Bryson Is Looking Like A Shell Of Himself

If he were an herb, Bryson DeChambeau would undoubtedly be cilantro.

Due to a combination of genetics and personal preference, cilantro isn’t something you acquire a taste for. You either like it or you don’t. The same can be said for DeChambeau. Whatever your feelings about him are is irrelevant because, at this stage, DeChambeau’s career is best understood in two very distinct chapters: Before Pinehurst and After Pinehurst.

Just two years ago, DeChambeau’s win at the 2024 U.S. Open at Pinehurst No. 2 was supposed to usher in a new era of major championship golf. It was billed as a prize fight tantamount to Armageddon. Bryson versus Rory, LIV versus the PGA Tour, and, to some, a battle of good versus evil.

That era never came.

Thinking of that, I’m haunted by a series of lyrics from the Villagers.

I waited for something, and something died

So I waited for nothing, and nothing arrived

DeChambeau v. McIlroy was the marquee pairing for Sunday’s championship round last year at Augusta. It was teased as the legendary rematch from Pinehurst and, during its crescendo, the hype drew comparisons to The Rumble in the Jungle. Through the first several holes, it looked like we were primed for an all-time classic duel with McIlroy and DeChambeau exchanging blows and DeChambeau even seizing the outright lead after the second hole.

But as the day unfolded, we caught our first glimpse of what has become the new normal for DeChambeau in majors. Marred by atrocious iron and wedge play, indecision and streaky putting, DeChambeau saw his hopes for a green jacket drown in the pond on No. 11 and finished the tournament four shots off the lead at T5.

We waited for something and with DeChambeau’s dramatic collapse at Augusta, something died.

Looking at things in retrospect, it was right around this time that we began to see some cracks in his armor and, by that, I mean the carefully crafted personal image built through his ever-growing popularity on YouTube. Until that loss, DeChambeau’s “new” identity was two-fold: a slightly eccentric golf-obsessed nerd who was pedantic about his equipment and would stop at nothing until it was perfect. That was the “Mad Scientist.”

The other was the happy-go-lucky man of the people—a guy who didn’t take himself too seriously. Both were equally endearing because, despite their differences, they complemented one another in making DeChambeau larger than life. His image extended well beyond the course and gave him a level of star power in the golfing world that hasn’t been seen since Tiger.

That’s part of the point.

Looking at things in totality, there was no denying DeChambeau was one of the top five players in the world. There was a legitimate argument to be made that he was even top two or three. DeChambeau’s talent, charisma and popularity made him an even more compelling figure than world No. 1 Scottie Scheffler or his rival Rory McIlroy.

Whether right, wrong or indifferent, by his own hand, DeChambeau became too big for DeChambeau. Every time he sneezed, he was scrutinized. Every equipment change (and there have been many) became a major storyline. Then came politics, conspiracy theories and just about everything in between.

Simply put, wherever he went, there was a story.

As he often does, DeChambeau arrived at Shinnecock with a story—two, actually. The first was his TaylorMade Qi4D prototype driver. The second was his prototype Reebok shoes. Where Bryson goes, a story follows. By virtue of his YouTube following so, too, do fans. Again, for better or worse, at the U.S. Open, all eyes were once again on Bryson.

I am compelled to say two things: I like cilantro and, after chatting with him, I like Bryson.

Even his most ardent haters cannot say that an elite Bryson, especially in majors, isn’t good for golf. Therefore, I think it’s more than fair to say that heading into this year’s U.S. Open, we were all waiting for something from Bryson.

Perhaps we should have been a bit more specific about what we were waiting to see.

Instead of the player who, just two years ago, was in complete control of his game and image, we saw the remnants of a shell of what used to be Bryson DeChambeau. We saw a player shellacked, brutalized and punished on a course setup that was tailor-made for his game.

That wasn’t DeChambeau from Pinehurst but, unfortunately, that might be who DeChambeau is now.

We waited for something and something died.

It may sound odd to say but DeChambeau’s career very closely resembles that of his LPGA counterpart, Yuka Saso. While DeChambeau has more wins on the PGA and international tours (Saso’s two U.S. Open victories are her only career wins), since both of their last U.S. Open triumphs, we’ve all asked the same question:

What happened?

Going forward, I don’t know what any of us should reasonably expect from Bryson. Maybe our best approach is to expect—wait—for nothing.

But again, maybe, like the Villagers nihilistically suggest, when we wait for nothing, nothing arrives.

Top Photo Caption: Bryson DeChambeau didn’t have it at this week’s U.S. Open. (GETTY IMAGES/Cliff Hawkins)