It’s impossible to not empathize some with Jay Monahan, who stepped away as PGA Tour commissioner last week to address an undisclosed medical situation. After all, who among us didn’t feel stricken upon hearing that Chesson Hadley expects to be rewarded for his loyalty in not leaving for LIV? That declaration proves how myopic entitlement has spread from the Tour’s penthouse all the way to its basement.
Monahan’s predicament is unenviable, even without the attending health issues. He’s been cast as the face of a rapprochement with the Saudi Arabian government, an ill-defined but ignominious deal that promises a future in which the Tour will have to rationalize its proximity to regime atrocities. When he announced the agreement on June 6, Monahan knew he’d be widely pilloried, including by his own blindsided members and by the families of 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 spectacle 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 difficult to be nimble when members constantly shift the goalposts. For example, deciding that participation in designated events would not be mandatory in 2024, essentially telling sponsors they’ll have the same field guarantees as before — none — but pay substantially more for the privilege.
Issues with the membership run deeper than the practicalities of selling the product. Several prominent players didn’t fire a shot in defense of their Tour over the last three years but instead held it to ransom by threatening to bolt for LIV unless their demands were met. Those demands resulted in a compensation model that is, by Monahan’s admission, 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 isn’t over yet.
Patrick Cantlay, who carries himself with the assurance of a man convinced he’d be a partner at Goldman Sachs if he wasn’t merely sporting its logo on his cap, has been trying to rally players against the deal with the Saudis, and against members of the Tour’s policy board who architected or support it. It hardly needs to be stated that his objections aren’t based on the morality of dealing with human rights abusers. Existing PGA Tour incentives won’t much benefit Cantlay. He won’t get rich from the Player Impact Program that bonuses stars on fan engagement since the only needle he moves is the gas gauge on his car. So the logic of Cantlay’s coup d’etat is that if LIV disappears as a threat — a likely occurrence under the deal — then players like him have no options, no leverage over the Tour, and no prospects for the lucrative payday to which they feel entitled.
Multiple sources say Cantlay has romanced LIV for some time, including while being a sitting member of the Tour’s policy board, all while maintaining a gymnast’s balance as a fence-sitter in public.
The policy board meets Tuesday afternoon in Detroit, and it could turn fractious if Cantlay’s coup ambitions move into the open. Thus far, his gripes have gained little traction among players for three reasons: firstly, Cantlay’s interests are not aligned with those of the broader membership, who have maximized any benefit they’ll see from a market competitor in bigger purses; secondly, his fellow players are upset about process, not policy (it’s not taking Saudi money, it’s not being in the loop on the decision); thirdly, no details have been draped upon the framework agreement that was announced, so there’s nothing specific which players might find unpalatable.
Only one of those factors will change. Eventually, specifics on the terms will take shape, but with Congressional hearings and a Department of Justice investigation looming, any union toward a new for-profit entity will be slow, with no consummation guaranteed.
Men’s professional golf has become a bonfire of reputations. Some were torched with decisions to work directly for the Saudi regime and to prevaricate on its abuses. More followed with this deal to normalize its investment in the sport, however much of a face-saving ante it might ultimately prove to be. Soon, others will hurl themselves on the pyre in a bid 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’s 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’s been reduced to scavenging in order to meet the grotesquely inflated price tags his players put on their charisma? A value that a rational market has shown no sign of supporting.
