Golf has seldom had so much talent. But post-Tiger Woods, it still lacks an icon for the ages.
By Thomas Boswell,
Every year or two, golf has a premature coronation, a celebration of a new prince that only makes it more difficult for him to become one of the sport’s true classic kings.
As we watch the U.S. Open this week at Winged Foot, we should view the world’s top 20 players and its other big names with both appreciation and sympathy.
Many of them probably have the same talent and dedication as the greats of former ages. But golf has evolved into the sport in which it may be hardest to stay at the very top of the mountain for very long.
If you want to challenge for G.O.A.T. or even the top dozen ever, go pick an easy sport such as football, basketball, hockey or baseball. Don’t mess with golf — it’s too mean.
Documentation? Since 1975, only two men have come on the scene who won more than five major titles — Tiger Woods (15) and Nick Faldo (six). Two others have won five — Phil Mickelson and Seve Ballesteros. That only gets Mickelson and Ballesteros in a six-way tie for 14th place on the all-time majors list. Talk about a tough ladder to climb.
The crazy gap between Woods and the rest shows how great his career has been and how lucky we are that he’s still grinding to play at 44 with a bad back. But it also proves how difficult it is to boss golf around or even to dominate your flaws for more than a few years.
The current top 20 combined have won 14 major titles. The man ranked 21st — Woods — has 15.
The current elite are part of a difficult era when everybody knows all the same technical secrets of a video-dissected sport, as well as the psychological tricks of mental coaches. The edge one player has on another is either tiny or disappears after a few years because the golf swing is far harder to keep in perfect working order than a jump shot, forward pass, slap shot or slider.
[The U.S. Open finally arrives, and ruthless Winged Foot awaits]
The grind to the top wears out backs, knees, willpower, self-confidence and nervous systems.
Golfers don’t play one of those easy sports — such as football, baseball, basketball or hockey — where, once you have reached the top, it’s not unrealistic to think you can stay at that pinnacle for 10 or more years. This is golf, not one of those soft sports such as football, in which Tom Brady still starts at 43, or hoops in which LeBron James may dominate for eternity, or baseball in which Mike Trout gets a 12-year contract or hockey in which Alex Ovechkin wins his ninth goal-scoring title in his 15th season.
Okay, we’re joking — a little. But take a hard look at the golf life. And maybe find a soft spot for these guys. They know how hard it is to hold their form, against waves of fresh competition, even for a few years. This isn’t tennis, in which Roger Federer, Rafael Nadal and Novak Djokovic, all active and still at the top, can have 20, 19 and 17 major titles respectively.
It’s not easy being Nos. 1-2-3-4 in the world like Dustin Johnson, Jon Rahm, Justin Thomas, who leads this U.S. Open after a first-round 65, or Rory McIlroy, notorious for bad starts in big events, who fired a smooth 67.
[What makes Collin Morikawa a success? Ask his business school professor.]
Lush as the golf life seems, it’s a huge mental strain to be Collin Morikawa, 23, the PGA Championship winner last month. Morikawa met U.S. Open rough and shot a 76. By the third hole, he begged a 25-foot chip from greenside hay to “bite, bite!” so it wouldn’t roll off the green.
Bomber Bryson DeChambeau, ranked ninth, has not proved he’s master of his wedges or his demeanor in a major. He’s uber-analytical but so intense he can run in the red. Rahm has the game, too, but first majors are doubly tough.
Even Brooks Koepka, who seemed like the next ruler of this sport just a year ago when he finished second at the U.S. Open, now has fans worried despite four major titles. His left knee, a problem for two years, has him out for the year. That knee takes the shock and torque of every swing. Golfers and running backs hate bad knees.
Everybody here has demons, swing flaws, injuries, age or résumé voids to fret them. Johnson, 36, has one major title despite being the top player of the past decade. His opening 73, on as easy a scoring day as Winged Foot will provide, puts him eight shots back.
Thomas flourishes on normal courses, where wayward drives are followed by creative scrambling. He needs three more days of pure ball-striking to survive the U.S. Open’s ankle-chewing rough, the kind of long stuff that, in the past, has not suited his game or calm.
Even Woods and the beloved Mickelson, 50, a favorite after six U.S. Open runner-up finishes, are part of the general grinding grimacing here. Woods, rusty after playing little to protect his back, hit it like us — everywhere. His good shots produced five birdies. His bad ones went places that make us whimper, “I’m picking up. Go on without me.” His first-round card included six bogeys and a double.
Golf always has had fabulous careers in which the primes of its superstars were relatively compact. Arnold Palmer packed all seven of his majors into eight years. Ben Hogan, Tom Watson and Bobby Jones had their nine, eight and seven major wins in a span of eight years.
Are those windows getting narrower now, post-Woods, than any sport?
McIlroy was the third player, joining Nicklaus and Woods, to win four majors by age 25. But he hasn’t won a major in six years. Has he gotten in his own head?
“I walked off a little disappointed. I felt I could have [gone] lower,” he said after his 67. Then he brightened: “If you’d told me [beforehand], I’d have taken it.”
Jordan Spieth was the second-youngest player to win the Masters and second youngest to win the U.S. Open in 2015. Now he can’t keep his driver on the planet. His coach takes video of almost every practice swing as they search — year after year. Now he’s ranked 67th in the world.
Golf always has founded its popularity and cashed its checks on the deeds of its iconic players. The sport may never have had more total talent. But as Woods and Mickelson age, golf has also seldom been so ready for the next larger-than-life player to identify himself.
Climbing G.O.A.T. mountain, even part of the way, is brutal. And in no sport is that climb steeper than golf.
