PORTRUSH, Northern Ireland – An eagle-eyed reporter questioned Bryson DeChambeau on Friday about a golf ball that he appeared to be using in practice but not competition this week at The Open.
Caught tinkering, again, DeChambeau gave a wry smile. Then he offered a defense of his unique strategy – and a glimpse into his future plans.
“I need help out here,” he conceded.
At Royal Portrush and everywhere else, DeChambeau is an iconoclast in search of efficiency, optimization and, ultimately, perfection. There’s no one quite like him. Not how he thinks and strategizes. Not how he practices and rarely plays. Not with the one-of-one equipment he uses. And not, if everything stays on schedule, where he hopes to go.
Over the past few years, DeChambeau has been working feverishly with his team of nerds to design a new golf ball that performs better at his off-the-charts speeds. He wants to lower his sky-high flight, but he’s been having trouble dialing in the right combination, especially when his steep angle of descent produces a tremendous amount of spin with his irons but, curiously, not with his wedges, which come off high with little zip.
It’s a work in progress. No, DeChambeau told the reporter, he didn’t experience a eureka moment on the range earlier this week. But he’s getting closer. He’s been told the first iteration of the ball – his ball – could be in his hands within the next few weeks. Then, and perhaps only then, he’d be able to have better, more predictable control of his shots.
As DeChambeau explained, “I need a golf ball that on wedges can click on the face most consistently. I get a lot of slipping on the face, just because of how vertical I am and how much loft I have, and it just rolls up the face and launches with no spin most of the time on my shots, so getting something that comes off at a more consistent trajectory in adverse conditions is really the goal.”
As with most things with DeChambeau, he’s searching for answers not by altering his style but by tweaking his equipment. It’s his usual course of action. Going to same-length irons. Less driver loft. More clubhead curvature. And now, with his ball, a different core and composition.
He’s equal parts innovative and stubborn.
But with a highly stylized game that is productive all but one week a year, DeChambeau also offers a fascinating parallel to a superstar of the previous generation, another iconoclast who enjoyed pushing the boundaries of his equipment and forever believed that his way was the right way.
Phil Mickelson couldn’t figure out links golf, either. At least not initially. He preferred to rear back and rip it. Send towering iron shots into the sky. Grab his 60-degree wedge and attempt another magic trick around the greens.
That Americanized style made Mickelson wildly successful. A sure-fire Hall of Famer long before he headed to Muirfield in the summer of 2013. But he always felt there was a gaping hole in his competitive resume at the only major that wasn’t played in the U.S.; in his first 11 appearances at The Open, he couldn’t muster a single top-10 despite establishing himself as the second-best player of his generation.
So, ahead of the 2004 Open, Mickelson and Dave Pelz, the late short-game guru, set out on a quest to learn some new shots. Overseas, Mickelson incorporated a full-swing “chip” that he used off the tee to put the ball in play more often and allow him to showcase his myriad other gifts. The extra reconnaissance paid off; Mickelson placed third that year, by far his best effort to date. He was the runner-up in 2011. And then, two years later, he completed the links double, winning the Scottish Open and Open Championship in consecutive weeks.
“I think winning in 2013 was the greatest accomplishment in my career because I had to learn a style of golf that I didn’t grow up playing,” Mickelson said Thursday. “It’s the greatest source of pride for me as a player to overcome those obstacles. Now, I’ve come to really love it, enjoy it, and I seem to play well in some of the adverse conditions, too.”
That prompted a follow-up: Why was it important to him?
Why adapt for just one tournament a year when, for the other 51 weeks, he was a threat to win anywhere and at any time?
“I just think it’s a sign of a complete player,” he said.
It’d be the ultimate achievement for DeChambeau, too. His top-end results in this championship are slightly better than Mickelson’s – he finished sixth three years ago, at St. Andrews – but it’s his only top-30 in seven tries so far. This year, at Portrush, he looked well on his way to another early exit following a birdie-less 78 in Round 1, but he capitalized on benign morning conditions to card a Friday 65, matching the low round of the day, just to make the cut.
Still, afterward, DeChambeau appeared unmoved. Perhaps because he knew he wasn’t close to conquering this outstanding goal. It was just his eighth under-par score in 24 career Open rounds.
“In order to be a complete golfer, you’ve got to win over here,” DeChambeau agreed. “That’s something I’ve struggled to do. I’ve played well at times when it’s dry and the greens are more consistent in their bounce and the greens are a little bit better. But when it gets as chaotic as this, with the wind going every which way, you have to be a complete golfer that pivots on demand.
“I think (Mickelson) is right – it’s the most proud moment of his career. And for me, if it was ever to happen in my career, it probably would be the proudest as well.”
DeChambeau is the most blatant (and successful) example of the Trackman generation that now dots the professional landscape. Athletes built for speed who have exploited all of the new-age technology to optimize their swings and their games. Headstrong alphas unyielding in their approach. In many ways, they’re smart to lean into the high-powered ball-bashing that can destroy run-of-the-mill tour courses susceptible to high-launch, low-spin driving and flag-hunting approach play. On the right week, with optimal conditions, they’ll cash in.
But Open success relies on players flashing other skills and adapting in ways that are uncommon on the every-week tour. Varying trajectory. Bending shots both directions. Using multiple techniques around the green. There’s also the mental computations, the strategy, and calculating other variables like wind and runout. Some of the best Open players of the past decade – Rory McIlroy, Jon Rahm, Xander Schauffele, Jordan Spieth – all excel in those areas. It’s reasonable to believe, with his dynamic skill set, that Scottie Scheffler – who grew up playing shot-shaping games at home in wind-swept Dallas – will soon thrive in this event, too. (He’s near the top of the leaderboard in Round 2.)
“I’ve always been creative and had a good imagination when it comes to hitting shots,” said Rickie Fowler, who sports a tidy Open record despite boasting the second-highest apex height on Tour, at nearly 130 feet. “Growing up on a flat driving range, I had to picture different things and hit different shots. Over here, there’s obstacles out there, but you have to at times be able to see the shots and then execute it as well.”
Brian Harman, the 2023 Open champ, is a throwback in that sense, too; he might use TrackMan for validation or verification but never optimization. He trusts his hands and his instincts. It took a little seasoning – he went 0-4 in the 2006 Palmer Cup in his first taste – but he came to love links golf. The stingers. The iron shots held into a strong crosswind. The straight-faced chip shots that don’t expose the bounce.
“Places like this force you to be a little bit more creative,” Harman said. “There’s probably 10 different types of clubs, irons, drivers and woods that you can hit off the tee. There’s different ways to attack into the green. I just enjoy the creativity and trying to think your way around. You’re not forced to hit certain shots. You can do it your own way.”
Earlier this week, Harman played a practice round at Portrush with Andrew Novak, who was making his Open debut. In just a few days Novak had understood (if not mastered) some of the intricacies of this unique brand of golf. The lack of grain around the greens and how it opens up a variety of shots. The discipline to play away from tucked flags, accepting 40 feet as a reasonable approach, or take on risk. Both the benefit and potential drawback of playing your preferred, stock shot. Tips and tricks that can’t be found on a Trackman or with adjustments to his equipment.
The idea that only winning on a proper links can make Novak a “complete player” is still a bit foreign to him. He’s 30 and just now breaking out. This year, he won for the first time on Tour, in a team event. This is only his fourth career major start, period.
But the concept of completeness still held some meaning to him, particularly now that he’s pushed his way into the game’s elite.
“That’s a very nice bonus that you can point to,” Novak said, “like, Hey, look – I can do that, too. That’s pretty impressive to say.”
