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Other than the nearly 51-year-old man walking up the 18th fairway with a two-shot lead in a major championship, everything seemed pretty normal at Kiawah Island’s Ocean Course.
Phil Mickelson, Brooks Koepka and their caddies headed up the “pro’s walk” that cut through the dune grasses toward the fairway with fans in full throat chanting “Phil! Phil! Phil!” and “Lefty! Lefty! Lefty!” Behind them was an orderly column – photographers, reporters and other credentialed folks with the designated purple ribbon around their necks to allow inside-the-ropes access. When we cleared the path, we fanned out toward the rope lines.
Suddenly someone brushed past us. Then another. Then a few more … dozens more … hundreds more … thousands more – all in a dead-on sprint up the fairway. It was chaos. From rope line to rope line, a sea of bodies suddenly flooded the area. They didn’t stop for gallery marshals with “Quiet please” signs. They didn’t stop for police officers with holstered guns. They didn’t even stop for the two players still trying to decide who would win the PGA Championship.
The heady combination of alcohol, social-distancing fatigue and a historic script playing out provided the perfect storm of intoxication and exuberance two weekends ago. Security was woefully unprepared for a complete breakdown of decorum.
Colleague Ron Green Jr. and I got separated in the maelstrom. Ron tacked to the outside, somehow getting behind former NFL tight end Wesley Walls blocking through a seam around the edges to get safely behind the green. I pushed up the middle through 20 yards of compressed humanity and got in front near Mickelson and the four officers surrounding him as we watched Koepka hit his approach.
The heady combination of alcohol, social-distancing fatigue and an historic script playing out provided the perfect storm of intoxication and exuberance. Security was woefully unprepared for a complete breakdown of decorum.
Crisis averted? Nope. As soon as Koepka made contact, the mob rushed forward again – disregarding all authority or competitors’ boundaries. This time it was scary, with everyone pushing forward as one. Less concerned about claustrophobia or COVID-19, I made sure the police officers, who were trying to escort Mickelson safely through, knew that I wasn’t pushing them. My feet weren’t even on the ground.
Koepka and his tender knees endured unavoidable contact. He was justifiably not happy about it. Mickelson himself called it “unnerving” as he still had a tournament to finish off. A bogey-birdie combo – which these two traded five times in the first 10 holes – could force a playoff.
I participated in goal-post teardowns in college. I survived the Duke student body splintering the press table while storming the court in Cameron Indoor Stadium when Trajan Langdon and the Blue Devils snapped a seven-game losing streak to hated rival North Carolina in 1997. I hustled to get in front of marshals allowing a more orderly crowd to race in behind Jack Nicklaus playing his final major hole at St. Andrews in 2005. I watched Tiger Woods and Rory McIlroy walk briskly ahead of a similar breakdown at East Lake a few years ago.
All of those had something in common – they had no impact on the competition. Other than the famous Stanford band incident, fans storming the field usually wait for an outcome to be determined first.
What happened at Kiawah – while undeniably cool in its spontaneous enthusiasm – crossed more than just the rope lines. It didn’t just threaten the health and safety of the players and the people who were supposed to be there. It threatened the integrity of the results. The PGA of America apologized to the players for losing control.
Sure, it seemed like harmless fun on TV and added to the drama of what Mickelson eventually accomplished. But I promise you, it wasn’t fun or harmless when you were in the middle of it. If that were to happen again at a lubricated and super-charged partisan event like the Ryder Cup at Whistling Straits, the outcome might not be so charming.
E-MAIL SCOTT
Scott Michaux