Congratulations as Rory McIlroy got his first ever raide and it dedicated to his full details in comment
Congratulations as Rory McIlroy got his first ever raide and it dedicated to his full details in comment
There have been three dominant topics here this week in the lead-up to the PGA Championship: the tortured negotiation process between the PGA Tour and LIV Golf, diapers and divorce.
The first topic is slow-moving and boring as hell. The second two—emanating from the recent birth of Scottie Scheffler’s first child and the fresh split between Rory McIlroy and his wife—are none of our business. Except this is golf, and in no sport does the general public get up into the business of the athletes as much as this one.
In most sports, the common knowledge about relationship status tends to be directly proportional to the fame of an athlete’s significant other. We know Travis Kelce’s girlfriend because she’s 100 times more famous than he is. We knew about Tom Brady’s ex-wife because she was an international supermodel. Peyton Manning’s wife? Relatively anonymous.
We seem to have way too much information about golfers’ home live
You could say we’re snooping on them, but in truth we are invited to snoop. Encouraged, even. It’s now a made-for-TV cliche to have the winner’s family members waiting to offer hugs and kisses by the 18th green after the final Sunday putt has dropped. Being marketed as a family man can warm a sponsor’s heart. It can be good for business.
Spouses are simply part of the show in a variety of ways. The Ryder Cup is a veritable wives-and-girlfriends showcase. Social media is rife with influencer-spouses. Brooks Koepka’s wife even wound up being a freshly minted Sports Illustrated swimsuit model.
There are reasons why this happens more in golf than other sports. A lot of them. In a sport without teammates—no matter what LIV tries to sell us—spouses and kids and parents become the team. In a sport without uniforms and helmets, personal relationships with the human beings swinging the clubs are easier to imagine. In a sport where the fans are separated from the athletes by a mere rope, the connections seem more real.
The golfers tend to be conventionally sized humans. There are no 7-footers and no 300-pounders. (John Daly looks like he’s slimmed down a bit recently.)
This is also a sport that average schmucks can play, for life. The gap between the weekend hack and the world’s best is arguably wider than in any other sport, but there is an identifying element with the athletes that is a little harder to come by elsewhere.
(Maybe that’s why golf fans come out to the course dressed like they’re playing instead of spectating. Fans might wear jerseys to football games, but they don’t wear shoulder pads.)
