Schauffele shot 65 to win, but it certainly didn’t feel like one of the most memorable final rounds in a major. He missed a bunch of shots, but the penalty for missing felt (at times) nonexistent. On the 7th hole, for example, Schauffele went for the green in two on the Par 5. He came up well short, dumping it in the front bunker. He had short-sided himself to a tucked pin.

“Gosh, that’s a terrible mistake,” said Trevor Immelman on the CBS broadcast.

When Schauffele got to his ball, however, nothing about the next shot felt particularly terrifying. He splashed it out, watched it settle beyond the pin, and then made a relatively benign 11-footer for birdie. You could have convinced me I was watching the John Deere or the 3M, and most of the NLU gang felt similarly.

My inbox and my mentions, however, contained plenty of missives from golf fans who seemed convinced we were missing something, or that we were discounting Schauffele’s performance somehow because his personality doesn’t excite us. 

Who cares whether the course was soft or easy,

I would first counter that by reminding you that everyone is welcome to enjoy (or not enjoy) a major for any set of reasons. If your enjoyment of Valhalla was diminished because Tron or Soly were griping that the setup was lame, you might want to ask yourself why you’re giving someone that kind of power over you. Personally, I like golf tournaments where danger lurks and the best players still walk a tightrope of tension. Steph Curry and Caitlin Clark are compelling because they can throw a basketball into a small metal cylinder from 35 feet away. If the basket were bigger, a lot of players would be able to do what they do, and it would diminish their skill. I think you can look at golf similarly. Valhalla made the basket big for pretty much everyone. Statistically, as Justin Ray pointed out, it was the lowest cumulative score to par by 254 shots!

What is the PGA Championship’s identity? And does it even need one? The majority of answers to my poll question (nearly 3,800 people answered) seem to think it doesn’t matter.

I think you can make the case that each major championship really 

The Masters is about your ability to hit approach shots from uneven lies, and you have to do it with the weight of knowing a victory gives you access to the most exclusive room in golf.

The U.S. Open tests your patience and your ability to handle difficult conditions that aren’t always fair.

The Open Championship should be about hitting shots affected by the wind, and about how the ground is an essential element of the game. Bounces might be unfair, but you also might hit a mediocre shot that works out to your benefit.

Should the PGA Championship test your ability to go as low as possible?

I would hate that for Brooks Koepka, who has won three PGA Championships in the last seven years. He thrives when conditions are tough and you have to thread a needle between chasing birdies and avoiding bogeys.

I would love it for Bryson DeChambeau, who has shown us he can shoot 58 on a day where low scores are out there. I would even listen to the case that DeChambeau understands, better than most, that golf is an entertainment product. If you want to draw in new fans, why not encourage one of the majors to feel like a turkey shoot?

Personally, I would love it if the PGA Championship had never gone away from its match play format. (It ended in 1957.) Match play is a unique skill in golf, and it would be great if we recognized its importance. But the fear of getting a final where two journeymen face each other terrifies television executives, so that’s never coming back. I suspect the PGA of America will continue to let the course and weather dictate what each PGA Championship looks like, without a ton of consistency every year. Some years, we’ll get Valhalla, and other years we’ll get a test like Southern Hills, where bogies were plentiful.

Regardless of how you feel, don’t let our (correct but smug) arguments diminish your love for Valhalla or Schauffele. If that final round made you feel something, that’s fantastic.

Subscribe

Last year when Barbie and Oppenheimer were a huge success, there was a 

ton of discourse about how movies were truly “back”

 and that those two films — plus the previous year’s success of Top Gun: Maverick — were proof that the theater experience remains an essential part of American life. All was well.

the movie industry is back in panic mode again

 after two movies (Challengers and The Fall Guy) opened to positive reviews and had A-list stars in them, yet somehow they lasted all of two weeks in the theaters before being sent down to exist in the land on-demand at-home purgatory.

I haven’t seen Challengers yet, but I did catch The Fall Guy, and it was a delightful theater experience. It was just smart enough to feel clever, and just dumb enough to feel mindlessly fun. It winked at the audience in a way that felt like you were always in on the joke, poking at Hollywood movie tropes, but it was still unique and creative enough to make you smile when the obvious beats landed. It even featured a killer action sequence set to Phil Collins’s “Against All Odds” which is something I never knew I wanted in a movie.

If it’s still hanging on at a cinema near you, I’d recommend going. If nothing else, it’s proof that Ryan Gosling remains the most charismatic man alive not named Donald Glover. I wish we could get the two of them together for a buddy cop movie.

In other movie news, I am giddy over the prospect of watching the alluring mess that is “Megalopolis,” the Francis Ford Coppola film that just debuted at Cannes. It seems likely it’s going to be Coppola’s final film, and early reviews don’t know what to make of it. New York Magazine called it a 

“miasma of magic, melodrama, corny emotionality, and gangster-movie politics

” and also said the film is “totally nuts.”

I’ve been texting with Tim Simmons and D.J. Piehowski about it and talking to Big Randy about it. I think it might be ripe for our first-ever episode of “Imperfect Club.” Sometimes debating and discussing a work of art that’s polarizing and bizarre makes for the best kind of fun. Stay tuned.

Two books have found their way onto my nightstand, and I would encourage you to check out both of them. One of them is out already, and the other comes out next week.

, available now. It’s the inside look at the Westminster dog show, and it’s a really fun and moving exploration of why humans connect so strongly with dogs. The book is really funny at times, but it’s also beautiful in many stretches.

“There Was Nothing You Could Do” by Stephen Hyden

, a book about Bruce Springsteen’s “Born In The U.S.A.” album. It comes out May 28th, and you’re likely to hear us talk about it on the TrapDraw in June. There has been a ton of ink spilled about Born To Run and Nebraska, but Hyden (my favorite music critic) tackles Springsteen’s most bombastic album and puts it into context of what it meant about the changing times and Springsteen’s place in them.

This week at Erin Hills, I finally tried the homemade chocolate chip cookie that everyone raves about, but the bratwurst in a pretzel bun that the course serves at its halfway house blew my mind even more than the cookie. It might be one of my favorite golf course menu items anywhere. The perfect blend of salty meat, spicy mustard and a bun that doesn’t getting soggy.

It also got me thinking: What’s your favorite?

I know that the Snapper Soup at Pine Valley and the burger dog at Olympic Club 

, but I haven’t been invited to play either of those two tracks yet so I’ll hold off on reviewing them. I’m curious about a few lesser-known but still excellent cuisine at your regular track. Email me with some suggestions and I’ll see if my associate, Mr. Tron Carter, will approve a tasting menu tour of the globe’s finest grill rooms.

Kevin Van Valkenburg is the Editorial Director of No Laying Up

Nest

GHIN and Tonic: Vol. 5 (KVV)

LOUISVILLE — If golf’s four majors each represented a branch on a big family tree, then the PGA Championship would definitely be that black sheep uncle that is longing to be loved.

He’s a little insecure. He tries too hard to insert himself into every conversation. He dresses funny, and parties a bit too hard on occasion. He’s never going to feel as prestigious or as respected as his siblings. That stings a little.

He’s also — as long as we’re being honest — typically a lot of fun.

The wacky uncle can be a tremendously entertaining hang, and the 2024 PGA Championship was a nice reminder of that fact. Sure, there might be an arrest, or a divorce, that needs to be explained once it’s all over. You might wake up sunburned and missing the novelty “HALLA” hat that you purchased on a dare. But you’re going to remember the experience. You’re going to tell stories about that uncle for the next decade.

It's the reason why it was the tournament where Phil Mickelson gave us one of golf’s greatest moments, winning at Kiawah at age 50. And why Michael Block resonated with so many last year at Oak Hill. The last time they played a PGA Championship in this city, Rory McIlroy won in the dark by hitting into the group ahead of him. Colin Morikawa won a PGA at Harding Park that almost no one saw live. John Daly won a PGA after driving through the night to get to his tee time. Weird stuff tends to happen in this major championship.

The record book will show that Xander Schauffele won his first major at Valhalla Golf Club, and at age 30, it represented a satisfying rebuttal to the criticism that he was fated to always come up small in big moments. He out-dueled Bryson DeChambeau and Viktor Hovland down the stretch, making a birdie on 18 that wiggled into the cup when it easily could have lipped out. He finished one stroke ahead of DeChambeau, who watched from the driving range as his dream of a potential playoff was snuffed out when the putt tumbled in. It was a memorable day, and Schauffele showed he was a deserving winner.

You can also make a decent argument that his victory was about the third (or fourth) most interesting thing that happened this week.

It’s going to be hard to explain to future generations of golf fans who didn’t live through it that Scottie Scheffler — by far the best player in the world in 2024, and also one of the most inoffensive athletes in sports — really did get arrested just outside the gates of the club on Friday. He was put in handcuffs by a Louisville police officer who insisted that Scheffler failed to heed his instructions as he inched past a crime scene in his courtesy car, and that Scheffler not only dragged the officer, Bryan Gillis, for several feet with his vehicle, the incident also scraped and bruised the officer’s wrist as well as damaged his police uniform pants beyond repair.

(The pants were valued at $80, according to notes in the police report.)

Scheffler, who won the Masters in April, was as confused as anyone about all that unfolded. One minute he was thinking about his preparation for his second round tee time, the next minute he was sitting in a downtown jail cell charged with a second-degree assault of a police officer, a felony. (He was also charged with third-degree criminal mischief, reckless driving and disregarding signals from an officer directing traffic.) Even more surreal, Scheffler was processed quickly enough that he was able to return to the course and make his second round tee time.

“I did spend some time stretching in a jail cell,” Scheffler said, in what may go down in history as one of golf’s greatest quotes. “That was a first for me.”

By Saturday, the shock seemed to have worn off, but so had the adrenaline. Scheffler shot 73, his worst round of the year, and the first time in 42 rounds he’d failed to shoot par or better. He bounced back with a 65 on Sunday, but he was too far back to contend and finished T-8.

“I think I would attribute it mostly to a bad day,” Scheffler said. “Did I feel like myself? Absolutely not. Was my warm-up the way it usually is and the distractions where they normally are? Absolutely not. But I'm not going to sit here and say that's why I went out and played a bad round of golf yesterday.”

Scheffler is scheduled to be arraigned in Jefferson County Court on Tuesday at 9 a.m. A source familiar with the prosecutor’s thinking told No Laying Up that, as of now, the office plans to drop the charges against Scheffler. Louisville mayor Craig Greenberg revealed on Saturday that officer Gillis did not have his body camera turned on during the incident. The 27-year-old Texan was serenaded throughout the week by fans chanting “Free Scottie” as he strolled the fairways.

“I think it finally hit me [on Saturday] what really happened,” Scheffler said. “But like I said, I did my best to leave that behind me and come out here and compete and do what I love, and the support I got from the fans was amazing. I think they were cheering extra loud for me this week, and I got a lot of support from the players and caddies as well. A lot of people showing their support, a lot of players telling me how much they love me and stuff like that, and like I said, I'm really grateful to have the community that we have out here.”

Scheffler’s arrest also overshadowed another surreal development that made ripples throughout the golf world: Rory McIlroy’s decision on Monday to file for divorce from his wife Erica, with whom he shares a 3-year-old daughter. McIlroy made it clear he wasn’t going to answer any questions about his private life, preferring to let his game speak for itself. He finished tied for 12th, but never truly contended after a disappointing 71 on Friday.

“I'm feeling good about my game,” McIlroy said. “I feel like things are sort of clicking more.”

With little else to share, he had even less interest in sticking around to watch the finish. After signing his scorecard, McIlroy was in a courtesy car within minutes, putting Valhalla — and the week — in his rearview mirror.

Those who did stick around saw a hell of a battle. It was like that same black sheep uncle opened a box of bootleg fireworks and started passing them around.

Hovland, who revealed on Saturday that he was so despondent about the state of his game he briefly considered skipping the PGA, looked like his old self for the 

. He shot 68-66-66-66 over four rounds, and was in the heat of contention throughout the back nine, trading birdies with DeChambeau and putting heat on Schauffele two groups behind. Hovland had a birdie putt on 18 that would have gotten him to 20-under, but missed it (and the comebacker) to put a bitter finish on an otherwise sweet performance. That left DeChambeau as the one man who still had a chance to grab onto Schauffele’s shirttail.

It would be spiritually fitting if DeChambeau captured a PGA Championship at some point, because he has reestablished himself, the last two years, as one of golf’s greatest showmen. The 30-year-old is still one of the game’s longest hitters, but this year he says he believes his time spent creating content for YouTube and TikTok has helped him recharge during weeks away from tournament golf, and that has made a huge difference. And the extra time, he feels, is only available to him because of his decision to join LIV Golf.

“As funny as it sounds, as weird as it sounds, having a lot more time back at home to work on my game, to work on content creation with my team that I have back at home allows me to plan and strategize a little bit better than what I have,” DeChambeau said.

In a moment worthy of a YouTube challenge, DeChambeau made a thrilling birdie on 16 to climb to with a shot of Schauffele after his drive ricocheted off a tree and left him with a lengthy approach from the fairway. He hit it to 3 feet.

“I said thank you to the tree,” DeChambeau said.

On 18, he muscled a shot from a fairway bunker up near the green, then got up and down for a birdie to tie Schauffele at 20-under. After the putt trickled in, DeChambeau sprung into the air with both arms extended, then pumped his fist with gleeful exuberance as he marched toward the scoring tent.

“I thought I left it short like a you-know-what,” he said. “Like an idiot.”

Was it a little corny? Of course. Was it also entertaining? Absolutely. DeChambeau continues to understand one thing many of his peers do not, that golfers are a lot more fun to watch when they don’t emote like humorless robots.

“You know, when I was younger I didn't understand what it was,” DeChambeau said. “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.”

Schauffele is DeChambeau’s polar opposite in terms of temperament. Instead of getting overly excited throughout the day, he tried to remain stoic and relaxed, even when he made a critical bogey on the 10th hole that saw his lead evaporate. The rest of the world assumed Schauffele was collapsing, and Schauffele knew he was fighting that narrative as well.

This time he responded by making back-to-back birdies.

“Someone like me has pretty much tried everything, to be completely honest, that hasn't won in two years,” Schauffele said. “You try not to look at the leaderboards until the back nine, you try not to look at them early, you try not to look at them at all. Today I looked at them. I looked at them all day. I really wanted to feel everything. I wanted to address everything that I was feeling in the moment. I thought I had the lead, so when I looked up at the board I was like, oof. I saw [Hovland] was at 19, so I was back into chasing mode.”

Schauffele is not what anyone would describe as a fan favorite on the PGA Tour. He has a sly sense of humor, but doesn’t display it often in front of the camera. He is, however, extremely well-liked amongst his peers, who have seen all the work he’s put into his game.

“This has been a long time coming,” said Justin Thomas. “I truly do not understand how he has not won more, considering how complete his game is. I’m so pumped for him. I was really nervous for him, but he works his ass off and takes it so seriously. I personally love seeing that kind of pay off. Valhalla somehow seems to have a knack for great finishes.”

When Schauffele came to the 18th tee, he knew DeChambeau had tied him at 20-under, and that he would need a birdie to win. A bogey and the narrative that he couldn’t close might dog him forever. He knew it was a moment that might define his career.

“In those moments, you can kind of feel it, and in the past when I didn't do it, it just wasn't there,” Schauffele said. “Today I could feel that it was there.”

A mediocre drive tugged to the left stopped just outside the bunker, but it left him with an awkward lie on his second shot, with the well ball above his feet.

“We were playing t-ball basically,” said his caddie Austin Kaiser.

Yet somehow Schauffele lashed at a long iron and chased it just in front of the green. A nervy-but-sufficient wedge left him with a 6-foot birdie putt. He took a long look at it, trying not to read too much break one way or the other, then willed it into the hole.

“I just kept telling myself I need to earn this. Earn this and be in the moment,” Schauffele said. “I was able to do that.”

On Saturday night of the PGA, Schauffele’s father, Stefan, texted his son one of his favorite sayings: 

Schauffele tried to keep that in mind throughout the day.

“It was in German, though,” Schauffele said. “I had to ask him what the translation was.”

That’s how it goes at the PGA Championship. Sometimes the answers come in a foreign language. Sometimes putts drip in the hole instead of lipping out. Sometimes a great time sneaks up on you when you’re least expecting it.

Putting the 2024 PGA in writing (so we believe it later)

Everyone was nervous. The players, the caddies, the fans. There was an energy in the air that day, the kind that only a Ryder Cup can produce. Thousands of Team Europe supporters had surrounded the first green, many of them dressed in vibrant costumes and donned war paint on their faces. They wanted to erupt, but for the moment it was quiet.

Everyone’s eyes were locked in on Viktor Hovland.

Ludvig Åberg had flared his approach in Europe’s foursomes match against Max Homa and Brian Harman, and now Hovland was facing the kind of short-game shot that used to cripple him. He was still carrying some mental scar tissue from his first Ryder Cup, at Whistling Straits, when he didn’t chip well and let a partisan American crowd get to him. But this was nightmare fuel. The ball was sitting on the tightest possible lie, practically on the green. If he was going to chip it or pitch it, he’d need to land the ball at the crest of a ridge and use spin to get it close to a tucked right pin.

“We’re all so nervous,” said Homa, who was standing on the other side of the green. “I’m thinking ‘We’re really gonna see this Joe Mayo stuff because he’s chipping from the first cut, and the fringe might as well be the green. It was so awkward. That’s not a golf shot you’d like to hit anywhere, let alone the first hole of the Ryder Cup.”

The safe play would be to putt it, and that’s what Hovland’s caddie, Shay Knight, suggested he do. Hovland shook him off.

“No, I’ve trained for this,” Hovland said. “I can do this.”

The chip came out low and with spin, landing right where Hovland was looking. It trundled up the ridge and then began trickling to the left. With six feet to go, Hovland started walking after it, assuming he needed to study the break for Aberg’s putt coming back. But the ball kept drifting toward the hole. 

It kissed the pin and dropped into the cup

, and the explosion of sound that accompanied Hovland’s fist pump set the tone for the entire Ryder Cup.

“F– yeah!” Hovland shouted over the roar, high-fiving Knight as he strutted after his ball.

Team Europe veterans, who felt protective of Hovland because of the way he was tormented over his short game at Whistling Straits, were beaming.

“He told us later he thought the only way he was going to hole it was to chip it,” said Tommy Fleetwood. “That shows you something. First hole of the Ryder Cup and he’s thinking ‘What’s the best way to hole this?’”

Hovland went 3-1-1 that week and was an essential cog in Europe’s decisive victory. He and Aberg made history on Saturday by beating Scottie Scheffler and Brooks Koepka by the biggest margin (9 & 7) ever in an 18-hole match, and on Sunday, he throttled Colin Morikawa in singles 4&3 to help quash any hint of an American comeback.

It felt like golf’s newest superstar had just grabbed the reins of the sport.

It’s a shame that even the best golf swing is often a fragile, imperfect thing.

Page Break

Six months have passed since Italy. Hovland is on the far end of the driving range at Augusta National, with two bags of balls near his feet. He looks miserable, even from a distance. Bryson DeChambeau was rolling putts nearby, but after a few minutes, he finished up and left the practice area. Hovland continues to pound balls. Knight, who is at Hovland’s side for every range session, drifts away at one point in search of more tees. Hovland had none left in his bag. Knight returns with a large handful, depositing them near Hovland’s feet.

A small group of fans is watching him from the bleachers. The only sound, besides the hum of leaf blowers, is Hovland’s violent cuts at the ball. After each swing, he says a few words to Dana Dahlquist, an instructor he’s recently started working with, who is standing with his arms folded across his chest a few feet away. Hovland is trying to explain what he wants his hip or his elbow to do, what his side bend might look like at impact, and where he wants his belt buckle to point. He made a hole-in-one during the Par 3 contest this morning, but the momentary joy that brought faded hours ago. Every few minutes, Hovland has to back away from the ball just as he’s poised to swing because a maintenance worker drives a cart in front of him, through the middle of the range, assuming players are done for the day.

Dahlquist’s watchful eye is a new element, but otherwise, the scene is a familiar one for Hovland in 2024. He has frequently been the last man standing on driving ranges, everywhere from Pebble to Los Angeles to Charlotte. Knight’s fellow caddies know, particularly during big tournaments, to pull together a plate of food for Knight when they’re wrapping up dinner because no one can guess how late Hovland’s practice sessions will run.

At 6 p.m., a security guard announces that the course is closed. Patrons needed to head toward the exit. That rule applies only to fans, however, not players. Hovland is just getting going. He continues launching fairway woods. Knight picks up Hovland’s launch monitor and takes it inside one of Augusta’s buildings, looking for an outlet to recharge it. They’d been at the range so long, that the battery had run down.

Hovland is still making swings an hour later when Augusta National turns on lights at the driving range. He can’t see the full flight of the ball in the air without them. The maintenance workers were wrapping up, but not Hovland. His range sessions have felt, at least this season, more like therapy sessions. By his own estimate, they have frequently hit the six or seven-hour mark.

Hovland is still pounding drivers toward the trees in the distance at 9 pm, trying to find something to feel good about, something that’s repeatable. Every time a ball drifts left, his shoulders slump. Knight goes to fetch more balls.

The following day, it looks like Hovland’s range session might have unlocked something. He makes four birdies on his opening nine holes, and surges near the top of the leaderboard. A miserable start to the 2024 season — just one Top 20 — might get washed away.

A rebuilt swing, however, is often like a stroll on a knife’s edge. On the 10th hole, Hovland sprays his approach way right, deep into the trees. He has to take an unplayable and makes a double bogey. He walks off the 10th green muttering to himself. Hovland scrapes his way around the back nine, finishing with a 71, but the frustration of the mistake seems to linger.

The following day, he bogeys the first hole, then triples the second. His drive on the 2nd hole is a nasty left pull into the woods, and when his third shot hits a tree branch, his face, his game, and his mood, seem to spiral from there. Hovland limps home, shooting an 81 (his worst score in a major) that is memorable only because he misses a six-inch bogey putt in frustration on the 15th hole, swatting at the ball with one hand after a missed par.

In recent months, Hovland has been telling people he knows he’ll work his way through this slump eventually, that he’ll find a swing feel he can trust. He’ll play good golf again, just like he did when he won the FedExCup and starred at the Ryder Cup. He’s worked through slumps before.

It’s just that right now, he feels so lost, he doesn’t see a way out.

There is no such thing as a perfect golf swing.

Ben Hogan did not have one in 1953, and Tiger Woods did not have one in 2000. They may have come close, but in golf, perfection is always fleeting. It manages to dance just beyond the grasp of its pursuer. The greatest golfers can occasionally touch it, but they never truly hold it.

Hogan and Woods both understood this. They chased perfection anyway. They would beat balls until their hands would crack and bleed, they would study their grips and their connection to the ground. They searched for secrets in the grass and the dirt, just to feel — a couple times per round — like the club and the ball had converged in perfect harmony.

Viktor Hovland may not have their golfing resumes, but he appears to be similarly wired.

He is a deep thinker and a frequent tinkerer. He craves information, and not just about golf but about science and aliens and conspiracies. When he gets curious about a subject, he likes descending down into YouTube rabbit holes in search of more. According to people who have worked closely with him, the things that make Hovland unique — that feed some of his genius — can also work against him at times.

He is manic about his work ethic, his prep, his diet, and his process. He is also, in the words of one person who knows him, one of the most stubborn people alive. On any given day, Hovland’s goal is to consume as much information as possible, then sort through what he likes, and apply it to his own game. He has been this way ever since he was a teenager growing up in Oslo, Norway.

“I just remember growing up and loving the game of golf and just started getting on YouTube and Googling stuff,” Hovland said. “I found a couple of guys that I liked, and then I started to learn what they teach, how they teach. Then that leads me to another guy, I start reading his stuff, see how that contradicts with the other guy, or maybe he has a different take on things. So it was definitely a huge process there of just trying to learn as much as possible.”

What is indisputable about Hovland is that he played some of the best golf of anyone in the world just six months ago, a season where he won three times, had two Top 10 finishes in majors, won two PGA Tour playoff events and was an essential cog in a European Ryder Cup victory.

“From the PGA to the Ryder Cup, there is no doubt in my mind he was the best player in the world,” said Joseph Mayo, Hovland’s former swing coach.

The season, however, still left him wanting.

Hovland was, even then, chasing a feeling he couldn't quite articulate. When he looked at videos of his swing from 2020 and 2021, he felt more in control of his shots. He wanted that feeling back.

“Sometimes in the game of golf you try to do the same every day, but then things aren't the same every day when you go to the golf course,” Hovland said during the week of the Masters. “I took a huge break after last year and when I came back, things were a little bit different and I had to kind of find my way back to where I think I'm going to play my best golf. And even at the end of the last year I still felt like, yeah, I was playing great, but I got a lot out of my game and it didn't necessarily feel sustainable.”

He was surprised — if he was going to be honest — that he was able to win the FedExCup. He still felt like he needed to make changes.

“That's kind of what I'm doing now,” Hovland said. “Sometimes you feel like you are making progress. I would say a little bit recently it hasn't been that satisfactory.”

Every golfer makes adjustments and tweaks to their swing throughout their career. Often, the adjustments are necessary, to compensate for injuries or how the body changes with age. Other times, it’s performance-driven, the desire to hit it farther, lower, or eliminate a troublesome miss. Occasionally, it’s aesthetic. A golfer will see their swing on video and hate the way it looks. No one tinkered as often, or as successfully, as Woods. He tore down and rebuilt the DNA of his golf swing multiple times, and had stints working with Butch Harmon, Hank Haney, Sean Foley and Chris Como during his professional career. But Woods’ successful evolution represents the exception, not the norm. Sometimes when you start messing with the sensitive dynamics of a singular golf swing, it can be difficult to put the pieces back together.

“Viktor has a tendency to go from teacher to teacher to teacher,” said Brandel Chamblee, the lead analyst for Golf Channel and NBC. “I know scores of teachers that message me saying that Viktor is asking them to help him with his golf game. Each one of those teachers thinks they’re the only teacher that he’s texting.

“The danger of going from teacher to teacher is that eventually you will stumble upon someone who will absolutely blow your mind with technical jargon, that will convince you they can solve every single problem. But it’s been my experience that more often than not, those teachers are method teachers. And they are far more interested in bending you to their method, thereby validating their method, than they are trying to get you to play your best golf through your own instincts, talent and experience. That’s the real danger. And I think that’s what’s happened to Viktor.”

To understand how Hovland could go from playing the best golf in the world to failing to break 80 at the Masters in a matter of months, it helps to understand the climb that got him to the summit of the game in the first place. The way he fell in love with golf in Oslo has been well-chronicled: his father, an engineer, had a temporary job in the United States near a driving range, and when the job in St. Louis ended, he came home with a set of golf clubs and gave them to his 4-year-old son. Eventually, his first loves, Taekwondo, soccer and skiing, faded away. Golf did not. By age 11, Hovland was obsessed. At first, the limited golf season in Norway, where courses were closed four months a year, was maddening. But it set in motion certain habits that are still apparent today.

For months at a time during the winter, Hovland could only feed his appetite for the game by hitting balls inside an old airplane hangar that had been converted into a driving range. It was the only place in the entire country where you could see the flight of the ball in the winter, although even that was limited to 80 yards off the clubface.

For someone with an intellectual mind like Hovland, hitting balls wasn’t enough. He needed to understand the golf swing, and the engineering behind it, so he went spelunking into the caves of online golf instruction. That led him to a little-known instructor working at a driving range in Hawaii named 

, and his first introduction to one of the most important theories of his life: kinematics.

Viktor Hovland Is Searching For His Old Self

Welcome to the fourth installment of GHIN & Tonic. Our hope is that this space serves as a callback to the spirit of the original writing that appeared on No Laying Up dot com: unvarnished, wide-ranging, and somewhat random, but with golf as the loose thread. Some will be more golf-heavy, some golf-light - think TrapDraw Podcast plus some golf sprinkled in. We’ll pass the ball around on these on a weekly basis and all will be personal in nature, with KVV up next week. And if you can’t figure out which sections are “GHIN” and “Tonic”, that’s on you!

Here’s what I’m monitoring in competitive golf right now:

We’ve got you covered on the PGA Championship front - if you’re yearning for predictions or discussion around Valhalla, please head to our 

 and eat your heart out. And then catch up on ESPN2 on Thursday and Friday from 11am-1pm eastern, and ESPN+ on Saturday and Sunday from 9am-11am eastern). My primary focus will be on not cussing on live tv, which takes way more willpower than it should and is probably a sign that I should clean things up across our productions. More than anything, I’m excited to talk golf and watch the best players compete in a meaningful tournament - a fleeting thing these days.

Jimmy Dunne’s letter announcing his resignation from the board

As you are aware, I have not been asked to take part in negotiations with the PIF since June 2023. During my testimony at the Senate hearing, I said it was my intention to cast my vote alongside the Player Directors if a final agreement was reached with the PIF. Since the players now outnumber the Independent Directors on the Board, and no meaningful progress has been made towards a transaction with the PIF, I feel like my vote and my role is utterly superfluous.

"With these foundational elements in place and – more specifically – with an active, focused and engaged Transaction Subcommittee, we continue to make meaningful progress behind the scenes in our negotiations toward a potential agreement with the PIF. Our goal remains to deliver the best possible outcome for the PGA TOUR, our players, partners, tournaments and fans."

Pretty interesting to see Jay continue to gaslight everyone and frame his close ally’s departure from the board as a coherent step in meaningful progress. Reading between the lines, it appears we’re approaching a true Mexican standoff and there are no good guys.

In one corner we’ve got the subset of Cantlay/Tiger/Spieth, who seem 1) intent on a domestic tour that moves forward independent of PIF deadset on barring LIV defectors; 2) appalled at what they’re seeing as they continue to look behind the curtains and get a close-up of how the tour is run (welcome to the party, guys!); 3) naively hoping that they can wait this thing out with the SSG investment in-hand and keep going with current purse sizes despite more 

, the prospect of additional defections, ratings cratering, and golf fans realizing that nothing matters outside of the majors. While I dig the distrust and hatred of Monahan and Co., it’s hard to envision a scenario where their intransigence yields a positive outcome. Rather, the most likely scenario is the tour continuing to whither away and everyone involved being poorer for it.

In the middle, you’ve got Rory (and presumably SSG/Fenway) who wants a more global tour, a way to fold things back together even if it means amnesty for guys who left and are tired of the divide in the game. But Rory is also still aligned with Jay’s cronies, which makes me distrust him to an extent. Continued support of Jay is a non-starter and the one thing that makes it feel like it could get everyone at least somewhat realigned is ridding the tour of his malignant presence and getting fresh, competent blood in there.

, but at some point, they have stakeholders and will need to side with competence and strategy over the blind Boston loyalty that has thus far superseded everything else.

In another corner, Big Jay continues to hunker down with independent directors Herlihy and Flaherty (will they follow Dunne out the door?) and Webb, Malnati, Rory’s other foot and Jay’s lieutenants and deep roster of VPs inside the Global Home. Amazing that we’re four years into this and dozens of muffed decisions into this thing and Jay’s still holding on. There are only three explanations for the series of decisions that have been made and the lack of turnover in leadership: 1) gross incompetence + a completely broken governance structure; 2) Tour leadership, with complicity from golf’s ruling class, is hiding malfeasance and a wide variety of skeletons in the closet, whether collusion with the majors, anti-competitive behavior fighting all of this off, some sort of financial fraud or sketchy tax moves, a regime that’s covered up a variety of scandals, etc. ; 3) some combination of the two. In any case, THESE are not the people who should be charged with fixing things and being creative and coming up with solutions.

My armchair analysis (read: hope) is that newly minted DP World Tour Guy Kinnings. My hope is that he and DPWT member Rory can link up, throw the “Strategic Alliance” and the various things underpinning that (PGAT investment into European Tour Productions, etc.) out the window, and partner with PIF on setting up some sort of big money events series in July/August/September that guys from any tour can play and DARE the PGA Tour to block players from playing in that. Rory and others could still play the PGA Tour (particularly from February to June) but this would provide a way forward and show how myopic and self-sabotaging the PGAT is being right now. You’re telling me that other European-based players like Hovland, Fleetwood, the Hojgaards and Ludvig wouldn’t jump at the opportunity to play those events? It’s insane that we’ve gotten to a point in this whole thing where I’m actively rooting for PIF to have a coherent stake in things, but the reality is they’re going to have a stake one way or another and if that investment yields solutions for making the game more global, less dependent upon title sponsors, more creative and nimble, and provides a path forward for reunification, then bring it on. I’m not going to sit here and lament the PGA Tour schedule potentially being trimmed to 25-30 events or for a super league sitting atop a rank-and-file Tour schedule that increasingly feels like a souped-up version of the Korn Ferry Tour, abandons wide swaths of the United States (and works aggressively to diminish the sport globally!) and hosts way too many events in Florida, Texas and California.

Burn it all down. Everyone involved deserves to get thrown out on their asses and given a scarlet letter within the golf world. This entire four year fiasco has been an embarrassment and the sports washing worked. Fly the banner, Yasir.

Speaking of burning stuff down, I’ve gotta call out this ghoulish lack of self-awareness and cynicism from NBC Sports to send this email out midway through a tournament that they were not televising on linear TV until a two-hour block of final round coverage on CNBC that the LPGA paid for. Good on Damon and Eamon’s sentiment and no issue there, it’s the jarring contrast between that sentiment and NBC/Golf Channel’s week-to-week actions, and then the lack of tact it takes to send that email out.

Continuing the NBC/GC vent session, there are some telltale events that will yield a window into their strategy over the next 6-7 weeks. Much has been made of NBC Exec Producer 

 last week at US Open Media Day at Pinehurst, but nobody pressed him on the trajectory of USWO coverage and how that will look this year. I felt last year’s efforts from Pebble were actually worthwhile and a rare #dub for our friends at the Peacock. Can they keep that up? Meanwhile, their effort on the KPMG Women’s PGA was perhaps the most abysmal I’ve seen in the last decade of covering golf: pitiful coverage windows, a lack of physical cameras, zero energy on display, a complete lack of graphics, etc. Can they work with the PGA of America to get that broadcast on track?

Additionally, Golf Channel has coverage of the men’s and women’s NCAA Championships the next few weeks from Carlsbad - will they choose to invest in what is a compelling, primetime product, or mail it in and continue to show us the breadth and depth of their cost-cutting maneuvers. We’ll see!

As you probably saw on our socials or heard on the podcast, I was fortunate to make the trip out with some of the crew to Bandon’s 25th Anniversary Celebration to reconnect with industry friends, see some of the new offerings (Shorty’s, the new 19-hole short course is a welcome addition, and I preferred it to Preserve - more to come on that front; Ghost Tree Grill is a good addition to the resort’s dining options - will highlight one offering down below). Most of the time, I’d feel sheepish digging into specific elements of a stay at a single resort, but Bandon’s become somewhat singular in the world of golf - Mike Keiser took what Sand Hills started in Nebraska and brought it to the coast and to the public, and 25 years on it sets the tone for golf travel at large. Here’s some quick hits from the trip:

Each time out there I gain a new appreciation for a different element of the resort. This time, it was Old Mac. We played that day in some truly bad weather and Old Mac is one of the rare courses that seems to shine in wind and rain, much more so than the other courses at Bandon. The width of the tee, the way it sits down in a bowl a bit detached from views of the ocean, and the windswept openness all combine for a quintessentially linked feeling. A big part of the newfound appreciation for Old Mac was the Poa Annua greens coming into their own. During previous trips, I felt the fescue greens on Old Mac were a layer of mud with small whisps of fescue interspersed. This time they were lush and gorgeous and added so much visual depth to each green site, but still firm and linksy. I love the idea of fescue, but it’s tricky in certain settings and the Poa Annua just wants to creep in. Poa isn’t without its faults, which were evident on the other courses.

As soon as we arrived at Bandon, I was inundated with messages about the state of the greens. Candidly, I’m tired of answering. It was an extraordinarily wet winter on the Oregon Coast, resulting in standing water on greens and damage to the Poa, particularly on Bandon Dunes and Pacific Dunes. Much has been made of a social media post showing No. 2 green at Bandon, but outside of that one and spots on three or four other greens, the greens at Bandon were fine. Pacific Dunes’ greens were bumpier and more inconsistent. Trails was fine and everyone said Sheep was running nicely (we didn’t play that one this trip.) Going to Bandon in late April/early May comes with the expectation that things aren’t going to be pristine, even in a normal year. Does the resort need to limit play more during the winter and early spring months? Probably. Now quit asking me about the greens.

No Laying Up

Writing

The Eye Test Manifesto

GHIN and Tonic: Vol. 5 (KVV)

Putting the 2024 PGA in writing (so we believe it later)

Viktor Hovland Is Searching For His Old Self

GHIN and Tonic: Vol. 4 (TC)

GHIN and Tonic: Vol. 3 (Neil)

GHIN and Tonic: Vol. 2 (D.J.)

Pen Pals: Scottie Scheffler & Nelly Korda

Tourist Sauce Season 9, Episode 1 Travel Guide

GHIN and Tonic: Vol. 1 (TC)

On Nelly Korda's Time

Neil's Favorite Scenes From Australia

Serenity and security: Scenes from a memorable Masters

Max Homa Winning is No Longer a Fantasy

Jordan Spieth Is Increasingly Unrecognizable

Admit It: You Missed Bryson, Too

The Real Cost

Bailey Shoemaker Will Be Back