We Are All Phil Mickelson

All the moralizing about the Saudi golf league reflects our collective self-deception

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Phil Mickelson at the Honda Classic (Photo: Corn Farmer)

In his 1999 comedy special, Bigger & Blacker, Chris Rock makes a bold assertion about men and marital fidelity: “A man is basically as faithful as his options.” Unattractive men lack any basis for claiming they would never commit adultery, says Rock, because nobody’s trying to f*$& them.

I’ve been thinking about this theory over the past few weeks as I’ve read the moralistic commentary about golfer Phil Mickelson’s defection from the PGA Tour to LIV Golf, a new league backed by Saudi Arabia’s sovereign wealth fund. LIV has reportedly guaranteed the six-time major tournament winner $200 million and offered lower-profile golfers tens of millions to play on their nascent tour. Those who accept the deal will earn a lot more money for playing fewer events—but will also be providing their tacit endorsement to the oppressive regime that has one of the worst human rights records on the planet, including the murder of journalist Jamal Khashoggi.

I’ve read a couple dozen pieces on the topic, but none exceeded the sanctimony of this one by Sally Jenkins of the Washington Post. In “Golf has done so very much good — for Phil Mickelson and his pals,” Jenkins tees off on Mickelson’s greed, self-deception, and willingness to engage in sports-washing, a concept with which she should be very familiar, considering she co-authored two of Lance Armstrong’s autobiographies.  

While it’s tempting to admonish the author for her own hypocrisy, I think it’s more useful to use it as a lens through which to examine the bigger question:  Who among us would say “no” when a very desirable someone wants to f*&$ us or an evil institution offers to pay us an unfathomable amount of money to do the thing we love the most?

Phil’s dilemma is very distinct and high-profile, but each of us—consciously or unconsciously—commits numerous ethical compromises every day. Jenkins writes for a paper owned by Jeff Bezos, founder and executive chairman of Amazon. With only the slightest effort, she could identify numerous examples of the online retailing giant’s practices that conflict with her stated principles, not limited to the fact that it serves Saudi consumers.

I am every bit as guilty of willful ignorance as anyone else. I read Jenkins’ article last Sunday on my iPhone, which was probably assembled in China and definitely contains cobalt, a metallic element that comes from the Congo where it is dug manually—sometimes by children—out of the ground at god knows what ecological and human cost. While reading, I sipped a Diet Coke, which is also available on the baking streets of Riyadh.

When you stop to think about these questions, it makes you wonder. Is it wrong for Coca-Cola to provide refreshments to the average Saudi? Does my consumption of a product imply that I agree with every one of their current business practices or historical decisions? Think about automotive manufacturers. Spend five mins Googling Mercedes, Porsche, Toyota, or Mazda, and you learn that they have spent meaningful time on the wrong side of history. Speaking of cars, about 5% of the fuel in my tank (and growing) is Saudi petrol, which may or may not be worse than gas refined from Russian or Venezuelan crude.

It was too much to consider while I sat on my couch, enjoying the final round of the RBC Canadian Open produced by The PGA Tour, which is now positioning itself as the ethical alternative to LIV. I was so engrossed in the birdies and eagles that I almost forgot to ask myself how the sponsor, Royal Bank of Canada, makes its money. A little querying unearthed the bank’s participation in the IPO of Saudi Aramco—but doing business in the kingdom hardly makes them unique among the PGA’s Official Partners. Indeed, Rolex, Chase, Lexmark, Pepsi, and KPMG also earn profits there.

So who’s walking around pro golf with clean hands? Certainly not Rory McIlroy, last week’s winner who remains one of the top PGA holdouts. Maybe Rory (for the record, one of my favorite players) knows to steer clear after his five-year endorsement of Jumeirah, a super-luxury hospitality brand owned by Dubai Holdings, the investment fund of Sheikh Mohammed bin Rashid Al Maktoum whom Wikipedia describes as “the ruler of Dubai.”

Dubai may have a super neat indoor ski mountain, but Amnesty International reports the government also commits “serious human rights violations, including arbitrary detention, cruel and inhuman treatment of detainees…and violation of the right of privacy.”

So give me a break on the “Phil’s evil and the PGA Tour is pure” narrative. While there’s no justifying Saudi human rights records, this isn’t about golf’s “integrity.” It’s about protecting the league and its massive revenues.

We all want to do the right thing, but truly steering clear of Saudi influence would mean not flying British Airways, riding in a Lyft, or staying in a Marriott, Hyatt, or Fairmont hotel. It would also require not owning stock—even if only through mutual funds—in Boeing, Raytheon, General Dynamics, or any other company that (with the consent of the US government) sells weapons to the unsavory Gulf state. Do you know the names of every single stock held in your 401k? I don’t.

I’m not sure it’s possible to unravel this bowl of ethical spaghetti. These companies, their investors, host countries, suppliers, and customers are so intertwined that it seems impossible to disentangle. One thing is for sure: running a global business in 2022 is not a black-and-white issue, and anyone who represents it that way isn’t paying attention.

What ultimately happens with LIV should depend on the quality of competition. I suspect most golf fans will find the new events less interesting than what we’re used to, and I hope we end up with a reunified and re-invigorated PGA Tour. But LIV should be given a chance to succeed on the merits of its product and not relative to the contrived moral superiority of the incumbent league.

Whether we admit it or not, we all dance with the devil. I do it. Sally Jenkins does it. The PGA Tour does it. How guilty we are depends on two things: 1) How honest we are with ourselves, and 2) Whether or not anyone actually wants to f*$& us.

We are all Phil Mickelson. He’s just got more options.