Plenty of ink has been spilled over the college golfer who heckled Rory McIlroy a week ago, had his friend’s phone momentarily swiped and his access to the grounds terminated. And while it may feel like a lifetime ago in Rory Years, because the man creates headlines wherever he steps, this one seemed to linger throughout the week.
On Thursday, just after his 18th hole tee shot, a fan screamed out “Give me back my phone” loud enough that it was picked up by mics on the tee box. Or plenty loud enough for McIlroy to hear. Then on Sunday, during the finishing stretch of the most entertaining tournament this season, it happened again.
While McIlroy walked the path from the 17th tee to the island green, another spectator shouted out about the 2011 Masters just as he walked by. McIlroy didn’t react, but he was absolutely close enough to hear it. Security immediately removed the spectator from the area, likely ending his afternoon of golf viewing, and McIlroy made his par.
All of it feels pretty harmless when written into a single paragraph — or when the joke receives a few chuckles from the crowd — but there’s a simple question we should ask these gents:
Why you doin’ that?
We have reached a fascinating time in pro golf, where players and fans are supposed to be closer than ever, and yet moments like these break through. To turn a blind eye to them is to accept they can continue, no big deal. Between Full Swing, podcast appearances and YouTube golf competitions, fans are expected to learn who pro golfers are better than ever before. The Tour’s new and foremost initiative, after all, is called Fan Forward, designed to innovate the action in any way that can push fans forward, as close as they can get, right up to rope lines both literal and figurative. Is it fair game to shout at Rory about the most harrowing moment of his career, especially when you know he’ll hear you?
Rory McIlroy’s phone-grab rage was understandable. But also revealing
It isn’t a matter of will it happen or won’t it — eliminating all bad (or drunk) apples from a group of 30,000 is impossible — it’s more about frequency. And the Tour’s business initiatives are bound to increase it.
There’s a mostly invisible honor code in the access fans obtain when they walk through tournament gates — a promise you won’t be a jackass and play music loudly at the library. Tickets expressly state various grounds for removal, one of which is “making rude, vulgar, or other inappropriate comments or gestures.” Another is “Verbal or physical harassment of players, volunteers, officials or spectators.” Got it. But that honor code often goes out the window when patrons’ bank accounts are involved, and through the other side of its mouth, the PGA Tour is screaming, BET, BET, BET, BET.
Golf represents one of the greatest and most constant sports gambling opportunities, but it goes where other sports can’t. There is no dapping up Patrick Mahomes when he throws his third touchdown. But you can bet on Jordan Spieth to make par, strategically position yourself on the next tee box to congratulate him, and you can easily get his attention. (Arguably, you wouldn’t want Spieth to hear that information at all.) The flip-side of this access is a more frequent offender — the disgruntled fans who take verbal action when their precious wager doesn’t hit — or worse, before the wager is decided, shouting to influence play. (This happened most famously to Max Homa and Chris Kirk at the 2023 BMW Championship.)
Is that what Rickie Fowler faced a few weeks ago at the Cognizant Classic — an unruly gambler? — when Fowler’s missed putt inspired a scornful fan to shout about it?
“Of course you know,” the mild-mannered Fowler shouted back as he walked to his ball. “That’s why you’re in the stands.”
A few seconds later, Fowler finished with, “You know, you’re better not saying anything.”
At risk of appearing holier-than-they… isn’t it true? In a world where an elite golfer misses a 30-footer for the fourth time that day, must we shout at them about it? We could all use a refresh on what Bambi’s bestie Thumper said back in 1942: If you can’t say something nice, don’t say nothin’ at all.
Anyone in attendance at the Players Championship would know there is no epidemic of unruly fans coursing through Tour events. But an ominous idea is coming. As announced in Jay Monahan’s pre-tournament press conference, the Tour is set to release pace of play statistics that will help us understand the fastest and slowest players. On one hand, it will be a championing of Ludvig Aberg, widely regarded as one of the fastest elite players. On the other hand, it will lead to public shaming of the slower players, an element many consider Bullying That Works. Perhaps this is the necessary stakes of golf at the highest level. You certainly won’t hear any pushback from me at the Tour taking its pace seriously. But how trustworthy are the fans to be with this info? How will the meanest golf fans treat Tom Kim — who has admitted to being slow and struggling with “mental barriers” — when (and if!) Kim is exposed as part of the glacial class? Perhaps more importantly, how will they go about doing it after six beers? Or six beers and two prop bets?
A few tricky elements persist for this issue and this era of pro golf. Firstly, the perpetrator is anonymous. When offending spectators are pointed out, often the worst thing that happens to them is they backtrack into the bushes quicker than Homer Simpson, are possibly escorted off property and asked to take their disturbances elsewhere. While the Tour clearly takes security seriously, and players and caddies are given the ultimate power of removal, it’s the pros who have to answer questions about their side of an interaction they didn’t ask for. In the case of the original McIlroy chirper, an elite amateur at the University of Texas, it led to a very embarrassing week for a 20-year-old, but maybe that’s okay. The first thing that stops people from breaking the rules is understanding the consequences.
While this will strike many as a pro-player column, the Fan Forward initiative was born out of a chaotic era where players have made themselves less relatable, more of an elite class, easier to treat differently. Look no further than Collin Morikawa’s rebuke to Paul McGinley, who suggested that this era of Tour pro has been defined by greed, and may not reflect well in history. They are, unquestionably, being paid more money for their services than any previous era in the sport. But that led Morikawa to double down on his belief that he doesn’t “owe anyone anything.” Mostly by himself, Morikawa took a Sunday action, made it a Tuesday story, then doubled down and made it a Friday story as well. It couldn’t have benefitted his reputation. Mark down those words as a reaction that begins to define a reputation. (Ask Bryson DeChambeau about that. Or Zach Johnson.) McIlroy’s Monday victory washed away the eerie nature of how his week began, but we can talk about his reaction, too. The first step in not getting heckled is to not overreact to a fan’s quip during a practice round.
Lastly, we are just six months away from the Ryder Cup, an event that suggests cheering for one side is sometimes best achieved by cheering against the other. The toothpaste left the tube on rooting for putts to miss a long time ago, but where does the line get drawn on decorum? Is it the fine print on the back of a ticket that costs $750?
Ah, that’s right. Too many levers of this sport are being pulled to emulate other sports, their epic revenues and their arenas where anything goes. If pro golfers want to be paid like quarterbacks, and if the Tour (or golf’s other governing bodies) wants its biggest events to rival the fanfare of an F1 Grand Prix, the door is left perpetually ajar, waiting for the small minority of fans to build up some liquid courage and kick it open.
How mean do they want to be?