There’s likely to be more poetry than justice in the poetic justice of LIV Golf facing financial insolvency that complements its moral bankruptcy, since it won’t only be the deserving players and agents who’ll be stiffed on invoices but also vendors and employees who can ill afford the hit.
For poetry, we can enjoy how the Chapter 11 filing blows away the smokescreen of obfuscation and guff that has governed LIV’s dealings since launch, forcing the league to cite real-world figures and facts. Like admitting that the Saudi Public Investment Fund lost $5 billion and would fund the 2026 season only with a $495 million loan, which was still insufficient to cover the schedule without canceling two tournaments. Or that only $15 million cash remains
on hand from that near $5.5 billion. Or that LIV’s media rights deal was worth a paltry $5 million, equivalent to revenue earned selling team merchandise. Or that executives averaged $250,000 in annual credit card bills. Or that LIV shorted the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees $1.7 million, money promised in support of its mission to aid displaced peoples, presumably including those impacted by the Saudi involvement in Sudan. (Pity the many social media bootlickers who beclowned themselves daily and didn’t even earn a spot on the creditors list.)
More poetry lies in the particulars of LIV’s proposed restructuring with BC Partners Credit. A league that owes its very existence to player disloyalty now finds its future dependent upon, um, loyalty from those same players. The terms demand LIV reach agreements to retain half of the golfers still owed money, and those golfers must collectively represent two-thirds of all monies owed to players. Which means retaining the lower orders like Peter Uihlein or Caleb Surratt only goes so far; LIV need guys owed substantial sums to enlist for 2.0, and few seem openly enthusiastic about doing so.
LIV’s CEO, Scott O’Neil, has 35 days from filing bankruptcy to forge deals with the requisite players, so expect a Wild West scenario as his deadline nears on October 13. LIV will formally release some golfers whose contracts won’t be carried forward in a restructuring, but every player will be discreetly searching for safe harbor on other tours, most still guided by the same agents who led them into this dead end while skimming a percentage.
A number of agents have already called lower level officials at the PGA Tour to inquire about options, but those calls terminate after two questions: Is your client out of contract with LIV? Can you demonstrate that fact? The customary strategy employed by agents in LIV world — half truths and outright lies — don’t cut it, and the PGA Tour won’t take them at their word and risk a tortious interference lawsuit by LIV. The New Jersey bankruptcy court will make it a matter of record whose contracts have been terminated, thereby freeing that player to pursue alternatives.
For most of LIV’s roster, the options are going to be limited and unappealing. Also-rans and washed-up veterans will hope to keep coasting with the league, competing for small purses on YouTube. Others will hike to the hinterlands in search of a pathway back to the U.S. tour (“Good luck in the Danish Open,” said one caustic insider). A fortunate few may be offered punitive penalties as a means of returning to the PGA Tour, assuming they’re willing to don a bib and tuck into a platter of feces.
The most likely candidates for that are those deemed competitively relevant, like Jon Rahm, Tyrell Hatton and Joaquin Niemann. It remains to be seen if PGA Tour CEO Brian Rolapp’s members will permit him to even extend an offer when those guys come knocking. There was obvious merit to renditioning back Brooks Koepka and Patrick Reed to weaken LIV, but will they see the need for a kill shot on a corpse?
Bryson DeChambeau’s insistence on positioning himself as an unrepentant evangelist for LIV 2.0 makes it difficult for Rolapp to consider spending the political capital necessary to smooth his passage back to the PGA Tour, especially when his childish antics at Royal Birkdale this summer reminded his former peers of why they’re happy to be former peers. And Rolapp knows that any future DeChambeau incidents would be considered problems that Rolapp created. That’s a leap of faith he might conclude is neither prudent nor necessary.
Over the next 30 days, LIV’s luckless CEO will lose assets he desperately needs to keep, while his opposite number at the PGA Tour will have to decide if they’re a liability he’s willing to assume. Unlike previous episodes in this farce, no amount of player entitlement or agent bluster can dictate the narrative of Chapter 11.
Eamon Lynch is a columnist for Golfweek and a contributor to the Golf Channel.
This article originally appeared on Golfweek: Finally, after four years and $5.5 billion, LIV Golf isn’t only morally bankrupt | Opinion
