Please do not be alarmed – this is not about golf. Not really.
Instead, it is about one particular round of golf, an absurd, grimly fascinating, horrifying round of golf that took place a few weeks ago at a swanky golf course just outside New York City. There, Bryson DeChambeau, former winner of the US Open and one of the best golfers in the world, played a game with Donald Trump, former loser of the US presidential election and one of the worst people in the world.
A one-hour film of that game, played at a course that Trump owns, was released on YouTube last week. It is quite something.
The opening scene is of Trump warming up on the practice ground, and the immediate impression of him is that he looks very old, but also sheened and artificially preserved, like a large glacée fruit. He sports a white Trump monogrammed T-shirt and red MAGA hat, but there is no sign of a sanitary towel stuck to his ear, so evidently this was filmed before he was shot.
“This is going to be one of the greatest games of golf ever played,” Trump says to camera, because what else would he say?
Golf is the perfect Trump sport. The money, the opulence, the faux-gentility, the near-boundless opportunities for cheating – it’s a game where you can waive the rules for your buddies, but ruthlessly enforce the letter of the law on your enemies. It’s Trump all over.
And then there’s the golf look, the polo shirt buttoned to the neck and tucked neatly into a pair of pleated chinos, a style favoured not only by the yachty zillionaire inhabitants of Palm Beach, but also the neo-Nazi protesters of Charlottesville. They famously marched through that town by torchlight, chanting “Jews will not replace us”, while dressed in the preppy uniform of the country club golfer. In other words, it’s a look that cuts right the way across Trump’s support base.
Then they’re off and almost immediately Bryson is close to swooning. “Oh what a shot, partner!” he shouts after Trump hits a wedge 111 yards to the second green. Trump, looking very pleased with himself indeed, turns to the camera: “You think Biden could do that?” he asks. “You know we had an argument about golf?”
Could it really be that Trump decided to make this video simply because Biden talked smack about his golf game during their debate? Thinking about it – yes. Almost certainly yes. In other words, the entire thing is a product of Trump’s colossal pettiness.
They finish the second hole and jump into a golf cart, pursued by an entourage that occupies a further six buggies. Trump is driving and Bryson is asking him which of the golf courses he owns is his favourite.
“Turnberry is rated No 1 in the world,” says Trump, of the famous course in Scotland. But this isn’t true. About 10 or so minutes later he says the same thing, and it still isn’t true.
Trump bought Turnberry in 2014 and immediately renamed it “Trump Turnberry”, after which the body that runs the Open stated that the competition “will not return until we are convinced that the focus will be on the championship, the players and the course”. In other words, they don’t think much of the new owner.
And they probably wouldn’t think much of Trump’s playing technique either. Take his putting style.
A very great putter – say Tiger Woods when he could still do it – performs a smooth, graceful stroke in which the arms and shoulders move together like the swinging of a great pendulum. Trump’s putting stroke, however, is like a man with a stick flicking a dog shit into his neighbour’s garden.
And when it comes to the long game, Trump has got an awful swing. Truly dreadful. His huge bulk pulls him off balance as he swings back and on the downswing he falls forward into the shot.
Sometimes it works, and occasionally he can hit the ball pretty well for a man his age. But the problem with falling into the shot is that the player tends to “slice” the ball.
This is exactly what happens on the third, when Trump swings hard and slices his tee shot waaaay out into the shit on the far right. “Should be all right,” he says.
Bryson sets up for a drive and hammers it mightily down the fairway, blissfully unaware of the small PR contribution he is making towards the end of American democracy. But it is a great tee shot.
They jump back in the golf cart and Trump starts fiddling with the in-buggy sound system, eventually selecting Time to Say Goodbye, that famous hotel lobby classic. The knowledge that Trump will be shot shortly after making this film gives the choice an uncanny edge.
By the time Trump fats his approach shot on the fourth, sending up a divot the size of a doormat, he and Bryson are calling each other “partner”. “Oh my gosh, what a great putt,” gushes Bryson, as Trump misses his putt on the seventh green.
And then it’s back into the golf buggy and on to the next hole. Trump, it seems, does not walk.
As they whizz to the next tee, he gets animated. “See those trees over there? They grow naturally,” he tells Bryson, swigging from a bottle of Diet Coke.
Bryson plays along enthusiastically. He is quite an odd person, and talks in a rigid, artificial way, saying things like: “Playing professional golf, we’re always trying to mitigate away from problematic situations…”, apparently unaware of the highly problematic situation into which he has got himself.
And when Trump gets a birdie on the ninth hole, Bryson is ecstatic, beaming a broad Californian smile. Trump, however, sounds out of breath.
On the next hole, he falls very heavily into the seat of his buggy. He really is quite huge. Unhealthily so.
On the 11th tee, Trump once again hits his ball waaaay out to the right. “That’s a good shot over there. It’s fine,” says Trump, as the ball vanishes into the trees.
As they ride the buggy up the fairway, Trump reflects on his game. “I play it well,” he says. “For a guy that plays as little as I do, I won so many club championships, I play against guys that play all the time. I hit it straight…”
Trump hits a good shot on the 210-yard 12th. It’s actually a very good shot. He makes the putt.
Occasionally, his appalling technique can be extremely effective. Buoyed up by this improvement in form, Trump starts reminiscing about the famous people he’s met over the years.
“The only one I didn’t know is Elvis, I never met Elvis,” he says. “Michael Jackson – very well – lived in one of my buildings. Had his honeymoon at Mar-a-Lago,” he says, providing a snippet of information that carries with it the distinct aroma of legal significance.
Trump misses his putt on the 13th and again on the 14th, before remarking that he has made eight holes in one. “What’s your favourite?” asks Bryson, by now in full toadying mode. “The last one,” says Trump. “Made with Ernie Els,” (a famous South African champion golfer).
On the day he hit that hole in one Trump was so excited about it he actually issued a press release. “And Ernie was there,” says Trump, glowing at the memory of it all. “I got a hole in one,” he says adding, weirdly, by way of conclusion, “it was quite good.”
At the 15th, Trump sends his ball waaaay out to the extreme right. “It’ll be OK,” he says, as his ball vanishes once again into the trees.
Later on, Trump fats his chip shot into a bunker. He then misses his putt.
They listen to Beat It as they drive up to the 16th tee. And then Trump is talking about trees again.
“Trees. There you go, look at these trees,” he says. “There are phenomenal trees. I like some trees,” he says. “Beautiful oaks, I like.”
Eventually they make it to the last hole, where Trump finally makes his putt. Bryson falls on to the floor in ecstasy, beaming wildly, knowing that he has just pulled off the golfing YouTube scoop to end all scoops.
No doubt the number of subscribers to his channel will now soar. But at what cost, Bryson?
As for Trump, this was him in his element. Donald the golfer seemed very relaxed and at times even happy, although he doesn’t really ever smile, and he certainly doesn’t laugh. In fact it’s almost impossible to imagine him laughing.
But golf, it seems, is the perfect distillation of Trump’s worldview. It’s a haven of exclusivity, where he gets to hang out with other zillionaires, like Bryson, with no one else around apart from those people in the back of the picture who scurry about fetching his divots and who run up the fairway to watch his ball, to take note of where it lands among the trees.
But most of all, it’s a world that’s empty of all other people, and where everyone has to get out of his way, because he’s in charge. He’s the owner. It’s all his.
PG Wodehouse once wrote: “To find a man’s true character, play golf with him.” Having now watched Trump play, we can say this: that his technique is horribly ugly, at times very effective, but because of its intrinsic failings, it inevitably and repeatedly sends him out to the extreme right.
In other words, if you want a picture of the Trumpian future, imagine a spiked golf shoe stamping on a human face – for ever.
