Golf's Etiquette Crisis Demands Our Attention

I've walked fairways on six continents, and no matter where I've played—whether a windswept links in Scotland or a sun-baked municipal track in Arizona—there's always been an unspoken understanding that binds us. We repair our divots. We rake our bunkers. We stand still when someone swings. This shared language of respect is what makes golf golf.

But lately, that language feels like it's being forgotten.

The Foundation We're Forgetting

Open any rulebook produced by the USGA and R&A, and before you encounter a single stroke-and-distance penalty or relief procedure, you'll find a section devoted entirely to etiquette. It's not an afterthought or appendix—it's the first thing they want you to read. This placement is intentional. The governing bodies understand that the rules of golf exist within a framework of courtesy, and without that framework, the rules become meaningless.

What we're witnessing now is a clear breakdown of that framework, stretching from weekend rounds at your local course to the sport's most prestigious championships.

The shift is subtle but unmistakable. Where golf once emphasized the collective "we"—how we share a common experience together in a positive manner—a singular "I" has taken root. It's the difference between seeing the group behind you waiting and waving them through, versus letting them languish for eighteen holes because, well, you paid your green fee too.

When Major Championships Become Flashpoints

The erosion of etiquette isn't confined to recreational play. This year's US Open at Shinnecock Hills—that storied ground where I've always felt the ghosts of golf's past walking alongside me—was marred by spectator behavior that would have been unthinkable a generation ago.

Multiple spectators were escorted off the property after directing verbal comments at eventual champion Wyndham Clark that were both audible and deeply disconcerting. These weren't passionate cheers or groans of disappointment—they were targeted, personal attacks on a player simply trying to compete.

The 2025 Ryder Cup at Bethpage presented an even more troubling scene. Spectators accosted Rory McIlroy and Shane Lowry with hostility that crossed every line of acceptable behavior. But what made the situation particularly egregious was the institutional failure that preceded it: the PGA of America's decision to allow a comedian—and by all accounts, a poor one—to handle player introductions, including deploying an expletive when McIlroy's name was called.

The fumbles by host organizers didn't just elevate tension; they hijacked an event that should celebrate international competition and camaraderie. Instead of remembering the golf, we remember the ugliness.

The Soul of the Game Is at Stake

I've always believed that a great golf course represents one of the finest things humanity creates—the marriage of land, design, and purpose into something that challenges and humbles us. But a course is just grass and sand without the people who play it. And those people need to understand that their behavior shapes the experience for everyone around them.

The etiquette guidelines in the rulebook aren't arbitrary Victorian holdovers. They exist because golf is fundamentally a shared endeavor. Even in stroke play, where we're technically competing against everyone in the field, we're doing so in intimate proximity. Your playing partners hear your muttered profanity. The group behind you watches you scroll through your phone instead of playing ready golf. The competitor standing over a putt registers your camera flash.

Every lapse compounds.

Remedial Actions Long Overdue

Recognizing a clear problem exists is the first step in solving any issue—and we have a clear problem. Tournament organizers need to enforce spectator standards with genuine consequences. Courses need to empower marshals and starters to address pace and behavior issues in real time. And all of us who love this game need to model the courtesy we want to see.

Golf has survived wars, depressions, and technological upheaval. It will survive this behavioral moment too. But only if we acknowledge what's happening and commit to doing better.

The Takeaway

Golf's etiquette isn't optional—it's foundational. The troubling incidents at recent major championships and everyday courses alike signal a deterioration that demands attention from players, organizers, and governing bodies. The question isn't whether golf can endure behavioral lapses; it's what kind of game we'll have left if we don't address them. The "we" must reclaim its place over the "I."