ST ALBANS, ENGLAND | When the Romans ruled Britain, the second largest city, Verulamium, stood a handful of par-5s from Centurion Club, host of last week’s LIV Golf Invitational London. In 61 A.D., the city was sacked and burned on the orders of Boudica, queen of the native Brits and famous for riding into combat on a chariot.
Greg Norman had a fleet of London black cabs to take his rebel golfers into battle with golf’s hierarchy. Does that notion feel too overblown and far-fetched? At times, it didn’t. At other times, it was melancholy, confusion and even a sense of the surreal which threatened to overwhelm the idealist in a remarkable week.
It kicked off with controversy. The British press was ready for a battle, and so was Ari Fleischer, former White House press secretary in the George W. Bush administration and now coach to the LIV players ahead of the pre-tournament press conferences he also would host. In itself, of course, this was extraordinary – men normally primed to clear up any confusion over what club they hit into the second green were now fielding grenades with the pin removed.
Awkward questions about human rights were met with responses ranging from the dead-eyed through to Graeme McDowell’s long-winded explanations that, all week and even in pre-recorded material, dug enormous holes with words alone. You felt for him because at least he made the effort; you cringed because he almost always made matters significantly worse.
In earlier exchanges The Independent’s Rob Harris, on site for the Associated Press, had engaged in a shouting match with an LIV rep, asked Fleischer if he was “accepting blood money” and was initially escorted out of the building. He later explained it was sorted out quickly and he was permitted to return. It was a mere taster.
After Phil Mickelson played the first round, his post-match media duties descended into farce when The Firepit Collective’s Alan Shipnuck was removed at the behest of Mickelson’s manager. Shipnuck messaged Greg Norman, the LIV CEO, who expressed ignorance but then was revealed by CNN phone footage to have been standing behind Shipnuck all along, looking on like a shark sucking lemons.
The image buzzed around the world, an astounding moment, the perfect midway point of the week, the curtain dropped. (The Telegraph reported that LIV Golf reps later apologised to Shipnuck.)
After the interval, golf took centre stage. Traditionalists were baffled, both by the listless action and the fact that so many others were not equally confounded.
The TV production had problems for the purists. Throughout, the commentary was so one-eyed as to be absurd and so unapologetic about the $25 million prize fund as to be crass. Meanwhile, late in the first round any drama surrounding Charl Schwartzel’s eagle putt at the 18th (the moment the eventual winner hit the front) was destroyed when the on-screen scoring revealed he already had holed it. Oh, and there was no leaderboard on the website. It was almost as if they wanted folks to think that the golf itself was secondary to image and bank balances.
On Friday, Dustin Johnson and Mickelson pulled a decent gallery. They were given little to cheer by the leaden action, but were unconcerned. One man noted with a laugh: “He (Johnson) doesn’t need to play well, does he? He’s signed on for $150 million!” Is that not a problem, removing all incentive for him to play well? “I dunno, but good on him.” But if he continues to produce average golf, won’t he cease to be worth watching? “I suppose, but it’s DJ and Phil, isn’t it? You’re overthinking it, mate.”
Elsewhere, to paraphrase Winston Churchill, never in the field of sporting conflict was so much earned when watched by so few. Sparse, even non-existent, galleries are not unknown at golf tournaments, of course, but the idea that some competitors were of no interest to absolutely anyone and yet so well-rewarded prompted an existential crisis. Later, the wind picked up as I was walking up No. 18. Briefly, I wondered whom it might favour, a normal response. Quickly, I noted I didn’t care and, bereft by the action’s complete lack of soul, went in search of a cup of tea.
Outside the merchandise store, two lads from London pulled on new team caps. Had they aligned themselves already? “Bit of a joke between the two of us,” one conceded. “Ask him what team cap he’s wearing,” he added, pointing to his friend. “Crushers,” came the correct answer. The interrogation continued: “Who captains the Crushers?” “Peter Uihlein?” He was right and ahead of a competitor who was overheard being reminded of his team by a caddie on the range.
A Centurion insider ... accepted that there had been inaugural-event problems, but suggested that it would not take much for momentum to build with a return visit, a stronger field, bigger crowds and memories of the inaugural event.
On Saturday, the crowds came. They weren’t huge, but they packed the first tee and the tented village. Many were attracted by the non-conformist vibe. “I wouldn’t go to Wentworth, wouldn’t feel wanted, but this feels different,” one said. Entire family groups had been drawn not only by the free day out (finding someone who had paid was a rarity) but by the belief that all the family was catered for and also made to feel welcome. Others were rather more straightforward: “Mate, it’s like a free festival,” a man shouted down a phone. “F**k the golf!”
If the old guard were underwhelmed by the action and hullabaloo, others were emphatically not. Social-media star James Wiltshire – getting more than 10 times his usual traffic on YouTube, Instagram and TikTok – reported that stars, not events, drive the interest of modern golf fans. It didn’t concern him that the tournament lacked prestige or heritage – he doesn’t believe modern golfers care, either – because his followers have no loyalty to the PGA Tour, and they were impressed by the money on offer. It felt like a very different world to this fuddy-duddy, but do not doubt that it is one Wiltshire cares about, one he and his followers feel more attached to. I remained confused, but I also felt a little chastened.
A Centurion insider considered that the DP World Tour, in particular, has much to fear. He accepted that there had been inaugural-event problems, but suggested that it would not take much for momentum to build with a return visit, a stronger field, bigger crowds and memories of the inaugural event.
Ultimately, it was easy to snipe. Take the team element, apparently so fundamental to LIV’s future. It appears to be lacking any kind of planning, let alone detail. The rules are more or less made up from day to day, the names and graphics are absurd, the draft was toe-curling, and the sense that the players have in any sense bought into it was non-existent when they were on the course (as opposed to blathering about it for PR purposes).
And yet LIV’s bullishness cannot be underestimated. The divergence between the initial boast (that the world’s top 48 players would compete) and the delivered reality would have crippled most ventures. Utilising the notion that they are a start-up, as if they’re roasting coffee rather than golfing tradition, is a big part of what makes them tick and it helps them deal with bumps in the road. That the capital which funds the project is more or less unlimited, and therefore invalidates the cute start-up talk, is brushed under the carpet like worries about where it comes from.
At the trophy ceremony, Norman repeated words he has used before: “Trust us: This is just the beginning.”
As the golf fans left Centurion each night, they were replaced with concertgoers. Not all of the golf fans left, but the music was a big pull for folks who had realised there was a free gig on offer. The tented village and stage area were busy. The final evening star was Jessie J, whose best-known hit is “Price Tag.”
“Seems like everybody’s got a price,” she sings. “I wonder how they sleep at night.”
It felt like the week in microcosm. Her presence on stage was not a bizarre joke at the expense of the naysayers, nor was there any shame in the bemusingly apt nature of the words she sang. Old golf is facing a fight from an organisation that appeals to a new audience, which doesn’t have to fret about the bottom line, and which has an ethos that is entirely heedless of reproach.
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