SOUTHAMPTON, NEW YORK – If he were an herb, Bryson DeChambeau would definitely be cilantro.
Due to a combination of genetics and personal preference, cilantro is not something to acquire a taste for. You either like it or you don’t. The same can be said for DeChambeau. Whatever your feelings about him are is irrelevant because, at this stage, DeChambeau’s career is best understood in two very different chapters: Before Pinehurst and After Pinehurst.
Just two years ago, DeChambeau’s emphatic win at the 2024 US Open at Pinehurst No. 2 was meant to usher in a new era of major championship golf. It was billed as a prize war on par with Armageddon. Bryson vs. Rory—LIV vs. the PGA Tour—and, for some, a battle of good vs. evil.
That era never came.
Thinking about this, I am haunted by a series of texts from the villagers.
I waited for something, and something died
So I waited for nothing and nothing came
DeChambeau vs. McIlroy was the top pairing for Sunday’s championship round at Augusta. It was hyped as a legendary rematch from Pinehurst and, during its peak, the hype drew comparisons to The Rumble in the Jungle. Through the first few holes, it looked like we were set for an all-time classic duel, with McIlroy and DeChambeau trading shots and DeChambeau even taking the lead after the second hole.
But as the day unfolded, we got our first glimpse of what has become the new normal for DeChambeau in the majors. Tarnished by utterly atrocious iron and wedge play, indecisiveness and lousy putting, DeChambeau saw his hopes for a green jacket drowned in the pond at No. 11, White Dogwood, and finished the tournament four shots off the lead in T5.
We expected something, and with DeChambeau’s dramatic fall at Augusta, something died.
In retrospect, it was around this time that we began to see some cracks in his suit of armor, and by that I mean the carefully reconstructed personal image built through his ever-growing popularity on YouTube. Until that loss, DeChambeau’s “new” identity was twofold: a slightly eccentric golf-obsessed nerd who was meticulous about his equipment and would stop at nothing until it was perfect. This was the Mad Scientist.
The other was a happy people’s man – a guy who didn’t take himself too seriously. Both of these were equally appealing because, despite their differences, they complemented each other making DeChambeau larger than life. His image extended far beyond the course and gave him a level of star power in the golf world not seen since Tiger.
That’s part of the issue.
Looking at things as a whole, there was no denying that DeChambeau was one of the top five players in the world. There was a legitimate argument to be made that he was even the top two or three. DeChambeau’s talent, charisma and popularity made him an even more compelling figure than world No. 1 Scottie Scheffler or his self-proclaimed rival, McIlroy.
Whether right, wrong or indifferent, with his hand, Bryson DeChambeau became too big for Bryson DeChambeau. Every time he sneezed, he was carefully controlled. Every equipment change (and there have been many) became a major story. Then came politics, conspiracy theories, and pretty much everything in between.
Simply put, wherever he went, there was a story.
That’s what makes DeChambeau’s loss this year’s upset at the US Open. Perhaps our expectations of him were too high. Perhaps the spotlight became too bright. Or, all of this is best understood using his own words, that it’s “just golf.”
As he often does, DeChambeau arrived at Shinnecock with a story — two, actually. The first was his prototype TaylorMade Qi4D driver. The second was his prototype Reebok shoes. Where Bryson goes, a story follows. Thanks to his YouTube following, so do fans. Again, for better or worse, at the US Open, all eyes were once again on Bryson.
I’m bound to say two things: I like cilantro and, after talking to him, I like Bryson.
Even his most ardent haters can’t say that an elite Bryson, especially in the majors, isn’t good for golf. Therefore, I think it’s more than fair to say that going into this year’s US Open, we all expected something from Bryson.
Perhaps we should have been a little more specific about what we expected to see.
Instead of the player who just two years ago was in complete control of his game and image, we saw the remains of a shell of what Bryson DeChambeau once was. We saw a player get hammered, brutalized and punished on a course setup that was tailored to his game.
This was not the DeChambeau of Pinehurst, but, unfortunately, this may be the DeChambeau that is now.
We were waiting for something and something died.
It may sound strange to say, but DeChambeau’s career closely resembles that of her LPGA counterpart, Yuka Saso. While DeChambeau has more PGA and international tour wins (Sasso’s two US Open wins are her only career wins), since their last US Open triumph, we’ve all been asking the same question:
What happened?
Going forward, I don’t know what any of us should reasonably expect from Bryson. Perhaps our best approach is to wait – to wait – for nothing.
But then again, perhaps, as the villagers nihilistically suggest, when we expect nothing, nothing comes.
Main photo caption: Bryson DeChambeau didn’t have it at this week’s US Open. (Getty Images/Cliff Hawkins)
