Colin Sheridan: Why is it so hard to like Bryson DeChambeau?

Bryson DeChambeau sports a distinctive card cover during the first round of the US PGA at TPC Harding Park. Picture: Jamie Squire/Getty Images

Oscar Wilde — famed Cecil Ewing player and short game king — once told us the only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about.

Nobody seems to love poor old Bryson DeChambeau, the nutty professor who has become golf’s Incredible Hulk.

The dislike — unusual in golf’s sycophantic circles — peaks with European fans but is increasingly finding a well-fertilised base amongst the locker room.

Perhaps with the exception of Patrick Reed (aka Captain America) who is no doubt thrilled to have another bete noir for the media to feed on, the young gun is rubbing up a lot of people the wrong way.

However, unlike Reed who is disliked by European fans mainly due to the exuberant patriotism displayed at Ryder Cups — none more so than when defeating Rory (no need for a surname either here or on ESPN) at Hazeltine National in 2016 — Bryson is disliked by us, if we’re really just honest about it, because of his flat caps.

Now, to be fair, very few people outside of Tommy Shelby and a Foxford fisherman can pull off a flat cap, but that really shouldn’t be enough of a reason to hate on the boy Brys. But no no, that’s not it, I hear you all say, sure if Paul Galvin can do it and be well liked (outside of Cork, Dublin, Mayo, Tyrone, and Next), why can’t Bryson?

It’s not just the caps, see. We loved the late Payne Stewart after all.

No, it’s the numerous public displays of frustration and coarse (ahem) language after a bad shot — that’s the real reason. Not respecting golf etiquette. No manners.

We couldn’t care less if he’s a bit of a nerd and likes playing video games — sure we all have a niece or nephew like that and we still mostly like them.

So no, it’s definitely not the flat caps. So, what is it then? Perhaps the dislike is because of his “attack” on links golf?

Bryson’s argument in that regard is that, particularly for professional golfers relying on the game for their livelihood, good play and ball striking should be rewarded rather than a fortunate bounce here and there.

Now, as someone who would argue I’ve only ever had unfortunate bounces on a links course (thank you Enniscrone, Royal County Down, Lahinch), I wholeheartedly disagree with Bryson here and I suspect most readers will too.

It’s called course management, Bryson. Give Mike Weir a call if you want to know more.

That said, dumping on the chap for his links-hate alone does seem a bit extreme if, flat cap aside (and I would remind you that we have now all agreed it’s nothing to do with the flat cap at all), it’s the only reason for us European fans to dislike him.

And then it hit me, during the FA Cup final, as I watched Cesar Azpilicueta fell Pierre-Emerick Aubameyang for a first half penalty which was checked by VAR (and a doff of the (flat of course) cap to Mr Azpilicueta, for pulling the ultimate GAA move of “coming off with a hamstring” shortly after being caught for pace and giving away said penalty).

The real reason European fans dislike DeChambeau is that they now genuinely fear that as a result of his arguments at the Memorial Tournament last month that only part of his ball was out of bounds will lead the R&A down the path of announcing the introduction of VAR in golf from 2021.

Could you imagine?

But what about his fellow players? What’s their beef with the Brys?

It’s not that he has the potential to pull a stroke (sorry) or miraculously find “his” ball in the rough (“here, I wasn’t happy with the ProV1 to be honest so I switched to a battered Srixon right before I teed off — didn’t you see?”).

No, it’s all because Bryson is pretty slow, actually very slow, playing his shot. And we all know how much slow play annoys Rory, Brooks, Eddie Pepperell (surname required) et al.

But Bryson won’t stand for that because he is, as he has argued, a fast walker which cancels out his dilly-dallying during play. And this doesn’t go down too well with his fellow pros.

Indeed, as the story goes, after Brooks commented on Bryson’s slow play, Bryson approached Ricky Elliott (Brooks’ caddy) and told Ricky if Brooks had something to say about him, that he should say it to his (Bryson’s) face.

Which got me to thinking, is this whole muscled up look of Bryson’s really to do with driving distance?

Or is it, in fact, to do with a potential bare-knuckle UFC style scrap with Brooks on the 18th at Augusta after The Masters?

Conor McGregor providing the colour commentary with David Feherty.

I wonder who Phil’s money would be on?

Me, I’d take Brooks the college QB any day, for Bryce methinks, he doth protest too much.

Let us not forget people of Lebanon

Last week, on this back page, I allowed myself a vanity project; after living in Beirut for two years, I wanted to paint a picture of how — against all odds — sport was somehow thriving. Not organised sport as we know it, but the grassroots, entrepreneurial kind; the pop-up cricket matches, the 5k time-trials, the pick-up soccer games, and, of course, street hurling.

The only sporting event I’ve attended in Beirut was a World Cup qualifier between Lebanon and North Korea. Not exactly a bucket-list fixture. I wish I could blame my sports editor for the assignment, but honestly, my thirst for live action was such that had Ireland and Egypt reenacted their World Cup ’90 classic, I would’ve given a kidney to go.

In an ironic twist, the game (last November) was played behind closed doors due to the popular uprising in Beirut which saw a government fall. As I rolled back into town after a 0-0 draw, the crowds of protesters thronged the bars and cafes with the joie de vivre more typically associated with those streaming out of Lansdowne Road or Croke Park.

That’s where the city was at. There was hope then. There is none today.

Thousands of Irish men and women have served in south Lebanon with UNIFIL and UNTSO. There are thousands more Lebanese from the south whose earliest memories of exposure to English-speaking folk are Sean Óg from Leitirmor, and Dermo from the Liberties. They have never forgotten us. Let us not not forget them now.

Heroes and Villains

As Sean Boylan’s life in sport got the Irish 30for30 treatment this week, it brought into sharp focus the true notion of heroes and villains, and how beauty and indeed the beast, is in the eye of the beholder.

Think about it. The first real “villain” I myself recall was Meath full back Mick Lyons, a two-time All-Star and All-Ireland winner. That my fear of him as a concept coincided with both my eight-year-old self watching and remembering my first ever Mayo match in Croker is completely relevant.

The only previous I had on the villain front was disliking every single Dublin player from the 1985 team that defeated Mayo in an All-Ireland semi-final replay, but to be fair, at that time I was merely sharing my brother’s opinions (aside that is from thinking that Kieran Duff looked genuinely scary).

Of course, I wasn’t alone in my view of Mick as a villain, nor, as the years passed, was I alone either in Mayo or indeed around the entire country in having the same view of Niall Cahalane, John McDermott, Darragh Ó Sé, Kieran Donaghy, and Philly McMahon (just the 14 All-Star awards between them — I refuse to count All-Ireland medals on ethical grounds).

Those named villains are heroes now and forever in Cork, Meath, Kerry, Kerry, and Dublin respectively. Sure you can argue that Bernard Brogan or later Diarmuid Connolly were the stars of the Dublin team of this generation but 20 years from now when that team is being introduced in Croke Park it will be, without a shadow of a doubt, Philly McMahon who will get the loudest reception from the Hill.

As a Kerry colleague of mine replied when I once commented to him that a Kerry player was a “pest” – yes he is, but he’s OUR “pest”.