It’s hard not to empathize with Jay Monahan, who stepped down as PGA Tour commissioner last week to resolve an undisclosed medical situation. After all, who among us didn’t feel hurt to hear that Chesson Hadley expects to be rewarded for his loyalty by not leaving for LIV Golf? That statement proves how myopic entitlement has spread from the Tour’s penthouse all the way to its basement.
Monahan’s predicament is not an enviable one, even without the attendant health problems. He has been cast as the face of a rapprochement with the Saudi government, an ill-defined but disgraceful deal that promises a future in which the Tour will have to rationalize its proximity to the regime’s atrocities. When he announced the deal on June 6, Monahan knew he was going to be teased a lot, including by his own blindside members and by the families of the 9/11 victims who were left feeling like useful props in a commercial dispute. The fallout, he would have calculated, could be career-ending.
The 9/11 relatives have every reason to feel manipulated. And Tour players? Well, they remain the constituency that has caused the most agita for Monahan and his team since this play began. The Tour has been criticized – often fairly – for a flat-footed and reactive response to the Saudi-funded LIV league, but then it’s hard to be nimble when members are constantly moving the goalposts. For example, deciding that participation in designated events would not be mandatory in 2024, essentially telling sponsors that they will have the same field guarantees as before – none – but pay significantly more for the privilege.
Problems with the membership run deeper than the practicality of selling the product. Several prominent players did not fire a shot to defend their Tour over the past three years, instead holding it to ransom by threatening to bolt for LIFE unless their demands were met. These demands resulted in a compensation model that, by Monahan’s admission, is unsustainable without outside investment. In short, PGA Tour players offered an example of what happens when a professional sport consumes itself with naked greed. And it’s not over yet.
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Patrick Cantlay, who carries himself with the assurance of a man convinced he would be a partner at Goldman Sachs if he didn’t just have its logo on his cap, has tried to rally players against the deal with the Saudis and against members by the Tour’s political board that has signed or supported it. Needless to say, his objections are not based on the morality of dealing with human rights abusers. Existing PGA Tour incentives won’t benefit Cantlay much. He’s not getting rich from the Player Impact Program, which awards stars for fan engagement, since the only needle he’s moving is the gas gauge on his car. So the logic of Cantlay’s coup is that if LIV disappears as a threat – a likely occurrence under the deal – then players like him have no options, no impact on the Tour and no prospect of the lucrative payday they feel like. justified.
Multiple sources say Cantlay has romanticized LIV for some time, including while a sitting member of the Tour’s political board, all while maintaining a gymnast’s poise as a public fence sitter.
The political board meets Tuesday afternoon in Detroit, and it could be difficult if Cantlay’s coup ambitions move into the open. So far, his grievances have gained little traction among players for three reasons: firstly, Cantlay’s interests are not aligned with those of the wider membership, who have maximized any advantage they will see from a competitor in the market for bigger purses; second, his fellow players are upset about the process, not politics (it doesn’t take Saudi money, it’s not in the decision); third, no details have been draped on the framework agreement that was announced, so there’s nothing specific that players might find uncomfortable.
Only one of these factors will change. Eventually, the details of the terms will take shape, but with congressional hearings and a Justice Department investigation looming, any unionization against a new for-profit entity will be slow, with no guarantee of enforcement.
Men’s professional golf has become a hotbed of reputation. Some were burned with decisions to work directly for the Saudi regime and to refrain from its abuses. Several went along with this deal to normalize its investment in the sport, no matter how much of a face-saving ante it might ultimately turn out to be. Soon others will throw themselves on the fire in an attempt to grab their share. And if Chesson Hadley considers himself a worthy claimant for the spoils, how many more must be ahead of him in line?
It is unclear whether Monahan will return to the PGA Tour. It would be understandable if he opted out. Because what is the appeal of a job that has been reduced to cleaning up to accommodate the grotesquely inflated price tags his players put on their charisma? A value that a rational market has shown no signs of supporting.
