local knowledge
Facing the music: When players speak to the media after heartbreak
Stephen Munday
There's an excruciating video you can watch on YouTube right now from the 1979 Masters. It features Ed Sneed in Butler Cabin, but he's not there to put on the green jacket. In fact, Sneed led by three shots with three holes to play, but made bogey on 16, 17, and 18 to stumble into a playoff, where he lost to Fuzzy Zoeller. In the immediate aftermath, they brought him into Butler Cabin, where he sat next to the man who beat him, being interviewed by Arnold Palmer, while trying not to disappear into the sofa. It may sound cruel or unusual on the surface, but there's something noble in Sneed's act—in expressing his pain in the most difficult competitive circumstances.
From Sneed to Greg Norman in '96 to Jean Van de Velde in '99 to Jordan Spieth in '16, there are plenty of examples of heartbroken players facing the music and speaking to the media after the toughest losses of their careers. It's a tradition, but it's not just ritual or obligation—in plenty of cases, it has endeared the losing player to fans, and it showcases a special kind of character and resilience in the face of a devastating reality. It's good for everyone to see, but it's hard not to believe it's good for them too.
As we've seen in the last two years, this is being lost in the modern professional game. When Rory left Pinehurst without comments, and when Collin Morikawa left Bay Hill and then started a fight about it the next week, it represented not just a break from established practice, but a creeping sense of detachment that figures to play into the future. On this week's Local Knowledge podcast, we explore the long history of players facing the press at their lowest competitive moments, what it says about them, and what we'll lose, on all sides, if it goes away.