Scottie Scheffler’s most revealing Open moment came after he’d won

PORTRUSH, Northern Ireland — On the day Tiger Woods won his first major, 28 years ago, and fell, greenside, into his father’s arms, he became a global superstar.

On the day Rory McIlroy completed the career Grand Slam — three months ago at Augusta — he became one, too.

Phil Mickelson became a megastar, able to travel far beyond the borders of golf without a passport, when he won the 2004 Masters, after an epic oh-fer in his first 34 majors.

Bryson DeChambeau joined the club on a July day almost a year ago, after playing some entertaining cart golf from the red tees with Donald Trump and posting a 15-minute summary of the round on YouTube, which garnered 4.7 million views in one 24-hour period. The number now is creeping in on 15 million.

Which brings us to Scottie Scheffler — 29-year-old husband and father, self-described Christ Follower/Pro Golfer on his Instagram profile — newest winner of the British Open, the game’s oldest and grandest championship. He now has four majors, and he got there in the exact same amount of time, to the day, as Woods. He is, per McIlroy and others, playing the most dominant golf the game has seen since the Woods 1999-2001 heyday. And yet he’s unlikely to ever become a global sensation, an international superstar. There’s something wrong with him, in this take-a-selfie era. He’s missing the chip that desires more and more fame. More to the point, he doesn’t want it.

So, for those of you playing Going Global at home, you may find this study sheet (men’s division) useful:

Greg Norman? Yes.
Nick Faldo? No.
Seve Ballesteros? Yes.
Bernhard Langer? No.
Arnold Palmer? Yes.
Jack Nicklaus? No.
Ben Hogan? Yes.
Byron Nelson? No.
Gary Player? Yes.
Billy Casper? No.
Bobby Jones? Yes.
Francis Ouimet? No.

And, once more with feeling:

Tiger-Phil-Rory-Bryson?

Yes, yes, yes, yes.

Scottie?

A resounding no.

When DeChambeau made a birdie on the last hole on Sunday for a closing 64, he milked the final-hole fans in the grandstands for everything he could get, like a theater kid on the third and final night of the spring musical. There was DeChambeau, raising his hands high in joy, then shaking every outstretched hand on his way out. Was it crazily over the top? Of course! Was it fun? Yes, that, too.

DeChambeau then met with reporters, engagingly so. When an R&A media official was ready to end the session, DeChambeau offered a magisterial, “That’s OK.” On we went, as did he.

One reporter said DeChambeau’s YouTube audience suggested he had transcended golf. Could he ever imagine Scheffler doing something similar?

Ah, no.

“I think he’s a family man,” DeChambeau said. “He wants that to be the most important thing for him. I have full respect for that. For Scottie, I think it’s more important to take care of his family. He’s done a great and tremendous job of balancing the two, being the best golfer in the world and being a family man.”

About three hours later, Scheffler came to the 18th green, with a four-shot lead. He acknowledged the polite applause by raising his hat to shoulder height. He then calmly made a two-putt par to end the 153rd Open Championship. As Xander Schauffele did last year, Scheffler won the PGA Championship and the British Open in the same year. It was all borderline ho-hum.

And then Scheffler looked to his right, saw his one-year-old son, Bennett, crawling toward him, and threw his hat high in the air, just as Arnold did with his visor upon winning the 1960 U.S. Open. Scheffler raised Bennett and cradled him as so many Open winners cradle the winner’s claret jug.  

In one minute, you could see the Texan-by-way-of-New Jersey make the transition from Scottie Scheffler, professional golfer, to Scottie Scheffler, husband, father, son. Superman to Clark Kent. All the while, you could see his value system. You could see that DeChambeau’s insight, about family first, was totally and completely correct.

Scheffler’s father, another Scott, inched his way on to the green to retrieve that hat. The father then returned to a little circle with his wife, his daughter-in-law and a few others. He talked, in measured tones, about the day-long drives the family made in pursuit of junior golf. “I always told him, it was all about the journey,” the father said. He wasn’t lecturing, just remembering. “If you fly, you miss what’s in-between.”

Scottie Scheffler does not swing golf clubs with the majesty that Tiger Woods did. He doesn’t have the quick wit and verbal intensity that Phil Mickelson often displayed. He doesn’t have the rolling shoulders, look-at-me gait that McIlroy has. He certainly doesn’t use social media to entertain millions of people, as DeChambeau does. Nobody would call him charismatic.

There’s no evidence that he is seeking ever-greater riches by accepting every deal that comes his way. (Scheffler’s two most prominent corporate deals are with Nike and TaylorMade.) He’s not even chasing titles. He’s just trying to fulfill his childhood dream of playing professional golf, as his boyhood-in-Texas role models Justin Leonard and Harrison Frazer did. He saw them wearing pants while playing golf on TV, so he did the same at his junior events, even when it was 100 degrees in the Texas summer.

The man is built differently. The top of his batting order is Faith, Family, Golf. He’s happy to play for the money these tournaments are offering. He had no interest in chasing a bigger LIV payday. He’s not looking for more fame. He’s not on the more-more-more hamster wheel. For a 29-year-old in 2025, he really is a most unusual person.

“I’ve said it for a long time: golf is not how I identify myself,” Scheffler said in a Sunday night press conference. “I don’t identify myself by winning tournaments, chasing trophies, being famous or whatever. There are two Chipotles that I eat at, at home. Actually, not really two anymore. There’s one right where I grew up, kind of near SMU’s campus. If I was to go to that Chipotle and try to eat nowadays, it would be very difficult for me. There’s another one in a different part of town. I’m not going to tell you where it is. But if I go there, nobody recognizes me, ever.”

Michael Bamberger welcomes your comments at Michael.Bamberger@Golf.com