College Football: Big Money, Big Troubles

College football programs could spend $200 million in buyouts. Spare us the money moaning.

If you watched college football on Saturday, you saw yet another set of misleading political ads urging you to call your local congressman and tell them to SAVE COLLEGE SPORTS! The latest ones give the impression that women’s and Olympic sports are in trouble because having to pay athletes a salary is going to bankrupt their schools.

On Sunday, Penn State announced it has fired 12th-year coach James Franklin, for whom they now owe a roughly $45 million buyout.

These schools aren’t broke. They’re just wildly irresponsible spenders.

And if they find a private equity firm to come rushing to their rescue, as the Big Ten is actively seeking, they’ll just find a way to light that money on fire, too.

We’re only halfway through the 2025 regular season, and it’s clear we’re headed to a full-on coaching carousel bloodletting. Stanford (Troy Taylor), UCLA (DeShaun Foster), Virginia Tech (Brent Pry), Oklahoma State (Mike Gundy), Arkansas (Sam Pittman), Oregon State (Trent Bray) and now Penn State have already sent their guys packing, and the likes of Florida (Billy Napier), Wisconsin (Luke Fickell) and several more will likely come.

By year’s end, the combined cost of those buyouts could well exceed $200 million. Let that sink in for a second. Supposed institutions of “higher learning” have managed to negotiate themselves into paying $200 million to people who will no longer be working for them.

Just how much is $200 million? Well, for one thing, it’s enough to pay for the scholarships of roughly 5,000 women’s and Olympic sports athletes.

You may be asking yourself: How do schools keep entering into these ridiculous, one-sided coaching contracts that cost more than the House settlement salary cap ($20.5 million) to extricate themselves from?

Well, consider the dynamics at play in those negotiations.

On one side of the table, we have an athletics director who spends 95 percent of their time on things like fundraising, marketing, facilities, answering fan emails about the long lines of concession stands, and so on. Once every four or five years, if that, they have to hire or renew a highly paid football coach, often in the span of 24 to 48 hours.

And on the other side, we have Jimmy Sexton. Or Trace Armstrong. Or another super-agent whose sole job is to negotiate lucrative coaching contracts. It’s a bigger mismatch than Penn State-UCLA … uh, Penn State-Northwestern … uh … you know what I mean.

Franklin’s extremely one-sided contract is a perfect example. (...)

Coaching salaries have been going up and up for decades, of course, but that 2021-22 cycle reached new heights in absurdity. In addition to Franklin’s windfall, USC gave Oklahoma’s Riley a 10-year, $110 million contract, and LSU gave Brian Kelly a 10-year, $95 million deal; and the most insane of all, Michigan State’s 10-year, $75 million deal for the since-fired Mel Tucker.

As of today, none of the four schools has gotten the return they were seeking. (...)

Now, according to USA Today’s coaching salary database published last week, none of the 30 highest-paid coaches in the country have a buyout of less than $20 million.

In the past, we might have just rolled our eyes, proclaimed, “You idiots!” and moved on. But the current college sports climate all but demands that there needs to be more accountability of the people making these deals.

by Stewart Mandel, The Athletic | Read more:
Image: Alex Slitz/Getty

[ed. I don't follow college football much, but from what I do pick up it seems like the transfer portal, NIL, legitimized sports gambling, conference reorganizations, big media money, and who knows what else have really had an overall negative effect on the sport, resulting in an ugly mercenary ethic that's now common. See also: College football is absolutely unhinged right now. It’s exactly why we love it; and, Bill Belichick pledged an NFL approach at North Carolina. Program insiders call it dysfunctional (The Athletic). 

Then there's this: College football’s ‘shirtless dudes’ trend is all the rage. And could be curing male loneliness? Can't see the connection but imagine women sure as hell won't be sitting anywhere near these guys. Don't think that's going to help with the loneliness problem.]  

The Team That Makes Mariners Games More Fun

Inside the Mariners control room at T-Mobile Park on Friday afternoon, more than a dozen staff members operating cameras, video screens and soundboards were united by a single mission: Craft a unique, rallying gameday experience with the M’s backed against a wall.

The Mariners and their fans needed a comeback. After losing Games 3 and 4 of the American League Championship Series in Seattle this week, the chance to clinch a first-ever World Series berth at T-Mobile Park had slipped away. Now, headed into Game 5 against the Toronto Blue Jays, the control room was preparing for the last guaranteed baseball game in the Emerald City this season.

(The ALCS heads back to Ontario to finish out the series on Sunday for Game 6 and Monday for a winner-take-all Game 7, if necessary.) [ed. Necessary. Tonight's the night!]

So how do you get a sellout crowd of M’s fans onto their feet and cheering like there’s no tomorrow? And how do you keep folks excited and smiling for nine innings (or more) when the games can be so stressful that smartwatches send out cardio warnings?

“Ultimately it’s just knowing the fans, knowing the team and knowing your content,” said Nicholas Sybouts, coordinator of game entertainment for the Mariners.

Three hours before first pitch on Friday, Sybouts and Tyler Thompson, the Mariners’ director of game entertainment and experiential marketing, were poring over a thick stack of papers that detailed the schedule for the game. Not the baseball itself, mind you. Each minute of the game off the field is carefully orchestrated, from the ceremonial first pitch to the team’s famous salmon run and late-game rally videos.

Thompson said well-timed rally videos — featuring everything from breathing exercises to sea shanties and the fan-favorite Windows desktop crash screen — have been winning strategies for reviving the crowd this season at T-Mobile Park. A good idea can come from anywhere, Sybouts said. He and Thompson create a storyboard for each video before sending it to a team of motion graphic animators to bring the idea to life.

The team creates so many ideas, in fact, that they have filled up an entire binder that’s divided into subgroups that reflect the tone of the game.

“You don’t want to play a cute otter video when the team is down,” Sybouts said.

 

Half of the entries are highlighted green, which means they were added for the postseason. Control room operators Edward Cunningham and Zachary McHugh are in charge of queuing up each video onto the ballpark’s enormous video board.

“We’ve been rolling out some new ones,” Cunningham said. One of them, dubbed the “horror rally,” quotes a sound bite from the Texas Rangers broadcast booth, which called T-Mobile Park “a nightmare” for opposing teams.

Running the scoreboard is no walk in the park. The team reacts in real time and efficiently communicates with each other to line up videos that fit the tone of any given moment in a game.

“In baseball, anything can happen,” Cunningham said. “So, it kind of keeps us on our toes a lot.”

Throughout a season, about 2.5 million fans come through the ballpark, Sybouts said. Being able to serve sold-out crowds during the postseason has been special, said Sybouts, who was born in Yakima and is a lifelong Mariners fan.

“People are doing so much to be here,” he said. “They’re finding tickets, they’re taking time off work. So many people’s lives are invested in Mariners baseball right now, and it means the world that we could help create unforgettable experiences for them.” 

by Nicole Pasia, Seattle Times | Read more:
Images: Ivy Ceballo

[ed. Historic night tonight. Go Ms! Update: Not to be, unfortunately... oh well, still a great, great season, just two runs short. Toronto now gets to face this guy: Shohei Ohtani just played the greatest game in baseball history (WSJ):]

This is Beethoven at a piano. This is Shakespeare with a quill. This is Michael Jordan in the Finals. This is Tiger Woods in Sunday red.

This is too good to be true with no reason to doubt it. This is the beginning of every baseball conversation and the end of the debate: Shohei Ohtani is the best baseball player who has ever played the game, the most talented hitter and pitcher of an era in which data and nutrition have made an everyman’s sport a game for superhumans. And Friday night, when he helped his Los Angeles Dodgers win the pennant with a 5-1 victory over the Milwaukee Brewers in Game 4 of the National League Championship Series, was his Mona Lisa.

[ed. See also: Words (and Stats) Struggle to Capture Shohei Ohtani’s GOAT Game (Ringer).]

For one night, we marveled anew at perhaps the most impressive player in baseball history, as he produced perhaps the most impressive postseason game in baseball history. And for one night, Ohtani seemed less like a means to the Dodgers’ success than the Dodgers seemed like a means to Ohtani’s.

Cameras Capture Every Fan’s Reaction

As Jorge Polanco hit his second home run Sunday night, a row of fans in Section 211 quickly unveiled a five-person-long Mariners flag. Meanwhile, in Section 120, a fan in a white Julio Rodriguez jersey tried to high-five everyone in the row behind him. And in Section 308, a once-full beverage cup appeared to soar when someone lost their grip amid the excitement.

The reactions were all captured by a multicamera system that photographs every fan at T-Mobile Park during big moments, like Polanco’s home run, or smaller moments, like the Hydro Challenge.

If you were at a Mariners home game this season, you can see what you looked like and then download dozens of those free images, as a ball went out of the park, hot dogs from heaven parachuted from the upper deck or everyone sang along during the Seventh Inning Stretch. And if you’re at Friday’s Game 5 against the Detroit Tigers in T-Mobile Park, remember to smile — you’re on camera.

The camera system belongs to Momento, a Chicago-based company that also photographs fans at Seattle Seahawks and Seattle Kraken games, among other professional teams.

The Mariners’ partnership with Momento started last year, but its popularity has surged with the baseball team winning its first American League West title since 2001. More than 22,000 images have been downloaded from the Mariners’ first two ALDS games alone, according to founder and CEO Austin Fletcher, compared with an average of 1,000 downloads per game during the regular season.

“With the excitement of the Mariners’ postseason, I think it really just helps teams connect with their fans in a really authentic way,” Fletcher said.

To view images, users go to a website run by Momento, choose the team and specific game, then input their section, row and seat. After submitting a name, contact information and birth date — not for verification, but for analytics that go to the Mariners — a fan can see photos of themselves and the people around them in different formats: just the image, one that looks like a ticket with their seat number or a GIF of multiple photos showing movement.

The photos are labeled by moments from the game — Sunday’s game had crowd images from Polanco’s two home runs, Rodriguez’s double and the moment the Mariners won.

Momento installs 10 cameras in each sports venue that are synced to take photos when a worker presses a button. For T-Mobile Park, Momento enters all 47,000-plus seats to connect them with the correct images and within minutes, fans can view photos. The Mariners still want to capture fan reactions even in losses or games without big plays, said JT Newton, the Mariners corporate partnership team’s manager of operations and development.

“Even if there maybe wasn’t a home run that day, that doesn’t mean that you still don’t want to relive being with your family at the ballpark,” Newton said.

Along with the fan experience, what do the Mariners get out of it? More information about you. As Momento put it in a 2024 news release, the crowd analytics help teams “better understand their fan base,” enabling them to “engage with their audience in unprecedented ways by pioneering personalized marketing campaigns tailored to individual fans through their unforgettable experiences.”

Reliving moments may be jarring for some fans who didn’t realize they were being recorded, particularly those in higher-up sections that don’t get the same camera time as the ones behind home plate. A fan can look up their seats, but in theory, so can a detective; a concerned friend trying to monitor someone’s beer and hot dog intake; or a suspicious ex who found a discarded ticket stub...

A Major League Baseball ticket’s terms of use agreement includes a paragraph giving MLB organizations, as well as some sponsors and other partners, unrestricted rights to the ticket holder’s image in any live or recorded broadcast or other media taken in connection with the event.

In simpler terms: Once you swipe your ticket, the Mariners can use your image however they want.

“In today’s world, fans are pretty aware that at a public space you could show up on a TV broadcast or on the jumbotron,” Fletcher said. “I think it’s just something that’s expected.”

Momento does honor opt-out requests if fans don’t want to have their images shown, Fletcher added. Users can submit requests on Momento’s website, and an employee will remove the seat from appearing. (...)

The company now works with 10 professional teams and earns money through team agreements, sponsorships and, for some events, physical products like framed photos, according to Fletcher, who credits Seattle’s teams, and their fandoms, with their growth.

by Paige Cornwell, Seattle Times |  Read more:

Image: Momento

[ed. Seriously invasive, and creepy.]

Seattle Mariners and Humpy the Salmon Win in Game 5

Humpy the Mariners mascot finally wins.
via:

Image: The Haywain Triptych (detail, flipped), by Hieronymus Bosch, 1516
[ed. Insane, what a nail-biter. See also: Did the Mariners finally win ALDS Game 5 because of Humpy the Salmon?; and, Why there was no way the Mariners were losing historic 15-inning ALDS Game 5 (ST).]

Dump Here!

‘Dump Here’ fan who caught Cal Raleigh’s HR ball ‘in shock’ over lucky grab.

DETROIT — Everything bounced just right for the Mariners on Tuesday night.

For their luckiest fan, too.

Jameson Turner, decked out in a custom-designed teal T-shirt, the only Mariners fan amid a sea of Tigers fans in the front row of the left-field stands, leaned over the fence, extended his glove and, after one bounce, caught Cal Raleigh’s home-run ball in the ninth inning of Seattle’s 8-4 victory in Game 3 of the American League Division Series.

It was the 61st home run Raleigh has hit during his record-breaking year and — my, oh, my — he hit it right to the Mariners fan wearing a shirt with DUMP 61 HERE in glittery block letters on the front.

Dart throwers couldn’t dream of hitting a more perfect bull’s eye.

“What are the odds?” Raleigh, the Big Dumper, said later.

Mariners team officials introduced themselves to Turner and invited him to meet Raleigh after the game. (...)

“This is just overwhelming,” Turner said.

Turner has lived in Las Vegas for the last 25 years, but he was born in Longview and attended Auburn High School and (obviously) is a die-hard M’s fan.

He made the “61” shirt last week and attended the Mariners’ final regular-season home game, sitting in right field and hoping to catch Raleigh’s 61st.

No such luck.

He didn’t give up.

“I decided to fly out (to Detroit) to see if I could give it one more shot, and it’s unbelievable,” he said.

He said he made a prediction to the woman next to him in the left-field stands.

“I told the lady next to me: ‘OK, this is my shot. He’s going to hit me a home run right now,’” he said. “And it landed in the bullpen and bounced right up to me. I’m still in shock.”

He said he had waved to Raleigh before the ninth-inning at-bat.

“Maybe he saw me,” he said with a laugh. “(That’s) Babe Ruth over there.”

Mariners relief pitchers in the bullpen reacted just as excitedly for Turner’s catch as they did Raleigh’s home run.

“That was so freaking cool,” bullpen catcher Justin Novak said. “One of the craziest things I’ve ever seen.”

Mariners general manager Justin Hollander, exiting the clubhouse just after Turner’s interview session wrapped, spotted the Mariners’ newest most famous fan and immediately got his attention.

“I have to get a picture with our MVP of the night,” Hollander said.

Soon after, Raleigh emerged from the clubhouse. He posed with Turner for pictures and presented Turner with one of his custom bats.

“Jameson, Thanks for cheering us on & catching 61!” Raleigh wrote on the bat.

Late Tuesday, Turner changed his flight schedule and secured a ticket from Mariners officials for Wednesday’s Game 4.

He already has a new shirt ready to go: DUMP 62 HERE.

by Adam Jude, Seattle Times |  Read more (with video):

Image: Mike Vorel/Seattle Mariners/X

[ed. Sometimes life works out. Really well. Go Ms!:]

***

At 8 p.m. Sunday, Beastie Boys’ “Fight For Your Right (to Party!)” played while fans paraded out of T-Mobile Park. After the Mariners’ first home playoff win since 2001, the party spilled onto Royal Brougham Way, where strangers high-fived and held each other, a mosh of happy maniacs dancing around a drummer. One scaled a streetlight to document a concert some swore would never come.

Fourteen hours later, that energy extended to gate C9 at Sea-Tac Airport, before a direct flight to Detroit. A DJ spun records while the Mariner Moose took selfies with teal-clad travelers. There were sugar cookies featuring the team’s logo, tiny plastic tridents and big, blue balloons. There was Julio Rodríguez’s father, Julio Sr., dancing with his family, a Mariner merengue.

You better believe the party traveled to Detroit.

After a 2-hour, 53-minute rain delay, the Mariners moshed all over the Tigers Tuesday. They rained eight hits and three homers in an 8-4 win, and Logan Gilbert spun six one-run innings. They drained the decibels from 41,525 deflated, rain-drenched fans. ~ Mariners’ make a statement in ALDS Game 3 win (ST)

CLA - The Revolutionary New Coaching Method

Victor Wembanyama is doing something wrong.

The 7-foot-4 unicorn, still in the early stages of rewriting how basketball is played, just made a move few in the world can. But it’s the antithesis of why he’s in a quiet Los Angeles gym with San Antonio Spurs teammate Harrison Barnes and his skill trainer, Noah LaRoche. In a summer of new adventures, ranging from kung fu training at a Shaolin temple in China to bicycle kicks on a soccer pitch in Japan, Wembanyama wanted to try one more novel thing.

Six years earlier, Barnes came to a similar conclusion. A former No. 1 recruit out of high school, Barnes had just joined his third NBA team and wanted to evolve as a player. Barnes asked his friend Joe Boylan, an experienced NBA assistant coach, to recommend a skills trainer for his summer workouts.

Boylan gave him LaRoche’s number and a message: Trust his unconventional methods.

Now, it is time for Wembanyama to understand what that means.

“Victor wanted to come out to L.A. to train for the summer,” Barnes said, “and I wanted (him) to see what I do.”

They are participating in a three-on-three drill to push the players to make optimal reads each time they touch the ball. Things are going smoothly until Wembanyama does a vast Euro step through traffic to score.

Before anyone can marvel at the bucket, LaRoche calls practice to a halt. He waves Wembanyama over to the courtside video monitor. What looks like a basket that few players in the world can score is actually a problem.

“What did you see here?” LaRoche asked the former NBA Rookie of the Year.

In LaRoche’s gym, nothing can be predetermined. It’s all about making the best decision in that specific situation, not perfecting a single move.

As Wembanyama peered at the video, he immediately noticed something that had eluded him in the moment. In this scenario, there was more space for him to attack in a different direction. He knew exactly how he would react next time.

“My body is starting to understand these movements,” Wembanyama told LaRoche after watching the video.

It was Wembanyama’s first step toward understanding a new perspective on the game he has a chance to conquer. He was learning about three letters that the current Premier League champions (Liverpool), the World Series winners (Los Angeles Dodgers), the last two NBA champions (Oklahoma City Thunder and Boston Celtics) and many other teams across professional sports have already, to certain degrees, incorporated into their organizations.

C-L-A.

The CLA, which stands for Constraints-Led Approach, is a learning method that has made its way from academia to the mainstream, drawing from innovative research in psychology and neuroscience. It replaces traditional block training, where an athlete learns a single movement pattern step-by-step, with game-like situations that feature special rules, forcing them to adapt their moves on the fly. It’s founded on the principle that training perfectly yields imperfect results.

“It changed my career,” said Los Angeles Sparks guard Kelsey Plum, a four-time WNBA All-Star and two-time champion. “Before, I was very skilled. But I don’t think I was ever very purposeful.”

The CLA takes the ground-up approach of block training, which eliminates the infinite variables that affect athletes in the heat of competition, and flips it on its head.

That means putting players into scenarios with different limitations called “constraints” to simulate the unpredictable environment of an actual game. Whether it’s the number of steps they can take, the area of the playing surface from which they are allowed to maneuver or even the weight of the ball they are using, players are repeatedly told to overcome restrictions to accomplish a task. While painstakingly working through mistakes, they are forced to find advantageous opportunities, “affordances” in CLA parlance.

From pool noodles to a game known as “murderball,” coaches around the world are finding ways to put their players in a sea of constraints and guide them on how to work their way back to shore.

By forcing a player to deal with variables that are impossible to predict, the CLA teaches them to execute under duress rather than flawlessly in a vacuum. If a coach can get a player to work through failure and creatively solve problems, the thought goes, practice becomes more complex than the actual games.

“It’s creating different atmospheres and a culture that the toughest part of your day in player development is the practice,” said Los Angeles Dodgers general manager Brandon Gomes, whose team is one of the strongest purveyors of the CLA in American sports. “Blocked practice has been shown to have a purpose, but once you get into the elite levels of talent, facing this type of stuff every day, then it’s not as effective. There’s a balancing of confidence pregame and then making sure you’re challenging yourself so that you’re up to the task of facing (Pirates pitcher) Paul Skenes, or whoever.” (...)

The CLA evolved from the study of ecological dynamics, a framework that integrates psychology and neurobiology to examine the relationship between how the brain and body interact to perceive and navigate our environment. It focuses on perception-action coupling, the feedback loop by which your brain processes sensory information and your body coordinates sequences of actions to create motion. It’s a continuous partnership between more than just the brain’s visual system and the body, but also involving touch, hearing, and proprioception — the body’s sixth sense of position and movement.

The latest research in ecological dynamics suggests our brain does not store a specific script of a given movement pattern. Instead, the brain and body work in tandem, using perception-action coupling to develop precise and flexible movements constantly.

Everything is a read, all the time, for all of us.

by Jared Weiss and Fabian Ardaya, The Athletic | Read more:

Image: Demetrius Robinson/The Athletic; top photos: Chris Coduto, Andy Lyons, Luke Hales/Getty Images; David Richard/Imagn Images

[ed. See also: Steph Curry's Secrets to Success: Brain Training, Float Tanks and Strobe Goggles (BR).]

Crossing the Line

FARMINGDALE, N.Y. — The backstroke was aborted as a “F*** YOU RORY” arose from the right side of the fourth green. Shane Lowry came over to comfort Rory McIlroy, who had walked away from his ball after the shout, shaking his head in dazed resignation that the Ryder Cup had come to this. Lowry whispered some encouragement while McIlroy composed himself and returned to his eagle attempt, but the jeers resumed before his ball had even begun its journey toward the cup. When the putt missed, the hostile shouts transformed into mocking cheers. McIlroy continued shaking his head, every gesture suggesting a man who desperately wanted to be anywhere else. 

Moments later, Lowry sank his own eagle putt from distance, pointing toward a pocket of European supporters while appearing to direct choice words back at the American hecklers. McIlroy sought out the match referee and a marshal, frustrated by their apparent indifference to the abuse being hurled his direction. What made the scene shocking was not its divergence from what golf is, but that it had become the status quo for what McIlroy suffered throughout Saturday afternoon. (...)

At the first fairway, McIlroy stood over his approach shot as a wall of boos cascaded from the grandstands during his practice swings. American assistant captain Webb Simpson frantically gestured for silence, but his pleas fell on deaf ears. McIlroy's pitch had barely left the clubface before the verbal assault resumed with renewed venom. He walked toward the green to mark his ball, taunts erupted from spectators lining Round Swamp Road. "Choker!" they screamed in unison. "Remember Pinehurst!" The grandstands flanking the green transformed into a countdown timer, fans bellowing numbers as McIlroy deliberated over his birdie putt. "You're taking too damn long!" one roared, attempting to weaponize their own impatience. When McIlroy's attempt slid past the cup, the cheers exploded into slurs: "Leprechaun!" "Overrated!" “Take out the Irish trash!”

The fourth hole has been a break in the crowds all week, with fans typically gravitating toward the clubhouse and closing holes instead. But Saturday afternoon brought exploration, and with it, more hostility. McIlroy crushed his drive down the fairway only to receive a "F*** you, little man!" in return off the tee. The mathematics were something: By this reporter's count, 30-something f-bombs had been hurled at McIlroy in the first four holes alone. The tallies for "You suck" and "Pinehurst" references became impossible to track. (...)

These scenes shouldn't have surprised anyone. New York golf tournaments have long been breeding grounds for fan disturbances, and Bethpage carries its own notorious reputation. The European team had arrived prepared, boasting about VR headset training sessions designed to simulate crowd hostility. They claimed to be ready for the worst. But no simulation could replicate the toxic alchemy at work here: alcohol mixed with entitlement, rudeness fused with xenophobia.

by Joel Beall, Golf Digest | Read more:
Image: Vaughn Ridley
[ed. Pride and support are one thing, but crudeness and jingoism are everywhere these days, and not just in sports. Shows how classless a lot of this country has become. Update: USA loses 15 - 13: US fan ugliness at the Ryder Cup was merely a reflection of Trump’s all-caps America (Guardian):]

***

By the time Europe finished the job, finally, on Sunday, the golf had the last word. But, until the thrilling denouement, the lasting memory of this Ryder Cup threatened not to be a single swing of the club so much as the ugly backdrop: galleries that drifted from partisan into venomous and the organizers who let the line slide until it snapped. (...)

There’s a difference between atmosphere and interference, and Bethpage spent too much of the weekend blurring the two. Boos during practice swings and the sing-song “YEW-ESS-AY! YEW-ESS-AY!” after a European miss were tiresome, but survivable. What crept in on Saturday was different: insults aimed at players’ wives, homophobic slurs, cheap shots at McIlroy’s nationality dripping with tiresome stereotypes, gleeful reminders of Pinehurst the moment McIlroy crouched over anything inside five feet.

Europe answered with performance. So much for home advantage: for two years the Bethpage sales pitch was the snarling, uniquely American cauldron that would rattle Europe. Message received, but the idiots took it literally. Add the optics of Donald Trump’s fly-in on Friday – fist bumps, photo-ops, galleries dotted with Maga hats and a certain politics of humiliation playing to its base – and the swagger slid easily into license. That doesn’t make the Ryder Cup a referendum. It does explain how quickly the rope line starts to feel like a boundary you’re invited to test. (...)

But treating Bethpage as a one-off misses the larger point. What happened here didn’t invent the tone of American life so much as reflect what’s been an incremental breakdown in public behavior. The country now lives in all-caps, from school-board meetings that sound like street rallies and comment sections that have spilled into the street. The algorithm bankrolls outrage, the put-down is political vernacular and the culture applauds “saying the quiet part out loud”. In 2025 you can say almost anything in public and be cheered for it (unless you’re Jimmy Kimmel). Put a rope line and a microphone in front of that mix and you get exactly what you got at the Ryder Cup: people testing boundaries not because the moment needs them to, but because they’ve been told volume is virtue. Some might argue golf, in the US particularly, has always been a sport for white conservatives, but it’s hard to remember galleries calling opposing players “faggots” and openly deriding their wives until recently. What could have changed?

***

and this: Rory McIlroy endured hell at Bethpage—and came out the other side a deserving winner

No player in modern Ryder Cup history endured the relentless, systematic dehumanization McIlroy faced on Saturday. It was one of the most shameful spectacles this event has seen—a sustained campaign of cruelty that should embarrass every golf fan and American. For five hours, they questioned his manhood, recited the lowest moments of his career, screamed personal rumors as truth. Every five minutes brought fresh torrents of F-bombs hurled like grenades. They bellowed and booed as he lined up shots, sometimes even mid-swing, violating the gallery code. Every Ryder Cup spawns its share of knuckle-dragging behavior, but never has the abuse been this thunderous, this universal, this unrelenting.

And the fans weren't even acting alone. A first-tee emcee weaponized the crowd, imploring them to chant "**** YOU RORY!" like some deranged cult leader. Volunteers and rules officials stood by with indifference, deaf to McIlroy's pleas for decency, allowing the circus to spiral. For a guy who has always treated the Ryder Cup as sacred, he spent Saturday afternoon looking like a prisoner of war—bewildered by how the event he cherished had morphed into public execution, devastated that a country where he’s lived would savage him so completely.

Gone in 2.5 Pitches: The Fleeting Life of a Baseball in Modern MLB

For pitchers, it was once like a $100 bill floating from the sky and landing in the palm of their hand. They would get a ball from the catcher, look it over, and there it was: a scuff mark. They didn’t put it there, but they sure knew what to do with it. It was found money, a supercharged sinker.

“We were watching the Ryne Sandberg game the other day,” said Kansas City Royals pitcher Seth Lugo, referring to a replay of a 1984 broadcast from Wrigley Field. “Sinkers in the dirt, foul balls, the umpire gives ’em to the catcher and they’re throwing ’em back to the pitcher. It wasn’t that long ago. No wonder they all had great sinkers — all the balls were scuffed!”

If Lugo gets a ball with a mark on it, he said, he’ll try to use it as long as he can. But the baseball gods almost never bestow such a gift anymore. As soon as a ball touches dirt, it’s tossed out of play before the next pitch.

It’s got to be a rule, right? To root out the trickery that crafty pitchers once mastered?

“No, no, it’s not automatic,” said Marvin Hudson, an MLB umpire since 1998. “If it hits the dirt, catchers will throw it out quicker than I would. If they hand it back to me, I look at it, and if it’s not scuffed, I’ll wipe it off and keep it in my ball bag. But players are a lot different than they were back when I first came in, as far as what type of ball they want. It’s kind of comical, to be honest with you.”

Watch a ballgame today — really watch it — and you’ll be amazed at how often the pitchers, catchers and umpires change the ball. Just how many does it take to get through a game? It’s like trying to guess how many jelly beans are in a jar. You can’t tell on TV, because the ball isn’t always on the screen. And you can’t tell in person unless you commit to looking solely at the ball the entire time.

So that’s what I did. Twice this summer — on July 22 in Philadelphia and August 11 in the Bronx — I tracked the fate of every baseball used in the game. (...)

Both of the games were fairly ordinary: The Phillies beat the Red Sox, 4-1, and the Yankees beat the Minnesota Twins, 6-2. They were both night games, outdoors on grass, with no precipitation. Eleven pitchers combined to throw 508 pitches — 249 in Philly, 259 in New York — while using 202 different baseballs.

That comes out to 2.51 pitches per ball, right in line with MLB’s official data from the last few seasons: 2.60 in 2023, 2.52 in 2024 and 2.44 this season through August 20th.

Pitchers tend to know this without being told. Ask a pitcher to guess the lifespan of a baseball, and he’ll almost always nail the answer.

“I’d say the average life expectancy is less than three (pitches), slightly above two — and it didn’t used to be like that,” said Boston’s Liam Hendriks, 36, who started his pro career in the Gulf Coast League in 2007.

“We had a couple dozen balls for a GCL game. Any time a ball was in play and it was fielded, you’d use that ball unless you asked for a new one. And if you were a starting pitcher that wasn’t pitching that day, you had to chase down the foul balls.”

Things were similarly loose in the college game. Milwaukee Brewers manager Pat Murphy, who spent 22 years coaching Notre Dame and Arizona State through 2009, said umpires very rarely changed out the balls.

“I’d stick a road apple in there when the guy asked for balls — you did that sometimes, slip in an old BP ball just for fun,” Murphy said. “You knew the budgets were always tight. A big slice on the ball, they’d change it out. Other than that, no way.”

For decades, this is how it was in the major leagues, too. Oversight of the game’s foundational object was not a priority.

“When Don Mincher was our first baseman, if I had a guy up like Bubba Phillips, who was a notorious first-ball hitter, they’d throw the ball around the infield and Minch would come over to the mound and I’d say, ‘Give me the infield ball,’” said Hall of Famer Jim Kaat, who pitched from 1959 to 1983. “I’d give him the game ball and he’d throw it in the dugout. So the first ball I threw was the infield ball with all the grass stains on it.”

Coaches from that era would pass down the dark arts to the next generation. Mel Stottlemyre, a contemporary of Kaat’s, had pitched with Whitey Ford for the Yankees. Ford loved using scratched baseballs – he would apply it himself with a specially designed ring, or have the catcher, Elston Howard, subtly drag the ball across a metal buckle on his shin guards.

“Whitey was a master, and Mel was a master, too,” said David Cone, who pitched on staffs coached by Stottlemyre with the Mets and Yankees. “The trick he taught me was to keep the ball in your hand when you go down and grab the rosin bag, then touch the ball to the ground and you get a little dirt on it. You’d have a little sweat on the ball so the dirt would stick. He could make the ball dance and sink naturally with just a couple of pebbles of dirt.”

Cone, who pitched from 1986 to 2003, learned the perils of this about halfway through his career. One afternoon in 1995, pitching for the Toronto Blue Jays in Oakland, Cone got a ball with a scuff in the perfect spot: the middle of the leather, on the wide opening between the seams of the horseshoe.

He put the scuff on the left side and gripped it like a sinker, knowing the ball’s right side — now heavier than the left — would naturally shift away from the blemish. And it did, much more than he intended.

“It just went vroooom — shot up and hit Mark McGwire right in the helmet,” Cone said. “Sent him to the hospital and knocked him out of the All-Star Game. That’s when I said, ‘Oh s—, I’ve got to be a little more careful here.’ Scared the hell out of me. That’s when I stopped doing a lot of that.”

Cone’s awakening roughly coincided with a shift in attitude about the supply of baseballs for any given game. Until returning from the 1994-95 strike, when teams were eager to repair fan relations, MLB discouraged players from giving balls to fans. Memos posted in clubhouses warned that fans could be injured, but teams were also just stingy with the supply.

“They were counting every baseball and reusing things – and don’t take this in a bad light, but we weren’t pushed to make it a fan-friendly experience,” said Jamie Moyer, who pitched from 1986 to 2012. “Right now it’s fan-friendly. If you can give away all the balls, go ahead, give them all away!”

That’s the illusion, anyway.

Once the game starts, if a staffer down the foul lines tosses a ball into the crowd — or a player does it, as they do at the end of almost every half-inning — it’s OK. And if a player in the dugout snatches a foul ball and holds onto it, nobody’s going to take it from him.

Almost every other ball goes to the MLB authenticator, who sits by a little tabletop in the corner of (or adjacent to) the home dugout. Once each ball is logged and labeled, it is ready to be sold; prices at a recent Phillies game ranged from $39.99 for a ball pitched by the visitors (and not put in play) to $199.99 for an RBI double hit by a Phillie. (...)

Baseballs arrive at the ballpark in cases of 72 boxes, with each box holding a dozen balls. That’s 864 balls in a case. The Phillies estimate that their storage room holds somewhere between 36 and 48 such cases. If it’s four dozen, that means more than 40,000 baseballs waiting to be used.

To be game-ready, though, the balls must be stored for two weeks, untouched, in a humidor set to 70 degrees at 57 percent relative humidity. Three hours before each game, clubhouse attendants apply a mixture of water and mud to 192 balls (16 dozen), which are then inspected by an MLB gameday compliance monitor. Fourteen dozen approved balls, or 168, must be available for each game.

The mud itself has a charming baseball backstory. It is named for Lena Blackburne, a light-hitting infielder from the 1910s, and still sifted from the same spot.

by Tyler Kepner, The Athletic |  Read more:

Image: Dan Goldfarb

For Bill Belichick’s Debut, UNC Came to Party — But Got a Buzzkill Instead

Chapel Hill, N.C. — At least the party was fun, right?

Right?

It better have been, for what came after: North Carolina, high on nine months’ worth of Bill Belichick-induced hope, being completely humiliated, 48-14, by TCU in a prime-time Labor Day opener.

Not only is that the most points UNC has ever allowed in a season opener, it’s also the most points Belichick has ever allowed as a head coach.

“Look, they just outplayed us. They out-coached us,” said a red-faced Belichick from behind a postgame podium Monday night. “I mean, they were just better than we were tonight.”

That’s a tough truth to swallow, especially considering the larger circumstances. Ever since December, when the Tar Heels pushed their chips to the center on a 73-year-old who’d never coached a game in college, the spotlight has been on this one night. On B-Day — Belichick Day, the day when the six-time Super Bowl-winning head coach would signal a new era of football in Chapel Hill.

Which is why, understandably, UNC threw the pregame party to end all pregames. Everything, on 10, everywhere. Even on the fringes of town — in parking lots, on Franklin Street — you had fans tailgating in crevices and alleys, smoking cigars while sitting in baby blue picnic chairs, the soft thud of bean bags slapping against cornhole boards around every bend. Closer to campus, fraternity ragers spilled into the streets, while gigantic banners — like one that read “What the f— is a Horned Frog?” — hung in the background. And the soundtrack to it all? Dua Lipa’s “Levitating,” the pop star’s apt lyrics reverberating throughout fraternity court: “I can take you for a ride…”

STRONG pregame vibes in Chapel Hill pic.twitter.com/fMUjdqTHWe
— Brendan Marks (@BrendanRMarks) September 1, 2025

Meanwhile, at He’s Not Here — one of UNC’s most popular bars, famous for its 32-ounce blue cups — liquid courage flowed freely hours before kickoff. “This is like the Duke game!” hollered one fan, barely able to move through the masses after the three empty cups in his grasp. Clearly, plenty of the season ticket-holders who signed up for the Belichick experience wound up here, elbow to elbow, marinating in pregame enthusiasm. Another late-arriving customer, seeing the beer line wrapping outside the bar and down a black metal staircase, had to talk himself into even attempting to buy a drink: “Lord, have mercy.”

By that point, two and a half hours before everything unraveled, the buzz had migrated to the Old Well, the iconic drinking fountain that serves as a UNC emblem. As part of Belichick’s push to elevate Tar Heels football, the coach said he wanted to bring back certain elements of the school’s football history — including the Old Well Walk, which originated under Carl Torbush in 2000. And there fans were, four-deep, walling off the space around the fountain, where buses would deliver North Carolina’s players and coaches. The only issue? Those buses arrived minutes before the designated 5:30 p.m. start time … leaving dozens of stragglers, from across a wide quad, late for the party. (...)

That crowd, more than any, provided a snapshot of modern-era UNC football. Plenty of CHAPEL BILL merch in the crowd — T-shirts, buttons, the works — but also a surprising amount of New England Patriots gear, fans of Belichick’s former team showing out for their old coach. Small clusters of students, almost apologetically proclaiming: “We’re really into football, but we just don’t know any of the players.” (And with 70 new names on Belichick’s first roster, nor should they.) Old-timers, too, in their worn Lawrence Taylor and Charlie “Choo Choo” Justice jerseys, mingling with the shiny-new Drake Maye and Omarion Hampton ones. And lastly, the curious, those who came to see the spectacle of Belichick, who could only stare with wide eyes at the sea of blue rolling across Polk Place.

As one said on the phone before the cell signal dropped out: “Mom, there are a lot of people.”

And then, hours later, there weren’t. The pregame light show, the fireworks, all that momentum swelling inside Kenan Stadium? It didn’t vanish in a flash, but rather, in gashes. (...)

What began as a celebration, as a precursor of future success, could not have turned more sour. UNC waited nine months, and spent millions of dollars, for empty stands before the fourth quarter began. For loyalists who stayed until the final whistle, so few and far between, you could quite literally count them? (Unofficially 69 in the eastern end zone, by one reporter’s count.) The countless UNC dignitaries who made the pilgrimage back to Chapel Hill — Michael Jordan, Lawrence Taylor, Mia Hamm, Julius Peppers — couldn’t leave early, for optics, but buried their heads in their phones all the same.

Anything but what was right in front of them.

The official time of death — not just for this one game, but for the larger UNC hype machine — was 11:24 p.m., a whimper of an end to a day that once held so much excitement.

by Brendan Marks, The Athletic |  Read more:

Image: Jared C. Tilton/Getty Images

[ed. See also: Six games in 5 days: What a college football road trip taught me about the state of the sport (Athletic).]

Finally! Tommy Fleetwood Slays All Demons, is a PGA Tour Winner, the FedEx Cup Champ and $10 Million Richer

Fairway Jesus. All-around good guy.

Tommy Fleetwood finally did it. He won his first PGA Tour title on Sunday, and it wasn’t just any tournament. He won the Tour Championship, which means he also won the season-long FedEx Cup title. He won $10 million. He won the season-long resilience trophy, too.

He clearly has learned some lessons. He taught some, too.

After finishing runner-up six times and third six times, after posting 30 top-five finishes, after banking more than $33 million—not a dime of which buys satisfaction—after 163 frustrating starts, including two agonizing self-inflicted near misses earlier this summer, Fleetwood slayed doubts and demons in the most definitive way possible. With nothing but sour memories to summon, he held his nerve and held onto the lead down the stretch for a three-shot victory over a small but elite field at East Lake Golf Club.

“I’ve been a PGA Tour winner for a long time, always in my mind. Nice to do it in reality,” said Fleetwood, 34, wearing alternating emotions of happiness and relief on his face. Pride, too. Justifiably so.

A final-round two-under 68 wasn’t without its moments of worry for the Englishman. Heck, as he played the par-5 home hole with a three-shot lead, Fleetwood found it hard to relax. Such is the case with scar tissue. But his 18-under 262 total beat Patrick Cantlay and Russell Henley by three shots as Fleetwood became the first player since Chad Campbell in 2003 to make the Tour Championship his first career win.

After he tapped in for par, Fleetwood looked overwhelmed. But only momentarily. Then he raised both arms and let out a roar as the American crowd chanted his name. (...)

Twice now this year golf has witnessed a redemptive moment in Georgia. In April at Augusta National Golf Club, it was Rory McIlroy capturing the Masters and the career Grand Slam and etching his name into history. Fleetwood didn’t have to wait as many years as McIlroy, but he had to endure disappointment over many more tournaments. Yes, he had won eight times abroad, but he still felt like he wasn’t a complete player until he put down a marker in the U.S.

“It's a step in everybody's career that they want to make,” he agreed. “You don't need anything, but I wanted it. I wanted to do it. I go back to it, this one win, it sort of completes the story of the near misses, and it has a crescendo to what has been building towards the back end of the season. But when I go home, I'm just going to start practicing again. I'm going to start working again, and I'm going to look towards the next tournament.”

Tied with Cantlay after 54 holes just two weeks after he had surrendered the final-round lead in the first leg of the playoffs, the FedEx St. Jude Championship, Fleetwood didn’t submit an impeccable round of golf, but for once he managed to erase errors with timely swings and key putts. And he also got help from his main challengers on a day of sunshine and surprising stumbles.

Once on each nine Fleetwood secured back-to-back birdies soon after a bogey. The ones at the 12th and 13th with matching six-footers came after a two-shot swing at the 10th enabled Cantlay to briefly climb within one stroke of Fleetwood. But having lost his swing for a few holes, Fleetwood righted a ship that had previously ran aground.

“I think I did an amazing job today of … I had to reset myself. It wasn't easy today; it wasn't plain sailing,” said Fleetwood, who is expected to rise from 10th to sixth in the world. “I lost my swing in the middle of the round. I was really erratic, and I had to find my swing, really under … I don't think trying to win a tournament is as much pressure as trying to keep your playing rights, things like that. It's a different type of pressure. I'm not going to say it's bigger or less, it's just a different type of pressure. It's a joy to be in contention and try and win golf tournaments.

“At the same time, you have to deal with those little demons that are in the back of your mind, and doubt creeps in. You remember what you got wrong, don't want to get it wrong again, and you have to force yourself to think of the positives. I think just as experience builds, at some point you're going to get it right, and I did today.” (...)

It wasn’t just the eight years of consistency on tour that have contributed to the narrative that Fleetwood was due for a breakthrough. Consider his last eight rounds; he resided among the top six on the leaderboard after each. And then he extended that streak throughout the week at East Lake, a first in the FedEx Cup Playoffs thanks to shooting in the 60s each day.

Resilience is a bit more achievable when you’re on form. Nevertheless, you have to talk your mind into letting your body hit the shots. You have to show heart, too. That was Fleetwood’s real triumph this week.

“I think it shows how great of an attitude he has towards the game, how resilient he is,” McIlroy said.

“I enjoyed it while it lasted in a sick way,” Fleetwood said with a smile, referring to the recurring questions about his inability to close out a victory in America. “I hope that I can give … that we can talk about plenty more things in the future, really. I will look back at all of this, and again, I feel like I keep repeating myself. I'll be proud of the strength that I had to show to keep coming back and showing that it can be done if you're resilient enough and you keep putting yourself in those positions.

“I'll look back at it and I'll be able to tell people that I am really, really pleased that I get to talk to kids or aspiring golfers or aspiring sports people, whatever they're trying to do, and I can genuinely talk about showing resilience or keep coming back after tough losses and keep working and all of those things and the skills that you have to use in order to put yourself there again and then finally get it done. I'm really, really pleased that I get to do that, and that I'm proof that it can happen.”

by Dave Shedloski, Golf Digest |  Read more:

Image: via

[ed. Happy to see Tommy finally win a big one (like everyone else in golf world). What's most impressive is that after all those near misses he never got down on himself or doubted his abilities, just took everything in stride and continued pressing on. A good win for a good guy (here's an example of his character; here too). See also: The critical moment that led Tommy Fleetwood to his first PGA Tour victory (GD).]

She Might Be the World’s Best Receiver: Isabella Geraci, U.S. Flag Football Star

The last time they held this tournament, Isabella Geraci wasn’t a thing yet.

It was just three years ago. She was playing a different sport entirely, her upcoming ascendancy unfathomable.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” teammate Madison Fulford said. “She’s kind of a vibe.”

Through five seasons of Division I college basketball, Geraci’s teams listed her at 5-foot-9, although the game made her feel smaller. Then, almost by accident, she began playing flag football to reclaim her identity. In a flash, Geraci not only made the U.S. national team, putting her on the cusp of becoming an Olympian, but she is also considered one of the greatest wide receivers in the world.

The USA Football media guide correctly lists her at 5-foot-7. On the field, she is starting to look larger than life.

“When she stands next to you,” said Callie Brownson, “there’s a standing-next-to-giants kind of feel about her.”

Brownson is USA Football’s senior director of high performance and national team operations. She previously spent five years with the Cleveland Browns as their chief of staff and assistant wide receivers coach.

Brownson is among those who declare Geraci, 24, the globe’s best receiver (no qualifiers).

“I think about it a lot: How did I get here?” Geraci said last week near her suburban Cleveland home before departing for Chengdu, China, and the World Games, an international event for non-Olympic sports. “What did I do? I really don’t even know. It’s a pinch-me moment all the time, where I can’t believe I’m in this position.”

Geraci is an avatar for flag football’s profound growth. Girls and women are gravitating toward the burgeoning opportunities. The International Olympic Committee approved flag football for the 2028 Los Angeles Games, with the NFL heavily involved in promotions and letting its players participate. The National Association of Intercollegiate Athletics (NAIA) added women’s flag football as a scholarship sport, while 17 states (and quickly growing) have sanctioned girls’ flag football as a varsity sport.

Talent development has been exponential, as evidenced by Team USA’s roster turnover. Only two members of the roster that lost in a stunning blowout to Mexico in the 2022 World Games final are back this year: quarterback Vanita Krouch and defensive back Deliah Autry-Jones.

“We don’t know what we are going to expect because the game has been growing that fast,” Mexico quarterback Diana Flores said of defending the team’s gold medal. “That’s the most exciting part of this for me.”(...)

“There’s really nothing like it,” Geraci said about her passion for flag football. “I feel like it’s my true calling.”

There is no hemming or hawing from Brownson when asked what sets Geraci apart. Before taking the USA Football job in January, Brownson marveled at what she saw on video: size, the suction fingers, the ability to beat defenders with pure route running, leaping power, that-ball-is-mine defiance.

“It’s like a vacuum, the way that her hands work, when the ball approaches, her grip,” Brownson said. “She can win just off her routes, and that’s essential in the five-on-five game, especially on short routes, where you have to win now.

“But a big strength of her game is what she does downfield. She’s able to create separation, but when a 50-50 ball goes up in the air, it’s Izzy’s. It’s really special to watch what she can do in contested situations.”

To ask a football expert about comparables can be folly, potentially dangerous. Scouts and coaches are hesitant to load expectations on a player, no matter how accurate the resemblance may be.

Especially when discussing a rookie.

“Sometimes, when she’s stretching the field and makes an unbelievable play,” Brownson said, “you see shades of Julio Jones, Calvin Johnson, who are the quarterback’s dream: ‘Hey, I’m in trouble, and I’m just going to put this up.’ Izzy’s down there somewhere.”

Brownson, though, stressed she doesn’t want to pigeonhole her because Geraci is equally extraordinary at short and intermediate routes, too.

OK then.

by Tim Graham, The Athletic |  Read more:

Image: Carlin Stiehl/via Getty Images

Ben Hogan and Arnold Palmer at The Masters, 1966
via:

[ed. Old school cool.]

Are Pro Golfers Getting Angrier?

A recent major champion stands on the third tee at Riviera Country Club. It’s the second round of one of golf’s marquee events, and he hits a poor drive, the kind of shot at the wrong moment that just sets you off. He can’t stand it. He smashes his driver into the nearby cart path, so hard the driver head explodes. Shrapnel flies into the crowd. One large chunk shoots just by a spectator and continues into a nearby fairway. Chaos.

The spectator and her husband shout at the player. So do other gallery members. He mumbles an apology.

The PGA Tour finds out. It sends a letter of inquiry to the player. He doesn’t respond for at least two weeks, is hit with a hefty fine and must pen a letter of apology to the spectators he nearly hit. It’s an embarrassing public moment for both the player and the tour.

Amidst the last few months of viral golf explosions, unconvincing apologies and a dramatic banishment from one of golf’s most iconic venues, you might be assuming this is a story from the summer of 2025. You might be wondering if it was Wyndham Clark, or Rory McIlroy, or perhaps Tyrrell Hatton.

Nope. This was 1992. And it was the 1989 Open Championship winner Mark Calcavecchia.

The great Bobby Jones, the winner of the Grand Slam and creator of Augusta National, a man who tore up his scorecard at the 1921 Open Championship and walked off in anger during the third round, once said, “I would forgive almost any behavior in a man when he has a golf club in his hand.”

That’s the topic at hand this summer, because suddenly golf-adjacent temper tantrums are jumping the shark from funny little anecdotes to viral, controversial talking points. It’s the summer McIlroy, two months after the crowning achievement of his career, threw clubs and smashed a tee marker at the U.S. Open. A week later, five-time major winner Brooks Koepka was caught doing the same.

Wyndham Clark, two years removed from a U.S. Open win that thrust him into stardom, has done the most damage, quite literally. His driver’s biggest impact at the PGA Championship was the hole it left in a T-Mobile sign, which just happens to be one of his sponsors, and who tried to save him by turning it into an activation. He was not so lucky at the U.S. Open, where he destroyed a locker and was asked by Oakmont Country Club to not return until, among other things, he undergoes anger management therapy. (...)

This is the summer that golf outrage became a thing. But if you ask anybody around golf the past half century, they’ll tell you the only difference between now and then is that everybody is making a big deal of it.

“This story has been going on since the time of professional sports,” says Billy Andrade, age 61 and a four-time PGA Tour winner. “This isn’t anything new.”

Why is it so much bigger now? Cameras. Social media. Outrage culture. Pick one. The fact it used to be a luxury to get an entire tournament round on TV, but nowadays between Golf Channel, ESPN+, Peacock, NBC and CBS, you can theoretically watch every minute of a round from the first group to the last. It’s all right there for us to see, and in turn it’s all right there for somebody to record and post a clip online to get clicks and attention.

But is any of this actually any worse than before?

Tommy Bolt, a 1958 U.S. Open winner, is more famous for his on-course antics than the golf itself. They called him “Terrible Tommy,” constantly throwing clubs into the water or cursing up a storm. Tour officials created new rules because of his behavior. One time, he cursed so much that officials informed him of a $100 fine for each expletive. As the old story goes, Bolt pulled out his wallet, grabbed $500, and turned to each official to say, “F— you, f— you, f— you, f— you and f— you” while handing each of them a $100 bill.

“It thrills crowds to see a guy suffer. That’s why I threw clubs so often,” Bolt once told Golf Digest. “They love to see golf get the better of someone, and I was only too happy to oblige them. At first I threw clubs because I was angry. After a while it became showmanship, plain and simple.”

Brandel Chamblee recalls playing with a golfer who once hooked his drive into the water. Chamblee and the rest of the group started walking, only to turn around when they heard a slight hissing noise. The man had unzipped his pants and begun urinating on his driver.

“If any of these were nowadays, now everybody is a journalist, and these all would have gone viral and people would have thought tour pros were a bunch of babies,” Chamblee said.

Steve Pate and Thomas Pieters have both broken clubs around the back of their neck. Woody Austin banged his putter against his head over and over until it bent. John Huston played the final two holes of a U.S. Open qualifier with a hastily-made tourniquet, after the shaft of a tossed club ricocheted back and stabbed him in the arm.

Two-time U.S. Open winner Curtis Strange was so mad during a 1982 tournament at Doral that as he walked behind his caddie Gene Kelley, he impulsively kicked the bottom of the bag Kelley was carrying. Both went flying to the ground. Kelley needed surgery to fuse two vertebrae and later sued Strange; They settled out of court.

Jose Maria Olazabal punched a wall at the 1989 U.S. Open, breaking his hand and forcing himself to withdraw.

Oh, and smashing tee markers?

“The place you want to do it is the Hawaiian Open with actual real pineapples,” Andrade said.

So many golfers lay claim to smashing those pineapples at Waialae Country Club in Honolulu at the event now called the Sony Open. Corey Pavin. Brad Faxon. Craig Stadler. Calcavecchia. Imagine the sight of Stadler, known as The Walrus with his big, droopy, mustache, thinking it was plastic as he smashed the pineapple and instead covered himself in pineapple pulp. Calcavecchia remembers hitting one and spraying the poor marshal nearby.

Most of these stories, if they didn’t end up involving lawsuits or fines, were simply told after the fact, locker room and barroom tales passed around between golfers. Most golf writers around in those days simply didn’t write about them, not because they were covering for golfers or scared to. It just wasn’t news. It’s something that happens on golf courses all the time.

Chamblee has become something of golf’s moral voice over his decades as a Golf Channel analyst, a smart, insightful former pro who enjoys pontificating on larger issues in the game. So, yes, he was on the broadcasts as criticism mounted this summer over McIlroy, Clark and the rest. He says he didn’t want to criticize any of those actions too heavily, because he knew he had done the same things, if not worse. The difference was he wasn’t the kind of star who always had cameras on him, so most went unnoticed.

Chamblee does concede it is happening more often. And it definitely happens more often with the biggest stars. He has a multi-point theory for why that is.

• One: More documentation. The mere fact there are so many people with phones, so many people watching at home and rushing to clip anything they can to get it online to go viral. Simply, there are more eyeballs.

• Two: Easier equipment replacement. Golfers used to sometimes go their entire careers with the same driver. There was a mystique to finding the perfect shaft that worked for you. You’d think twice about breaking any club, because it might take you years to ever have your equipment that dialed. Nowadays, golfers can walk over to the equipment truck and order up a new driver like it’s a food truck burrito stand.

• Three: Money. In both ways. A $100,000 fine for Calcavecchia was deflating. That was a fifth of his total earnings most years. Now, these stars are worth tens of millions, if not more. No fine can even put a dent in their life. But it works both ways. They are also playing for so much money that the tensions can escalate.

• Four: Tiger Woods.

by Brody Miller, The Athletic |  Read more:

Image: Kelsea Petersen/The Athletic; Andy Lyons, Simon Bruty/Getty

[ed. Sorry, this is bs. No excuses.]

Ichiro Suzuki Inducted into National Baseball Hall of Fame

 

[ed. Couldn't happen to a classier guy. Never heard him speak a word of English before except through an interpreter. Funny, too.]

British Open 2025: Inside the Giant Scoreboard on the 18th Hole. Operated by ... Teenagers

PORTRUSH, Northern Ireland — A head girl named Gracie wears a headset—over here, "head girl" means something like "class president"—and the information travels the airwaves from Score Control, a hub near the media center. Not long after the new scores crackle in her ear, Gracie and her fellow students from Coleraine Grammar School and Dominican College spring into action, picking up plastic tiles with letters and numbers and sometimes full names from nearby shelves, and placing them backwards—to their eyes—in the giant structure in front of them. Diffuse light comes through that giant yellow wall, but aside from a few cracks, they can't see much on the other side.

But everyone can see them … or last the result of their work. They're the nerve center of a 50-year-old tradition here at the Open Championship that continued this week for the 153rd edition of golf’s oldest major. These are the iconic yellow scoreboards perched above the grandstands on the 18th green, and Gracie's teen-aged gang are inside them, surrounded by wooden planks and scaffolding and a stairway spanning the three floors of the board. (One thing here—you better learn to duck if you don't want a bump or three on the top of your skull.) It's their job to make sure the fans outside, and the TV cameras, and everyone walking the course in the nearby vicinity, are up to date on the drama of the championship.

The twin yellow giants have become a charming icon of this tournament since they were first implemented in the early '70s, and because they're so instantly recognizable they transport you to a specific place, not unlike the white-and-green manual boards used at Augusta National for the Masters. It's true that the boards themselves, and all the students and advisors within them, could be replaced by something digital, and apparently there was recent discussion along those lines, but the R&A fortunately recognized that there's something irreplaceable and delightful about the analog structures on the final hole.

At the scoreboard, the jobs involve four-hour shifts, with around eight students manning each of the two active floors inside. The top six players in the tournament occupy wide vertical slots that are changed in and out on the top floor, and the bottom floor, where Gracie called the shots, featured players seven through 12, along with the next six players who would be coming to the 18th hole—their names, helpfully, were on full placards, rather than constructed letter by letter like the leaders. Even early on Saturday morning, when the stands were mostly empty and the players were hours from making it to the last, the scoreboards advertised the day's best ongoing rounds.

Remarkably, the students only receive a few hours of training. That happens on Tuesday, when teachers from the Cranleigh School in England, who have been doing this for 30 years, give hands-on instruction to the students, schooling them in the finer points of quick, accurate reporting.

It's one of those jobs that's easy to screw up—put a letter in backward and you risk becoming a meme. There's a friendly rivalry between the two scoreboards to see who can operate with greater speed, but they also look out for each other, peering across with binoculars to make sure there are no errors. Along with the direct headset line to Score Control, handheld radios provide another avenue of communication, and despite the quick onboarding process, it had the feel on Friday of a well-oiled machine.

by Shane Ryan, Golf Digest |  Read more:
Images: Oisin Keniry/R&A; Christian Petersen

[ed. Looks like Scheffler running away with another win this year. Snore. Update: yep.]

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[ed. I can't recommend Bill Finnegan's surfing biography Barbarian Days highly enough, which among many other things, describes the awe (and fear) of discovering Nazaré for the first time.]

The Point of Life?

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[ed. See also: British Open 2025: Scottie Scheffler's sermon is the answer Rory McIlroy has been searching for (Golf Digest). Exactly right, and the media should get the message.]

There is Nothing Stranger Than a Golfer's Brain

Just ask us.

If I'm not careful, superstitions will own me on the golf course. I'll become a paranoid, twitchy mess with 3,000 rituals to perform on every shot, and nobody will ever want to play with me. And to my credit, I mostly stay out of their clutches. I have some basic comfort-level rules I abide by—two extra balls in the left pocket, divot tool and mark in the right—but even my pre-shot routine is very basic, consisting of just a single practice swing followed by the real deal. To the naked eye, I think I seem like a normal golfer. More or less.

But inside the brain? Hoo boy. There is so much happening, and a lot of it is blatantly nuts. More than nuts, you could call it self-deluding, egomaniacal and maybe even narcissistic, because it goes beyond superstition and into the realm of self-narrated fantasy.

For example: You, the observer, might believe that my success or failure on a given shot is a matter or technique and execution, but in my mind I am being blessed or cursed by higher universal forces. If I'm having a good round, I imagine there's a secret gallery living and dying with every shot, and I'l sometimes conduct imaginary interviews about the round as it's happening. (In this respect, I am almost exactly like a 10-year-old kid shooting baskets in his driveway, imagining he's in the NBA Finals ... except I'm a 41-year-old dude with kids of my own, which is perhaps mildly more pathetic.) As we'll get to in the reader email section below, I assign character traits to individual balls based on past performance, and reward or punish them accordingly. You want to slice on me, old Callaway triple track? Guess who's staying in the pocket on the next tee. Save your tears—you brought this on yourself.

I could go on—it's one lunatic thing after another. The thing is, though, so much of it comes to the forefront of my mind unbidden. It's the constant brain noise that golf invites, and I think I do a pretty good job of letting it flow through me without indulging it to any damaging degree. As I said, if I gave in to the darker impulses, I'd probably be one of those neurotics you find on the range who own 300 sets of clubs, or I'd force myself to recite a 3-minute mantra before each swing. Luckily, I've largely fought off those demons. And I am very grateful that nobody has figured out a way to project the thoughts running through my head to a larger audience, because even in my restrained form, I'd probably be committed.

Here's the thing, though ... that's kind of the appeal. Right? Golf has a way of absorbing 100% of your mental energy in a way that can be freeing. If your mind is consumed with technique, and score, and routine, or even the broader narrative of your round, you're not thinking about the world burning or wondering why your kid suddenly seems really into watching videos of sharks eating seals or fantasizing about telling off your terrible boss/wife. (For the record, I love my bosses and my wife, albeit in different ways.) In the escapism that golf provides, it's very much like a drug, which is why a lot of recovering addicts find golf so useful—you can spend four-plus hours free of your cravings. I used to play with a recovering heroin addict who would literally play 54 holes every weekend day for that exact reason.

As such, it's a salutary madness. I have a secret opinion that almost every human on earth is about 50% weirder than you'd think, and I can't think of a better way to safely indulge that insanity than golf. One of my friends, for instance, mutters to himself after mistakes in extended monologues that are just barely audible to the rest of us. He looks like a headcase, but he is in fact a very successful human being and plenty of fun to be around. Clearly, he needs this outlet.

by Shane Ryan, Golf Digest |  Read more:

Image: Karl Hendon
[ed. I say golf is a negative game (for most of us). What other sport involves so much focus on not screwing up? See also: Nobody cares about your golf game.]