Sorry, But Bryson DeChambeau's Petulant Displays Are Sign He Needs to Grow Up (Now)
For a guy whose body seems to get bigger by the minute, Bryson DeChambeau has about 400 pounds of growing up to do. That senseless rant at his own equipment company last week was, in any context, an act of profound stupidity —the ultimate throw-your-partner-under-the-bus scenario. That it happened after the start of play at a major championship only earned DeChambeau double dumb-ass points. That he followed his diatribe with a predictable apology (on social media, of course) does little to reduce the swelling caused by man who has gotten far too big for his britches.
Regardless of whether DeChambeau is truly contrite about expressing his dissatisfaction with his Cobra driver, the fact that he did it publicly smacks of malicious intent. His ensuing remorse over the matter came in a statement that said all the right things, and for that very reason, the same media outlets that had skewered DeChambeau earlier let the issue die without passing further judgement.
Are two simple words (I’m sorry) all it takes to make things better again?
Does the root of this problem — the game’s longest hitter struggling with the longest club in his bag — no longer exist?
Isn’t this old news? Well, yes, and that’s precisely the point. How long will DeChambeau’s childish impulses continue to impoverish the image of a gifted player who has so much to offer the game but such little regard for the effect his comments have on others? In a world where superstars are almost licensed to do and say whatever they want without fear of harsh consequences, is there any end to the latitude awarded to these athletes simply because they perform at a high level?
“I am 27, I am human, I make mistakes,” DeChambeau admitted after the formal apology. “[The Cobra incident] was one of those. I continue to keep making mistakes, unfortunately.”
As is often the case, the punchline comes at the end of that confession, but at what point does repetition lead to ramification? One might surmise that DeChambeau is already paying a high price for his behavior, notably the lack of universal popularity that has emerged from his incessant whining and bratty demeanor. Those shortcomings don’t hurt his bank account, however. There’s no indication that Cobra plans to terminate its contract with DeChambeau because of the harmful things he said.
John Daly was one of the biggest f---ups in PGA Tour history, yet one of the most beloved pro golfers ever. Why? Because he was so repentant, so helplessly self-destructive, so perfectly willing to (eventually) address his imperfect life in such realistic terms. Just another common man gone wrong, a tortured soul worthy of sympathy, as opposed to DeChambeau, the intellect prone to acting like a derelict.
Nobody looks fondly upon a guy who thinks he’s the smartest cat in the room. All that talk about 5 degrees of loft and 195-mph of ball speed has a certain condescending element to it, which DeChambeau obviously doesn’t grasp. When he starts to apply his homemade theories to the equation, then spreads the blame for his inefficiencies, it adds up to a brawny brainiac who just doesn’t get it.
He’s 27. He’s human. He makes mistakes.
Collin Morikawa is 24. He’s human. He doesn’t.
DeChambeau’s feud with Brooks Koepka is nothing more than alpha-male nonsense; two big dogs snarling at each other from a safe distance. Let ‘em bark, folks, and close the window if it gets too loud. When the SMU physics major grabs sole possession of the U.S. Open lead with 10 holes remaining, however, then shoots 44 on the final nine to finish T-26, only a self-impressed fool would rationalize the failure by saying, “It’s frustrating when it’s happening, but afterwards now, I don’t really care as much. I’ve already won it.”
A more disturbing lack of perspective would be difficult to find, even in a file of untoward soundbites as heavy as DeChambeau’s. Indeed, he arrived at Torrey Pines last month as the reigning champion, an excellent reason to take the high road in victory or defeat. Instead, he flipped off the importance of defending his title and ostensibly plead guilty to a compromise of his competitive integrity — all for the sake of preserving a few meaningless ounces of vanity?
Veteran caddie Tim Tucker, who probably made somewhere in the neighborhood of $2 million during his five years working for DeChambeau, walked away from the job a few weeks ago in Detroit. After ducking his media obligations at the tournament — title-sponsored by Rocket Mortgage, one of DeChambeau’s own commercial partners — the bulked-up bomber would tell ESPN that Tucker’s bad knees were the reason for his departure.
Far be it for anyone other than Tucker to comment on the medical status of his ailing legs, but DeChambeau’s aversion to self-accountability might leave one to wonder if those creaky joints offer a legitimate explanation as to why an experienced, highly regarded looper would quit on a bag worth $500,000 a year. The night before the start of a tournament, no less.
Maybe Tim Tucker is simply a man of principle. Maybe he finally realized it wasn’t worth the aggravation anymore and decided to tell Bryson DeChambeau the one thing nobody else has the guts to tell him.
Enough is enough.
He’s 27. He’s human. He makes mistakes.
For crying out loud, when does he turn 28?