Open champion Scottie Scheffler doesn't need to explain himself. The answer is in the beginning

New York Times

7 days ago

PORTRUSH, Northern Ireland — As Scottie Scheffler exited the 18th green at Royal Portrush on Sunday, off to make things official in the scorer's tent, his father, Scott Scheffler, was being a dad.
He handed his iPhone to a bystander to take a photo of him and Scottie's mom, Diane. He bragged that, you know what, New Jersey nearly produced this Open Championship's top-two finishers — Scottie, from Ridgewood, and Chris Gotterup, the third-place finisher, who grew up in Little Silver. He pointed out that Xander Schauffele won the PGA Championship and Open Championship last year, and now Scottie did it this year. How 'bout that? He joked that, man, those fans were tough at Portrush, huh? Not a lot of love for Scottie out there.
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'And it's not even the Ryder Cup!' he said.
An official from the R&A listened along, smiling and nodding. Getting a chance to share her thoughts, she told Scott she could never imagine being the best in the world at something.
'Oh, he doesn't think of himself like that,' Scott responded. 'He never has. It's outside people who say it, not him.'
Surely, though, she responded, he dreamed of this as a little kid, right?
'Even as a kid, I don't think he ever dreamed these things,' Scott said.
The 153rd Open Championship will go down as the week everyone tried, and failed, to understand Scottie Scheffler. It all began on Tuesday with an early week news conference. Scheffler unexpectedly cracked himself open and let the yolk run. Winning? It's not everything, he explained, because it can't be everything. In the end, there's the next day, and the next practice, and the next tournament. All of this — full stream of consciousness. Scheffler explained that his existence is not defined by something as fickle as a round of golf.
'​​This is not a fulfilling life,' he said. 'It's fulfilling from the sense of accomplishment, but it's not fulfilling from a sense of the deepest places of your heart.' He added that, if anything, it bothers him that he cares so much about golf. Faith and family are far, far more important.
Controversial? No.
Fascinating? Yes.
Scheffler was exactly what everyone wishes for superstars to be: honest, vulnerable, human.
His reward? A weeklong hyper-analysis of his entire psyche.
Everyone, everywhere, from all sides. On the television broadcast. On the radio. All over social media. Reporters asked other players more questions about Scheffler's comments than their own rounds. By Sunday, Scheffler's caddie, Ted Scott, sat by the beach at Portrush and recorded a video for Instagram — one of his weekly sermons — discussing his boss's comments and the widespread reaction. A devout Christian, like Scheffler, Scott tried to explain what might've been lost in translation.
'Joy doesn't come from circumstances,' Scott said.
All of this, all to understand Scheffler. This is what happens when those select few come around — the all-timers; the ones who make you realize history is happening here and now. We need to know what's in there. Scheffler first came upon our world years ago with an odd swing and an endearing disposition, winning the Masters and emerging as a world-class player. Now, though? He's something else. This week's four-shot Open victory at Portrush was only the latest exhibition in a career that is starting to remind some people of others.
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Jack Nicklaus won his first Open in his fifth try at links golf. It was his sixth major win.
Tiger Woods won on his sixth trip. It was his fourth major.
This was Scheffler's fifth try at the Open. It's his fourth major.
Yes, of course, it's crazy, irresponsible, even, to put those names together. Except?
*A whisper* Scheffler might be that good.
Scheffler played the last four days at Portrush as if it were a par-68. Everyone else played a par-71. His four rounds were one long, drawn-out injection of novocaine, taking over both the land and everyone on it. By Sunday, all were numb, and he was leading by four strokes. An approach on No. 1 to 2 feet ended any potential drama. Hours later, with the tournament long over, Scheffler fist-pumped after a par save on 16 because he wasn't playing the leaderboard. He was playing himself.
In the end, Scheffler became the first world No. 1 to win the Open since 2006.
Yet, somehow, some still don't get it.
Early Sunday evening, Scheffler again sat for a news conference and explained: 'I don't place much emphasis on winning tournaments. I don't place much emphasis on things that I can accomplish. It's just mostly about putting in the proper work and coming out here and competing.'
He was then asked if he thinks about breaking records and being ranked No. 1.
Scheffler, deadpan: 'Not really.'
Later, Scheffler explained that he's grateful to play golf for a living because he's worked since he was '2 or 3 years old' to do this. At the same time, his home life will always be more important, and he wants to 'live as normal of a life as possible.'
The next question? Have you let your mind wander to the U.S. Open next year and a potential career Grand Slam?
Scheffler, eyes fixed forward: 'I mean, no.'
What continues to get lost is that, probably since he could walk, Scottie Scheffler has navigated a life as a golfing savant while also wanting desperately to remain 'normal.' Sure, he played lacrosse and soccer. Yes, he played high school basketball. Such notes are nice lines in a biography that often downplay him being a phenom in the truest sense, one who went on to win all imaginable junior golf accolades.
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Scott Scheffler's brother, Peter, remembers the first time he saw Scottie swing a golf club. It was, you should note, not when young Scottie was growing up in Texas and working with the legendary coach Randy Smith. No. It was way back. At a birthday party in Westchester (N.Y.) County. Maybe 1999 or so. Scottie, about 3 or 4 years old, emerged from the family minivan with a toy golf club that day. Scott pulled his brother aside.
'Peter, you've got to see this,' he said.
'And Scottie absolutely just smokes the ball,' Peter told The Athletic on Saturday. 'I said to my brother, 'Holy s—, can he do that again?' And Scott says to me, 'Peter, he does it every time and I can't stop him.''
Uncle Peter wasn't the only one. When the pro at a local North Jersey driving range first saw Scottie at 4 or 5 years old, he asked Scott if he could work with the boy. Scott answered that he couldn't afford lessons. The pro said, no, no. He just wanted the chance to work with the kid. He'd never seen anything like him.
These are the earliest days of a life subscribed to otherworldly, inexplicable talent.
Following his win on Sunday, Scheffler said it's often hard for him to describe the kind of gratitude he feels when winning.
Of course it is. How could he? Who can relate?
Scheffler said he doesn't think about the wins. He instead thinks about the kid in Texas. Relocating after Dianne Scheffler landed a job as a law firm COO in Dallas, the family moved when he was 6. Realizing Scottie wasn't like the other kids, they took out a loan to join Royal Oaks Country Club, where Scottie could work with Smith.
Looking for the words, Scheffler tried to explain.
'I saw professional golfers like Justin Leonard, Harrison Frazar, those types of guys on TV wearing pants, and I was like, I want to be like those guys. So I used to wear pants to grow up to play golf. It would be 100 degrees out. I'd be way too hot. People would make fun of me. But that's what I wanted to do; I wanted to be a professional golfer, so I wore pants,' Scheffler said.
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Frazar and Leonard were two members of a pack of PGA Tour pros who called Royal Oaks home back then. Frazar remembers the 7-year-old who, out of nowhere, started poking around the place. Young Scottie wasn't taking lessons from Smith yet, so he'd instead sit and watch the pros do their work. Hours and hours of Leonard hitting the ball. Then Frazar. Then Martin Flores. On and on. After they wrapped, Scottie would challenge the pros to putting games and wedge contests. Frazar remembers practicing bunker shots while Scottie, sitting on the edge, legs dangling, would watch every shot and ask endless questions. When Frazar got out of the bunker, Scottie would hop in behind him and copy everything exactly.
By the time Scottie was 9, he would flip over a range bucket, sit down behind the pros and ask all varieties of intricate questions.
'I'm talking in-depth questions about divot patterns,' Frazar said Sunday by phone. 'I just remember a kid who was seriously inquisitive, with a high, high golf IQ. It all came to him easily, so he was always taking it further.'
The result, all these years later, is hard to comprehend, but well worth understanding.
The Scottie Scheffler who just lapped the field at Portrush is the same kid for whom it all came so easily, and who has no choice but to take his talent further. What else is he supposed to do with it?
Perhaps this is why everything that comes with it — fame, accolades, the annals of history — seems so minor to the man.
'He doesn't care to be a superstar,' said Jordan Spieth, a fellow Texan who's known Scheffler since adolescence. 'He's not transcending the game like Tiger did. He's not bringing it to a non-golf audience necessarily. He doesn't want to go do the stuff that a lot of us go do, corporately, anything like that. He just wants to get away from the game and separate the two.'
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That doesn't mean he doesn't love it, though.
The proof is right there.
While Scheffler addressed the crowd at Portrush on Sunday, one hand tucked under the Claret Jug, his son, 1-year-old Bennett, tottered around the side of the green. Delighting the crowd, he bounded around, fell down, got up and kept going. He kept one hand clenched, no matter what, on the toy he brought.
A plastic golf club.
'I hope Bennett's able to get into golf one day,' Scheffler said later. 'The game of golf has taught me a tremendous amount. I feel like every day you go out and play golf, you're looking in the mirror.'
The Athletic's Ian O'Connor contributed to this report.