As LIV flames out, let's not forget those who were eager to sell golf to the Saudis

2 min read
As LIV flames out, let's not forget those who were eager to sell golf to the Saudis

As LIV flames out, let's not forget those who were eager to sell golf to the Saudis

Some richly deserving losers will emerge from this debacle, but for the most part players are not among them.

As LIV flames out, let's not forget those who were eager to sell golf to the Saudis

Some richly deserving losers will emerge from this debacle, but for the most part players are not among them.

As LIV Golf's fiery ambitions sputter toward a cold, hard landing, it's worth taking a moment to remember those who were all too eager to sell the soul of the sport to the highest bidder. The league's latest announcement—two new board members and a "strategic evolution" that sounds suspiciously like a life raft—feels less like a fresh start and more like rearranging deck chairs on a sinking ship. CEO Scott O'Neil might as well be offering front-row seats on the Hindenburg.

The death rattles are deafening. A tournament in New Orleans? Postponed. Players? Peeking at the exits. Former chairman Yasir Al-Rumayyan? Already out the door. Staff are bracing for layoffs, vendors are nervously checking their contracts, and—most tellingly—the Saudi Arabian Public Investment Fund (PIF) has formally announced that LIV's endless cash burn is no longer their problem. "The substantial investment required by LIV Golf over a longer term is no longer consistent with the current phase of PIF's investment strategy," read a cold statement from Riyadh. When the deepest pockets in sports say "enough," you know the well has run dry.

Conservative estimates put the total money torched at over $5 billion, with some tracking the long tail of future expenses closer to $8 billion. This isn't a clean slate for new investors—the profligate overheads are baked into the business model. Guaranteed paychecks for players like Bryson DeChambeau (who's reportedly already eyeing a new contract) and $30 million purses for competitors who couldn't be picked out of a two-man lineup against a corpse—that's the new normal. O'Neil's best-case scenario now? A stripped-down schedule, minimal perks, and prize funds that look more like a weekly European Tour stop. In other words, a dollar-store version of the golf revolution Greg Norman once promised.

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