Lynch: Bryson DeChambeau’s tantrum at The Open didn’t damage his reputation. It solidified it - Golfweek

SOUTHPORT, England — Video of Bryson DeChambeau’s rules imbroglio Friday at Royal Birkdale has been analyzed as intently as the Zapruder film — appropriately enough, since it spawned mutterings about dark conspiracies among the tin foil hatters, albeit focused on a grass-stomping know-all instead of a grassy knoll.

But the particulars of the infraction will be forgotten long before the histrionic outburst that didn’t so much damage DeChambeau’s reputation as solidify it. If only it hadn’t taken place beyond U.S. jurisdiction and the R&A were as corrupt as FIFA when it comes to rescinding penalties, facts which didn’t deter threats to involve the White House.

Two rules officials of stout reputation had sufficient evidence to impose a two-stroke penalty on a man sitting in second place in a major championship, a decision that wasn’t taken lightly by a cohort inclined to favor players if there’s a hint of doubt. Rules are broken daily in professional golf, the majority (but not all) unintentionally. The R&A generously described DeChambeau’s breach as “accidental,” granting him more grace than he’s likely to get from his peers, based on comments by Rory McIlroy.

“I was up in the players lounge watching it with a few other players, and as soon as he made the step into the ball, we all sort of looked at each other, and we were like, that didn't seem right,” McIlroy said. “I think there's no doubt that he improved the line of his backswing. Again, it's like, whether it was careless or whether it was intentional, I don't think it matters. Hopefully it was careless, but I think the two-shot penalty was justified for sure.”

The Masters champion was asked if he thought DeChambeau knew what he was doing.

“I'm not in his mind, but it didn't look good.”

A stench will linger over DeChambeau’s actions but the manner in which he handled the aftermath is no less damaging going forward — his melodramatic meltdown while arguing with officials, his threat to no-show for the third round of the tournament, his performative hollering behind closed doors as he continued to scream his case, his refusal to answer questions about the situation, his keeping volunteers waiting into the night as he pounded balls on the range, his childish offer of snacks to waiting media and, finally, his showing up Saturday to strut and smirk while pretending it was just another day at the office.

For his many admirers, what happened Friday night was excusable — an understandable reaction to a ruling he felt was unfair. For his affiliated bots and drooling keyboard commandos, it was proof of an establishment conspiracy against LIV Golf. For his team, it was yet another opportunity to demonstrate that they have all the utility of an octogenarian in a whorehouse. For media, it was catnip. For the R&A, it was a clear-cut application of protocol. For DeChambeau, it was a grievous injustice.

But for players who were watching — and waiting until 10:50 p.m. local for tee times while the R&A determined if DeChambeau's threat to no-show was real — it was a reminder of what they were happy to see head for the exit four years ago: entitled arrogance, simmering rage, infantile outbursts, contempt for fellow competitors, shallow artifice.

None of which makes Brian Rolapp’s job easier. The PGA Tour’s CEO prides himself on bearing no scar tissue from past scuffles, having no axe to grind, focusing only on strengthening his business. He will have seen the theatrics and immediately understood that any future effort to engineer a path back for DeChambeau just got a lot more difficult.

If he’s lucky, Rolapp won’t face the issue. LIV has four events remaining on its 2026 schedule, though even the league’s loyalists at Royal Birkdale are expressing doubts that the team finale, planned for late August in Michigan, will take place. DeChambeau has said he’d like to remain with LIV when his contract expires later this year, and has aided LIV’s CEO, Scott O’Neil, in sourcing last-ditch investment. But he’s also been quietly pitching investors on a social media-based golf circuit of his own. It’s unclear if that’s DeChambeau’s Plan B or Plan A, or if the PGA Tour will ever factor at all.

His actions and attitude at The Open suggest a man who’d prefer to remain in a manufactured reality entirely of his own design, where troublesome inquiries and optics are about as welcome as a free press in Pyongyang. He’s spent more time talking to rules officials than media at the last three majors combined, which is fair enough. He’s entitled to skip press in perpetuity if he pleases. But he won’t. He’ll re-engage when there’s product to sling. But his personal brand is dangerously close to junk status within this game, and leaving town with the Claret Jug won’t change that.

Self-awareness can scarcely be expected in someone who urged the families of 9/11 victims to forgive and move on so as not to complicate his Saudi check-cashing. Against that odious standard, it’s comparatively trifling for him to hold the game’s oldest major hostage while he pitched a fit. The DeChambeau Show is occasionally entertaining, perhaps even compelling, but it’s increasingly becoming just a repetitive farce, without the benefit of being funny.

Eamon Lynch is a columnist for Golfweek and a contributor to the Golf Channel. Follow him on X/Twitter (@eamonlynch).