The Ponte Vedra Screwjob
On November 9, 1997, a 15-year-old me couldn’t be happier.
I had somehow saved enough money from my caddie loops to purchase the WWF Survivor Series pay-per-view that featured my favorite wrestler, Bret Hart, facing off against my least favorite, Shawn Michaels, in the Main Event in Hart’s home country of Canada. The WWF Championship was on the line, the buildup had been intense, and I would finally get to see if Hart truly was the “best there ever is, the best there ever was, and the best there ever will be.”
If you’re a current (or recovering) pro wrestling fan like myself, you may recognize that date. That’s because that day would forever be remembered as the day WWF commissioner Vince McMahon prematurely called the match in Michaels’s favor.
The Heartbreak Kid — as Michaels was known in the ring — had just placed Hart in his own version of the “Sharpshooter;” Hart’s finishing move. What seemed like milliseconds after, McMahon came racing down to the ring from backstage, demanding the bell to signify the end of the match be rung, thus awarding the WWF Championship to Michaels and stripping it from Hart.
At the time my adolescent brain couldn’t comprehend what was happening on my TV screen. On one hand, it all appeared to be part of some predetermined storyline (an “angle” in pro wrestling lingo) and everyone was just playing a part in an elaborate play. But when Bret Hart, clearly angry, spit in McMahon’s face live on PPV, I knew that something else was going on.
That night, infamously coined the Montreal Screwjob, was my introduction into the world of “sports business,” where decisions are made to protect assets, save face, and expedite large-scale mergers. You see, in the months and years following that event, we would learn that Hart had been in negotiations to leave the WWF to join the rival WCW wrestling promotion, and McMahon was determined to not allow Hart to do so while wearing his championship belt.
While pro wrestling is 98% scripted and everyone accepts it, what happened that night was completely unpredicted yet precisely planned and horribly executed. It also changed the way I viewed a piece of entertainment I once enjoyed, replacing it with a stark reminder that in the end, money and “good business” rules all. It left me feeling betrayed in some way, perhaps even heartbroken.
On Tuesday, June 6, 2023 — some 26 years later — when a surprise announcement of the PGA TOUR, DP WORLD TOUR, and the Public Investment Fund (PIF) partnership hit the news stream, that feeling returned.
Mainstream sports might not have predetermined outcomes that everyone accepts yet still manages to enjoy, but they are first and foremost a business. This is true in every sense of that term, including the financial responsibilities, stakeholder demands, and even boardroom drama that might as well be a pro wrestling storyline.
The world of professional golf is no different. The game’s most talented athletes are put on display every week for us to enjoy, and for the longest time the PGA TOUR was the only show in town for men’s pro golf. The emergence of LIV Golf provided competition in this space, despite all the hemming and hawing that golf media types (including myself) would make throughout the year that followed.
Everything came to a head last Tuesday, of course, when this surprise “merger that’s not really a merger” was announced, ending all litigation between the PGA TOUR and LIV Golf. It was one of those messages that everyone who heard it knew this was a massive “cover your ass” moment for the two entities. Truthfully, my initial reaction was an understanding that they didn’t want to sue one another, because, you know… lawsuits are bad. The public was going to eventually learn about some shady stuff (most likely) about both organizations, so they put an end to it.
As the news continued to sink in, an overwhelming feeling of disappointment also crept in. Admittedly, I had securely positioned myself in the Team PGA Tour camp, choosing to remain loyal in my fandom to the organization that I grew up watching, emulating, purchasing merchandise/tickets from, and later reporting on. I was bought-in, baby, and while that perhaps made me the least objective golf writer on earth, I was willing to die on that hill.
Then PGA TOUR commissioner Jay Monahan decided to show his true colors and take a big ol’ bulldozer to that hill.
Make no mistake: I firmly understand that none of this is about me or you. Clearly this also isn’t about the dozens of PGA TOUR players who showed loyalty to Monahan and turned down LIV Golf contracts (and a shit-ton of cash). This also isn’t about legacy, either.
It’s all about money. It always was, and it probably always will be.
This is not so much a realization as it is a stark reminder that no matter what we fans choose to think or feel, there’s always someone pulling the strings. Jay Monahan and Jimmy Dunne — the PGA TOUR board member/Seminole GC president/unapologetic blow-hard — are the biggest hypocrites in the history of professional golf, and there’s absolutely nothing fans can do about that. What’s even worse is that they admit it, too.
While Monahan’s decision to completely flip his position and accept Saudi money months after begging his players to not do the same is abhorrent, Dunne’s role as the reported catalyst to the whole deal is beyond abysmal. This man — who was featured in a Sports Illustrated profile lamenting the loss of multiple colleagues in 9/11 and would later ban LIV players from participating in Seminole’s prestigious Pro/Member — proactively engaged with individuals to whom dotted lines can be drawn as sources of funding for that tragedy.
Yesterday, Dunne would add a layer of pathetic icing on this shit cake by asserting if he discovers anyone involved in this new golf venture having ties to 9/11, he “would kill them” himself.
What in the world are we even doing right now?
The events that have transpired over the last week have worsened public opinion about men’s professional golf like never before. The have stripped any semblance of enjoyment from hardcore fans at a minimum, and frankly, it’s never been less fun covering the game than right now. Men’s professional golf is a complete joke at every level, and might remain that way for many months.
Just because the volume of clickbait-worthy #content is abundant, this should not overshadow how unbelievably disappointing the path to today has been.
Thankfully, there is a world outside of men’s professional golf that offers all of us hope in something more enjoyable than this debacle. The game itself remains unchanged and untarnished, despite multiple efforts for pro golf’s talking heads that any of this nonsense is for “the betterment of the game.” Golf as you and I know it remains the municipal course, driving range, par-3 track or local chip-and-putt we can visit at any point.
Sometimes knowing how the proverbial sausage is made can be interesting. However, in cases like what we’ve all experienced in men’s pro golf, embracing blissful ignorance might be the better option.
