Oscar Wilde was defining a cynic when he famously wrote of “a man who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing,” but today his aphorism might be as readily applied to a Crown Prince (Act Three, Lady Windermere’s Fan, if your majesty deigns, though you might wish to avoid De Profundis on the same shelf). The gap between price and value is relevant when it comes to LIV Golf, the Saudi-funded series churning professional golf’s usually placid waters, not merely as an abstract philosophical question but as a matter of basic fiscal responsibility.
It’s nigh on impossible to muster sympathy for the Saudi regime since that emotion is best reserved for those living under its jackboot. Still, one can almost commiserate with MBS’s fate — increasingly obvious, though perhaps not to him — as being hoodwinked into financing what amounts to welfare for wealthy, washed-up golfers. Consider the amount of someone else’s money that Greg Norman has been willing to bestow upon players whose potential is largely exhausted, limited or unrealized.
A couple hundred million for 52-year-old Phil Mickelson, a feckless overspend even if exaggerated by a multiple. Something similar so Dustin Johnson can accomplish his stated goal of not actually playing golf. A stout backhander to soothe the blushes of Brooks Koepka, who had to perform an about-face that would be the envy of Linda Blair in The Exorcist. Another nine figures for Bryson DeChambeau, whose surgically-repaired hand will find it easier to carry the check than his playing future. And that’s all before you tally ‘B’ tier guys like Sergio Garcia (best add a premium to cover tissues for his unceasing tears) and Lee Westwood (whose thirst for lucrative tinpot tournaments long predates his cushy landing, at age 49, on the Saudi scrap heap).
