By Michael Mattingly | July 19, 2026
Every major championship eventually asks us the same question.
Not who is leading.
Not who is chasing.
But why do we care?
As this year’s Open Championship has unfolded, the leaderboard has become a reminder that golf is unlike any other sport. Some of the game’s biggest stars have spent the weekend looking up at names many casual fans barely recognize. Television executives may cringe at unfamiliar names near the top, but golfers understand something different.
The Open has never cared about reputation.
The wind doesn’t know your world ranking. The pot bunkers don’t care how many majors you’ve won. Firm fairways and unforgiving greens treat every player exactly the same. That’s what makes this championship so compelling. It strips golf down to its purest form, asking every competitor the same question, one shot at a time.
Before the championship began, World No. 1 Scottie Scheffler gave one of the most thoughtful interviews I’ve heard in years. He spoke candidly about trying to understand why he plays golf. He admitted that even winning doesn’t satisfy for long. Another trophy, another paycheck, another celebration—eventually they fade.
It was a refreshingly honest reminder that even the best player in the world is searching for something deeper than another victory.
Bryson DeChambeau seems to answer that same question differently.
Watch Bryson for a few holes and you realize he isn’t simply trying to beat a golf course. He’s trying to understand it. Every shot is an experiment. Every breeze is another variable. Every bounce teaches him something. His joy seems to come not only from winning but from solving one of the most fascinating puzzles ever created.
Neither answer is wrong.
Scheffler reminds us that purpose matters.
Bryson reminds us that curiosity matters.
The rest of us probably find our own “why” somewhere in between.
Maybe your why is finally breaking 90.
Maybe it’s the annual golf trip you’ve looked forward to all year.
Maybe it’s introducing a friend or family member to a game that has frustrated and rewarded generations before them.
Or maybe it’s simply four hours where the phone stays in the cart, the world gets quiet, and life slows down.
Earlier this week I found myself thinking about something I’ve experienced more times than I care to admit.
The putt that almost was.
You know the one.
It starts exactly where you aimed it. Halfway to the hole you begin to smile. It catches the edge, circles the cup, and somehow stays out.
For a moment, it feels like golf has cheated you.
But maybe we’ve been looking at those putts all wrong.
Maybe the putt that almost was isn’t the end of the story.
Maybe it’s the beginning.
Because golfers are optimists by nature. We come back tomorrow. We practice. We hit another hundred putts. We learn a little more about speed, about break, about ourselves.
And then one day…
…the same putt that stopped on the edge finds the middle of the cup.
The putt that almost was becomes the putt that was.
Maybe that’s true beyond golf as well.
The promotion that almost happened.
The book that almost got written.
The business that almost succeeded.
Life has a funny way of rewarding those who keep showing up.
Perhaps that’s the answer to Scottie Scheffler’s question.
We don’t play because every putt drops.
We don’t play because every tournament ends with our name on the trophy.
We play because there is always another puzzle to solve. Another lesson to learn. Another chance to improve. Another sunrise over the first tee.
Golf gives us something precious that few things in life do.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow, there is another round.
Tomorrow, there is another chance.
Tomorrow, the putt that almost was…
…just might become the putt that was.
Enjoy Your Sunday – MWM
Michael Mattingly is a freelance journalist from Smithton, Illinois, with a background in advanced mathematics and creative writing. He is a student of the game of golf, drawn to its pressure, rhythm, and unpredictability. He is also an avid St. Louis Cardinals fan and a loyal Chicago Bears supporter
