Four years ago, in August 2022, a friend of mine got free tickets to the first LIV Golf event at Trump National Golf Club in Bedminster, N.J. Out of morbid curiosity, and with a high likelihood of good people-watching and the promise of free beer, I went. At the time, I wrote the piece below, but didn’t publish it. Now, with the demise of LIV Golf apparently upon us, I’ve posted it here.

BEDMINSTER, NJ – There was supposed to be a major here three months ago.

That was the reason this place, this 36-hole Yasnaya Polyana, was constructed on the former Somerset County estate of John DeLorean: to satisfy the ego of a man who desperately believed he belonged in the company of golf’s elite. 

Never mind that he’s an inveterate cheater. Never mind that, given video of his multi-plane, off-balance, throw-your-ass-into-it swing, there’s no way that his handicap (2.5 according to GHIN) is anything but vanity. Never mind that he claims to have won however many club championships he has organized for the sole purpose of claiming victory and burnishing his reputation as a player.

Of course, everything Donald J. Trump, Sr. has done or attempted to do in his entire life has served only to glorify himself, or at the bare minimum, line his pockets.

So it’s no surprise that he’s lining his pockets with money from LIV Golf, the rebel golf tour bankrolled by the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia’s sovereign wealth fund that has, to put it mildly, disrupted professional golf over the last five or so months, by hosting the third-ever LIV Golf event at Trump National Golf Club Bedminster.

I’ve been to the Bedminster club once before to play and had no designs on going back, but when a friend texted on Thursday and said he had scored some free VIP tickets for Saturday and asked if I wanted to go, I asked my wife if I could, figuring she’d say no… and she didn’t. 

So I drove down from Westchester County and found parking in a farm field. I hopped on a bus that would take me to watch some of professional golf’s loudest mouths on one of Tom (or maybe Jim?) Fazio’s designs.

Behind me, fans talked about golf and other things.

“I was at St. Andrews for the British Open last month,” one guy said. 

“I’ve never been to a golf game before, but I’m here to support the President,” a guy in a red hat said, loudly enough that it was obvious he was trying to make a point. 

The entrance was near the Fan Village. Food trucks! Merchandise! Live Music! Here a red hat, there a red hat! Oh look, a Trump 2020 shirt, the American political equivalent of an aggrieved European wearing a 1999 Ryder Cup shirt! 

I made my way over to the practice green, not far from the main clubhouse and the cottages where the former president stays when he’s present. There was a different vibe around the green, as the players were 10 minutes from getting on golf carts to go to the starting holes. Unlike a PGA Tour event, there were no gigantic staff bags filled with putters, no one doing drills, just 10 or so players trying to get a feel of the greens. 

And who were those 10 or so players? Aside from Ian Poulter, instantly recognizable by his stupid pants, who was showing off his stroke to Greg Norman, only Dustin Johnson was recognizable. I strained trying to read the name on Phachara Kwongwatmai’s bag, and once I saw his name, my only thought was, “Who?”

To my left was the first tee, and right as I caught up with my friend who got the tickets, a “Let’s Go Brandon!” cheer poured from the grandstand. Had I not seen a large figure in a white shirt and red hat with both hands in the air egging the crowd on, I’d have guessed they were, perhaps, merely a large group of Branden Grace or Stinger GC fans… but no, it was he himself, soaking up the adulation of a crowd only slightly less partisan than his rallies.

We made our way out to the VIP section by the 17th green and 18th tee, watching a group on the way. Who’s this playing out of the greenside bunker on 17? Chase Koepka! It’d be cooler if he were Brooks.

We settled into bar seats in the Gallery Club and caught up for an hour or so, chasing waters with Heineken in the Jersey summer heat. 

Oh look, here comes Phil Mickelson! Who are these guys he’s playing with?

We were baking in the sun, with summer sun reflecting off the black carpet back at us. It was 90 degrees and a bit humid, typical of Central Jersey this time of year. 

Here comes the next group! Who’s Hennie DuPlessis?

As we walked back towards the main clubhouse, where Trump’s aesthetic, aptly described by Lincoln Project co-founder Rick Wilson as “Liberace meets Saddam” is fully on display, we had an easy walk along the ropes. Only Mickelson had any kind of gallery following him, and aside from the hospitality areas, only the greens had small collections of tens of fans. Earlier in the day, I saw that I could get a grounds pass for Saturday om StubHub for less than $5. There were hundreds, if not thousands, available.

Say what you will of the PGA Tour and its monotonous four rounds of stroke play, four days a week, every week, every year format. Professional golf has been, for its entire existence until LIV’s founding, a meritocracy. 

Oh, you didn’t play well? Play better next week. Oh, you want status on this tour? Good luck at Q School. The best players made money and, deservedly, earned status. That left plenty of extraordinarily talented players looking for places to play. When Ryan French, a/k/a Monday Q Info, says that the worst player at a PGA Tour Monday Qualifier is better at his job than anyone you know is at theirs, he ain’t kidding.

There’s a whole lot less pressure on golfers who got a big check up front and no longer have to worry… about anything, really, especially since LIV is literally handing out checks made out for amounts that can only be described as multi-generational fortunes. There’s something ironic about a professional sport filled with people who, at least in theory, subscribe to a fundamental political philosophy that revolves around economic meritocracy turning around and embracing a format where performance no longer seems to matter. 

On Sunday, as the former President watched play on the par-3 16th hole from a terrace at the clubhouse, he was joined by far-right conspiracy theorist Congresswoman Marjorie Taylor Greene (R-Ga.) and Fox News host Tucker Carlson. It’s been widely reported that chants of “Let’s Go Brandon,” “47!” and “Four More Years!” broke out. So much for keeping politics out of sports. It’s different when they do it, you know.

As I sat on the bus going back to the farm field where I parked, I contemplated that I’d been at a golf course for three hours watching high level professionals play, yet hadn’t really taken in anything. I’d seen Greg Norman and Phil Mickelson. I’d seen the former President rile up a crowd from a distance. Henrik Stenson, the once and future and never again Ryder Cup captain, was leading. He’d make $5 million for his win. Someone would make twice my annual salary just for showing up – not to a major, mind you – to a sideshow, and a very expensive one at that.

It was MAGAGolf in a nutshell – full of bluster, yet lacking substance. Highly aggrieved, yet pompous. Full of sound and fury and signifying nothing. It was golf, but louder. Bigly. A lot of people have been saying it. Believe me.

I got in my car and drove back home. 

I needed a shower.