Jon Rahm sounds a dejected note, trapped in LIV's golden cage

His words befit a man who sees no sense in reflecting on a screw-up because he has no way out. As he admitted last week, he lacks an alternative to the screw-up because his commitment to LIV has several years to run. Nor can he even admit that a screw-up happened, since non-disparagement clauses would prohibit him from making any comment that might adversely impact a business that has torched more money than Sylvester Stallone’s entire back catalog of pictures ever earned. Contracts being what they are, you understand.

Regardless of what might be read into his competitive results since moving to LIV two-and-a-half years ago, there’s something sad about listening to Rahm speak. He looks diminished on the dais and sounds almost dejected, expected to sound optimistic notes on LIV’s moldering corpse being resuscitated.

Compare that to Rory McIlroy, who met the media immediately before his Ryder Cup teammate. He speaks with freedom now because no weighty, unanswered questions burden him. The career grand slam has been accomplished, and backed up. His legacy is secured and everything else is gravy. He can turn up to a major championship and chat breezily about his cameo in The Devil Wears Prada 2 and attending a state dinner for King Charles. And unlike Rahm, he can admit he got it wrong about the Saudis.

In 2024, McIlroy was advocating the consummation of the recent Framework Agreement that would have brought the PGA Tour and LIV together. “I'm glad I was wrong. I can admit when I'm wrong, and that was one that I did get wrong,” he said.

This is the ninth major Rahm has played as a member of LIV. For the first eight, he experienced forced advocacy, an unrelenting requirement that he justify his decision to leave the PGA Tour, insist that his competitiveness hasn’t been lessened by playing middling courses in far-flung cities against shallow fields. For the ninth major, he is being asked not to advocate for his league but to autopsy it. But he can’t. Contracts being what they are, you understand.

“I would say that elements have changed a little bit. That's it,” he offered, chalking up LIV’s failure to recent geopolitical developments in the middle east, rather than to a lousy idea badly executed by mediocre leadership.

So what did he learn from going to LIV?

“That is for me to know, and that's about that,” was all he could muster.

He didn’t say it with a nasty tone, but more with wry resignation and a rueful smile. Most everyone in golf could offer a guess at the tough lessons Rahm has learned about choices made for money, about potential jeopardized, opportunities missed and relationships damaged. He can’t though, at least not publicly. Contracts being what they are, you understand.

If only he’d been a fan of the original Rocky movie, and heeded the words of the wise old trainer, Mickey Goldmill, played by Burgess Meredith. “I'm gonna tell ya! You had the talent to become a good fighter,” Mickey chastised Rocky, “but instead of that, you become a leg-breaker to some cheap, second rate loanshark!”

This article originally appeared on Golfweek: Jon Rahm sounds a dejected note, trapped in LIV's golden cage