PGA Championship: Bryson DeChambeau, once the toast of golf, is in real trouble now

NEWTOWN SQUARE, Pa. — The short-game practice area at Aronimink sits right next to the PGA Championship’s Fan Zone, home of free food and high-priced alcoholic beverages. That means anybody who wants to practice their bunker game prior to their tee time does so with several dozen Philadelphia fans looming right over their shoulders. Some players tolerate this; others live for it.

About 30 minutes before his Friday tee time, Bryson DeChambeau hopped into the practice bunker with barely a nod toward the phone-holding fans all around him. For DeChambeau, who thrives on attention and admiration, this qualified as intense, in-the-zone focus. But then, when you’re coming off your worst round ever at the PGA Championship and you’re staring at your second straight missed cut at a major, well, some things have to change.

DeChambeau spread his feet wide, crouched like he was about to squat-press an elephant, and neatly thumped a dozen balls in the direction of pins all over the range. Then, as quickly as he arrived, he was gone, off in the direction of the first tee.

And then he went out and threw up all over Aronimink.

DeChambeau came into the day 6-over, so he was in chase mode from the jump. But through eight holes, all he did was lose ground, falling to 10-over. That put him down among the company of aging past champions and the Corebridge Financial PGA pros. He managed to salvage a measure of dignity with three closing birdies, finishing at +7, but that wasn’t nearly enough to get him to the +4 cut line.

Bryson DeChambeau missed his second straight cut at a major after a poor showing this week at the PGA Championship. (Photo by Emilee Chinn/Getty Images)

(Emilee Chinn via Getty Images)

DeChambeau remains a prodigious driver, and his putting is reasonably effective. But where he’s struggled lately — and where he doomed himself this week — is his short game. There are 156 players in the field at the PGA Championship. After two rounds, DeChambeau ranked 153rd in strokes gained around the green (-1.965) and 119th in strokes gained tee-to-green (-1.276). In other words, he’s losing nearly two strokes to the field when the pin is within sight.

A hole this big in the game of an elite player pretty much guarantees they’ll struggle on elite courses. DeChambeau has a notable record on the LIV tour: two wins and a solo third place finish in his last three completed tournaments. But this week, combined with his missed cut at the Masters, points to some larger issues with his game.

Digging into someone’s psyche based on their public persona is misguided at best, problematic at worst. But DeChambeau certainly gives the appearance of someone desperately wanting to be admired, while at the same time unable to deal with the absence of that admiration. In simpler words, he’s extremely happy when things are going his way, and extremely unhappy when they’re not.

The problem for DeChambeau right now is that not so long ago, everything was going his way, and now almost nothing is. As recently as 2024, he was the toast of American golf and the darling of Pinehurst, basking in the U.S. Open gallery’s cheers as he ground out one of the nerviest wins of the 2020s. His YouTube channel has been a revelation, cementing him as the most popular — by sheer numbers — active golfer on Earth.

With his LIV contract slated to run out at the end of this year, DeChambeau briefly stood in the most enviable position in golf. What would he do next? The possibilities were vast and tempting. He could re-sign with LIV for, what, $500 million? He could conquer the world one “Breaking 50” video at a time. He could be the face of American golf for a new generation, conquering worlds that Jack and Arnie and Tiger never even imagined.

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Yeah … no. First, DeChambeau missed the cut at the Masters, his second in three majors, and never looked remotely competitive either day. Then, days after that, the Saudi Arabian Public Investment Fund cut his leverage out from under him by announcing it would withdraw its ongoing support from LIV Golf at the end of this season. Going to be tough to sign a half-billion-dollar contract when there aren’t any spare half-billions lying around anymore.

The PGA Tour has made motions in DeChambeau’s direction — first offering him a pathway back that he declined, more recently relaxing its social media policy for players — but DeChambeau won’t be permitted to waltz back onto the Tour without consequence. He did, after all, sue the PGA Tour a few years back.

DeChambeau has loudly proclaimed that he could just become a YouTube golfer, and sure, he absolutely could. His videos are entertaining, and his puppy-dog-with-a-monster-drive persona is perfect for YouTube. He’ll make some good money at this, too. But how well does playing with Walmart clubs prepare him for majors?

That, in essence, is the question facing DeChambeau. What does he want to be, a golfer or an entertainer? Does he want to win majors, or does he want to stockpile subscribers? One way lies money; the other way, legacy. He’s undoubtedly got the talent to be one of the best players in the game, but does he want to make the sacrifices that talent demands? Or does he want to take a path of less resistance, whether by playing in smaller fields with LIV or performing on YouTube? The ground has shifted under his feet, and DeChambeau now must figure out how to respond to a situation he wasn’t expecting even six weeks ago.

DeChambeau declined to speak to the media on Thursday. After his round on Friday, DeChambeau walked past a group of reporters, put his hands together as if in prayer, and said, “Thank you, thank you,” but kept right on walking, taking his thoughts on his future with him.

Earlier in the day, in the minutes before his tee time, working out at the Aronimink practice range, DeChambeau had methodically lasered shot after shot within inches of the cup, a mesmerizing display of singular talent. It didn’t count for a single thing on his scorecard. But it would have made for a hell of a video.