Entitlement of Scottie Scheffler and rest of elite risks turning off golfing public | Ewan Murray

Players should remember the effect of golf’s fiscal vulgarity before they seek to dictate terms of media questioning

Mud balls. Hardly a provocative topic in the grand scheme of life. A chunk of soil attaches itself to a golf ball, meaning the individual hitting said object has less control than they would like. Scottie Scheffler and others believe the element of chance created by mud balls at the US PGA Championship is unbefitting of a major. There is an opposing view, one which says golf is not supposed to be perfect or fair. It’s a run-of-the-mill sporting debate.

Scheffler had volunteered his own mud ball situation as rationale for a shot that flew into water on the 16th hole during round one at Quail Hollow. Within only three more questions, the world No 1 wanted to shut the conversation down. “By the way, this is going to be the last answer that I give [on this subject],” Scheffler began. Scheffler, once such a placid soul, was dictating what he may and may not be asked. About golf balls.

Twelve months ago Scheffler was more expansive on the ludicrous situation that saw him thrown into a police cell before his US PGA second round. A self-deprecating, non-accusatory and considerate Scheffler earned widespread plaudits for the way he handled a road traffic farrago. Yet 12 months is a long time in golf; the past year has seen relations between players and the media strain to a fascinating point.

Golfers generally live a charmed life when it comes to coverage. That much was evident when a batch of them departed traditional tours for the Saudi Arabian-backed LIV equivalent. Criticism, occasionally vehement and personal, rattled those on the receiving end because this was uncharted territory. They should try being Premier League footballers for a week; front pages, back pages, everything in between.

A snapshot of this placid environment can be found all the way back in 2005. Tiger Woods revealed he had been especially pensive during two minutes of silence at the Open Championship because his mother had been in a hotel close to where one of the previous week’s London bombs had gone off. The next question put to Woods went thus: “How many holes here today do you think you hit with a wedge into a green after a drive?” The four horsemen of the apocalypse looked less vengeful than journalists with an element of news sense who wanted to extract further information about Kultida Woods’s situation.

Collin Morikawa escalated the more recent theme after explaining his failure to stop for media duties having tossed away the Arnold Palmer Invitational. “I don’t owe anyone anything,” said Morikawa. There will be no argument from the latest breed of golf agents, too many of whom are either terrified of their clients or fail to recognise what a positive or interesting media profile can return.

Unlike in other American sports, golfers have no contractual obligation to speak to the press upon completion of rounds. Morikawa was well within his rights to walk on at Bay Hill but had to do a better job of explaining why.

Golf, and partly the schism in elite golf, has made players such as Morikawa filthy rich. That plus reams of talent of course. With that status comes entitlement. A harsh reality is Morikawa – the fourth-ranked player on the planet, a two-time major winner – and umpteen others on the Quail Hollow leaderboard could walk the streets in the world’s major cities without those beyond dedicated golf fans turning heads. This anonymity is great for the players – Woods never had it – but speaks to their lack of wider appeal. One European Ryder Cup player once bemoaned the fact his finest ever year on the PGA Tour would not have ranked him among the top 50 paid players in Major League Baseball. I responded by stressing his ability to go about his life in peace and quiet as a polite way of saying: “Nobody knows who you are.”

Shane Lowry, who gives time and thought to media appearances, objected to being asked about Rory McIlroy in the immediate aftermath of a poor finish to round three at the Masters. The question was indeed clumsy and ill-timed. Lowry suggested golfers should be allowed to go away and compose themselves before appearing in front of a camera. Tennis players are often afforded such leeway. There are obvious flaws with the plan; for journalists on deadlines, for those wanting the verbal sparks that can fly straight from the course and on the basis golfers could just slip off before paying any paltry fine which arises as a penalty. Lowry did not talk after the Truist Championship slipped from his grasp last weekend, which was fair enough. The media would have been imposing on personal grief. The same applies to McIlroy at last summer’s US Open.

McIlroy’s Masters triumph was a necessary plot twist not only for the man himself but his sport. Fiscal vulgarity had turned the public – who participate in golf to a record level – away from the elite game. Scheffler and co should remember that when seeking to dictate terms of engagement.