Whip, crack, whoosh, Bryson DeChambeau’s opening shot flies into the distance, pitches, skips, and tumbles into the rough left of the fairway. By the time DeChambeau has reached the ball a big crowd has gathered around it, they’re standing on tiptoes, perched on mounds, tilting sideways to peer around the people in front, who are pressed right up against the ropes and even spilling underneath them and on to the playing area where the marshals, hands out, are trying to usher them back.
“Careful Bryson!” someone shouts out as he wades into the rough and, it never takes much, everyone breaks out laughing. Looking around, you notice how many people are watching all this through their phones. I start counting: one, five, 10, 20, 50 – people don’t just want to see DeChambeau play golf, they want to be able to show everyone they know that they’ve done it. Did you even go to the Open if you didn’t get to see him?
