Players 2025: He's been labeled golf's bad boy. But does golf have Alejandro Tosti all wrong?

PONTE VEDRA BEACH — He finds solace in the kitchen, because it reminds him of a place he feels loved against a place that can feel cold. When he was at the University of Florida, 4,500 miles from his Argentine family, Alejandro Tosti rejected the standard meal plan and dormitory life, opting for an apartment where he could recreate the sensory memories of home through cooking. Even now, as he traverses the country on tour, he prefers rentals with functional kitchens, crafting batches of empanadas that he distributes to tournament volunteers like treasured gifts. “I let them try a bit of my magic,” Tosti says.

It's a revelation that confounds the informed golf enthusiast; this slight, generous figure offering homemade Argentine pastries to grateful volunteers ... this is the notorious bad boy of the PGA Tour?

“There is an image of me on the internet,” Tosti says on the front lawn of TPC Sawgrass ahead of the Players Championship. “That is not really who I am.”

To the casual observer, Tosti appears a 28-year-old in his sophomore tour season, a player who lost his tour card only to reclaim it through Q-School. Among devoted golf fans, however, he has attained near-mythical status, his reputation built on legendary confrontations that border on the apocryphal, with a well-documented history of clashes with fellow competitors and tournament officials. Yet beneath these conflicting narratives lies Tosti's simple desire: for people to see beyond the caricature and understand the authentic person behind the headlines.

In a sport dominated by country-club pedigrees, Tosti's origin story stands apart in its authenticity and struggle. Raised in financial uncertainty in Rosario, Argentina, where his father's career as an electronic engineer couldn't shield the family from poverty, Tosti knew there were days where meals weren’t guaranteed. Golf is more democratic in that part of the world, yet it is still a sport of privilege and not one conducive to Tosti’s financial background. But a 6-year-old Alejandro became transfixed by the 2001 Masters Tournament on television, sparking an improbable passion. With resources nonexistent, he improvised his first golf experience—striking ping-pong balls with charcoal sticks toward plumbing drains, wagering five-cent bets with his brother. His dedication manifested at age 8 when, lacking any proper facilities nearby, he began making solo hour-long bus journeys to a public course in Perez. His father taught him the complex transit route, and his parents would escort him to and from the neighborhood bus stop daily, balancing the dangers of their environment against their son's unmistakable determination.

By his teens he was dominating junior tournaments and claimed the No. 1 amateur ranking in Argentina. His abilities earned him a scholarship with the Florida golf program, representing a life-altering opportunity to escape poverty. Yet this triumph nearly ended in tragedy during his freshman year when he faced a brush with death so severe that doctors questioned if he would survive, let alone ever swing a golf club again.

Encephalitis, a potentially fatal inflammation of the brain tissue typically triggered by viral or bacterial infections, ravaged Tosti's body and threatened his cognitive functions. Beyond the excruciating headaches and dangerous fevers, the condition can attack the central nervous system, causing alarming alterations in consciousness, memory impairment, personality disruptions and speech deterioration. The medical prognosis was so grave and uncertain that university officials arranged emergency flights for his family from Argentina to Florida. “It was super scary,” Tosti says. “You can go any time and our bodies are super vulnerable to all kind of things. Not only physical, but also mental. I was going through a lot of stress, and I just didn't know what was going on.”

The recovery process from encephalitis was a grueling, weeks-long battle that Tosti deliberately compartmentalizes as part of his past—a chapter too painful to revisit frequently. From that experience he extracted a single philosophy: "You don't know when the tough times are coming.” The perspective fortified his resilience throughout the ensuing decade. He rebounded to become an All-American standout and captured the SEC Championship medal. He turned professional in 2018 and navigated the challenging landscape of the Latin America Tour before advancing to the Korn Ferry circuit in 2022. His breakthrough rookie season featured an impressive 10 top-10 finishes and a victory, ultimately securing the coveted PGA Tour card that had once seemed an impossible dream.

Among his peers, Tosti has cultivated a reputation for possessing power despite his 5-foot, 6-inch frame—generating clubhead speed and distance that rivals competitors a foot taller. While the modern professional game increasingly emphasizes methodical, analytics-driven approaches, Tosti remains intuitive. Unlike players who rely on a consistent, repeatable stock shot, he approaches each hole confident in shaping draws, fades or penetrating straight balls based not just on strategic necessity but on artistic inspiration—playing golf with an improvisational flair that reflects his unconventional path to the game's highest level.

But he also gained another reputation as a tortured artist, whose work sometimes went way outside the canvas.

Tosti possesses an intensity on the course—a competitive fire that occasionally erupts. This temperament has elevated him to cult-hero status among devoted golf fans, fueled largely by "The Shotgun Start" podcast and a report by Ryan French at Monday Q. The podcast, popular within golf's dedicated fanbase, created a recurring segment titled "Tosti Tales," where hosts Brendan Porath and Andy Johnson chronicle colorful anecdotes collected from tour insiders and eyewitness accounts about the Argentine maverick. These (alleged) stories include Tosti's celebration after securing his tour card at the 2023 Korn Ferry Tour Finals—draining an entire bottle of champagne on the 18th green before hurling the empty vessel into a nearby pond. Others detail him stashing hot dogs throughout his golf bag during tournament play and driving a comically undersized Smart car with an oversized winner's check from two months prior crammed awkwardly in the back seat. When Tosti finally arrived on the PGA Tour, his behavior immediately validated these eccentric narratives. During his 2024 debut at the Sony Open, cameras captured him casually carrying a coconut throughout the course, skillfully opening it with an iron to drink its contents. Later footage showed him waiting for playing partners while sitting cross-legged on the turf—moments of refreshing authenticity and playful nonconformity that stand in stark contrast to the carefully maintained corporate personas that dominate professional golf's landscape. (Case in point: Minutes after this story was published, Tosti made an ace during Wednesday's practice round at the famous par-3 17th ... and proceeded to take a dip in the pond after getting pushed in.)

Unfortunately, the Monday Q report revealed a far more troubling incident. After posting an impressive first-round 67 at the 2023 Albertsons Boise Open, Tosti's sudden "withdrawal" from the tournament was later confirmed as a suspension imposed by the Korn Ferry Tour following a serious behavioral violation. The tour's official statement remained deliberately vague: "Per PGA Tour policy, the details of the issue and any related disciplinary action will be handled internally." However, French—respected as the definitive source on developmental-tour happenings—uncovered that Tosti's suspension stemmed from a profanity-laden tirade directed at playing partner Kyle Westmoreland over perceived slow play after Westmoreland hit a shot into the trees. When approached about the incident, Westmoreland offered a measured response, saying "He's a great player, and I hope he learns from this"—a diplomatic statement revealing both professional courtesy and acknowledgment that Tosti's on-course conduct had crossed a significant line.

However, French's reporting revealed a more troubling pattern: the Westmoreland confrontation represented merely the culmination of numerous concerning incidents that ultimately triggered the tour's disciplinary intervention. According to French's sources, Tosti had exhibited a pattern of problematic behavior including explosive reactions following poor shots, confrontational exchanges with competitors and rules officials, and a public berating of his caddie. Speaking to Golf Digest on Wednesday, Tosti acknowledged that the disciplinary action stemmed from his conduct violations, though he expressed significant personal hurt regarding the subsequent public discourse and characterizations of his character that emerged in the aftermath.

“There was a lot of media going around about me and people talking about me that was not true,” Tosti said. “It hit me really hard and damaged by confidence with people. It was hard to believe in fans, especially people on the internet.

“So I try to keep myself very honest and to follow my heart. I know I’m a nice guy, so I don’t care what people think now.”

The emotional wounds remain. Tosti now minmizes interactions within a golf community he feels has betrayed him. He's conscious of his controversial reputation—that he's become a playing partner many competitors actively hope to avoid. Yet not all confrontations stem from misperception or hypersensitivity. During last year's Houston Open, while contending for the title, Tosti engaged in a tense standoff with Tony Finau over playing order on a birdie putt, with neither player willing to concede position. After Thomas Detry ultimately supported Finau's claim, Tosti responded with calculated slowness before his putt, eventually requesting Finau mark his ball, citing it as a distraction. The tension escalated on the subsequent hole when, after converting a birdie putt, Tosti unleashed an aggressive fist pump that NBC's on-course reporter John Wood specifically identified as being directed toward Finau—a rare public display of interpersonal animosity in golf's typically restrained competitive environment. Later that night, Tosti’s old college coach J.C. Deacon appeared on Golf Channel, explaining that Tosti is not interested in making friends on tour. “Alejandro’s not scared of anyone,” Deacon said. “It’s a war out there for him, and I think that rubs some people the wrong way, and maybe that came out a little bit today.”

Tosti acknowledges the portrayal without defensiveness. His passion for golf is intact, as is his confidence in his exceptional abilities. However, his perspective on the financial stakes fundamentally differs from many of his competitors. Having experienced where basic necessities weren't guaranteed, he processes the transformative potential of tour earnings through a different lens than peers who grew up with economic security. Consequently, when his performance falters—as it has throughout the tumultuous past 15 months on tour—the disappointments land with a crushing psychological weight that many of his competitors cannot comprehend. “That's been a big thing for me, where before it was just trying to play the game and not much in the line. There are responsibilities and income. It's just a lot different when I was in college or when I was playing amateur trying to compete for the trophy.”

Within professional golf's insular brotherhood, Tosti exists as an outlier. He has compartmentalized the sport as his occupation, increasingly discovering interests outside golf. His culinary interests blend his Argentine heritage with sophisticated Italian influences—a creative outlet that connects him to family traditions. Like his father, he possesses an engineer's mind, finding satisfaction in disassembling objects to understand their inner workings before reconstructing them. His genuine affection for animals reveals a nurturing side rarely glimpsed inside the ropes. Most recently, over the past four months, Tosti has immersed himself in pursuing a private pilot's license—a challenge he embraces both for its intellectual stimulation and its psychological benefits.

Tosti stands apart in both personality and appearance—Wednesday being no exception. While his competitors arrived dressed in premium golf attire, Tosti showed up in sweatpants and a well-worn hoodie, appearing as though he had literally rolled out of bed moments before his 9 a.m. commitment. Easy to dismiss as "Classic Tosti" behavior. The truth revealed his priorities: Tosti had risen before sunrise to drive two-and-a-half hours to Gainesville and back to personally collect his parents. Facing one of the most significant tournaments of his career, he recognized their sacrifice in coming to support him and felt compelled to match their effort with his own act of devotion.

Others see this, and Tosti has found unexpected allies, most notably PGA Tour commissioner Jay Monahan. Their connection began not through golf but through shared grief—meeting at a fundraiser honoring a mutual friend who had passed away during Tosti's college years. This personal bond has endured, manifesting in Monahan's genuine support at pivotal moments in Tosti's career. When Tosti battled through the pressure-filled final round of Q-School at Dye's Valley at TPC Sawgrass last December, Monahan walked the course alongside him and waited behind the 18th green to offer congratulations when Tosti regained tour status. Their relationship continued Wednesday when Monahan personally presented Tosti with the traditional cuff links given to first-time Players Championship participants, clasping his hand firmly while expressing pride in Tosti's journey—a public endorsement from golf's highest authority that stands in stark contrast to his controversial reputation among peers.

“I felt kind of nice to feel welcome here and, and know that somebody like Jay is following my career,” Tosti said.” “It's just nice to see that people are not only looking out for themselves. It’s not all about business. It's about human relationships.”

That character extends to Tosti's interactions with young fans. While he maintains careful distance from his peers, he transforms completely around children, routinely lingering long after tournaments to sign countless autographs, pose for photos, and engage in genuine conversations. His patience seems inexhaustible in these moments, often staying when other players have departed. This connection flows from an understanding of what these interactions represent.

“I see myself every time I see a kid, I see myself 20 years ago when I was starting golf, I'll go to a professional tournament in my hometown. And just seeing the, the professional players to me was motivation. And that's the reason why I am here today. When I was a kid I had a dream and I worked hard and I had a different, um, times that I dream about it and I thought it was too far. But then I kept working and, and I'm here. So when I see those kids I just say, well, you never know. Maybe one of these kids just giving them a ball or a glove or a smile or a signature can can change their life.”

It's also clear why Tosti treasures these moments. These kids see merely the golfer, not the reputation. And for Tosti, the relief of being accepted for exactly who he is, rather than what he is not.