THE SOCIETY #123

THE DEFENSE OF THE PGA CHAMPIONSHIP

For decades, the PGA Championship has lived with an odd burden. It is celebrated, coveted, and historically rich, yet somehow perpetually introduced with a qualifier. The strongest field in golf. The most underrated major. The “fourth” major in the public imagination. It seems to be panned more than celebrated.

But perhaps that criticism says more about the impossible company it keeps than any flaw of its own.

Calling the PGA Championship the “least important” major is a bit like calling Ringo Starr the fourth best Beatle.

Technically, someone has to be fourth. But what a ridiculous standard.

The comparison fits more than people realize. The Beatles are arguably the most influential band in history. Within that group were generational talents who individually would have defined entire eras of music. To say Ringo was “the fourth best Beatle” sounds insulting until you remember the company: John Lennon, Paul McCartney, and George Harrison. Being fourth in that lineup still makes you one of the greatest musicians who ever lived.

The PGA Championship suffers from the same problem.

It shares space with the mythology of Masters Tournament, the national identity of the U.S. Open, and the ancient romance of The Open Championship. Against those giants, the PGA can appear understated. It lacks Augusta National’s exclusivity, unlimited budget and springtime bloom. It does not possess the United States Golf Association’s brutal national examination. It cannot claim direct lineage to golf’s Scottish origins.

And yet the PGA Championship may quietly offer the purest test of championship golf.

Historically, it has produced perhaps the deepest fields in the sport. While the Masters remains invitational and the U.S. Open prides itself on survival, the PGA Championship traditionally gathers the world’s elite professionals at the peak of their competitive seasons. It has often been the major most reflective of who the best golfer in the world actually is at that moment.

Its champions list is hardly second-rate.

Walter Hagen built his legend there. Jack Nicklaus won it five times. Tiger Woods transformed it into a summer showcase of dominance. Brooks Koepka used it as a proving ground for modern major supremacy. The Wanamaker Trophy itself is one of sport’s great relics, large enough and heavy enough to feel almost mythical.

The event has also evolved more successfully than critics admit. The PGA Championship has embraced public golf in a way the other majors often cannot. It travels. It visits municipal venues, parkland classics, modern championship courses, and historic clubs alike. From Bethpage Black to Whistling Straits to Oak Hill Country Club, the championship often feels more accessible and representative of American golf than its counterparts.

There is also something refreshingly honest about the PGA Championship. It rarely disappears beneath its own mythology. The Masters can sometimes feel larger than the golf itself. The U.S. Open occasionally becomes obsessed with punishment. The Open Championship carries centuries of reverence before a ball is struck.

The PGA simply shows up and crowns champions.

And perhaps that is why it is undervalued. In an era where branding often overshadows substance, the PGA Championship has remained relatively straightforward. It lacks a singular identity because its identity is professional golf itself. It is representative of the golf professionals who work on a daily basis to make the game great for you the golfer.

But again, the Beatle analogy matters.

Nobody genuinely believes being the fourth Beatle means irrelevance. Ringo Starr helped create the soundtrack of an era. Likewise, being considered the “fourth” major still places the PGA Championship among the most prestigious events in all of sports. Golf fans sometimes speak of the tournament as though it trails the others by miles, when in reality the gap is razor thin.

In truth, the PGA Championship’s greatest flaw may simply be that it competes against three cultural institutions so enormous they distort perspective.

If the PGA Championship stood alone, detached from the Masters, U.S. Open, and Open Championship, it would be viewed as one of the crown jewels of global sport. Instead, it gets labeled “the fourth best major,” which sounds dismissive until you realize that’s equivalent to being called the fourth best Beatle.

There are far worse things to be.

IF I WERE TO CONSULT ON THE BEHALF OF THE PGA CHAMPIONSHIP

The PGA of America sits in a fascinating position within the game of golf. Unlike the governing bodies that define championships through exclusivity, punishment, or ancient tradition, the PGA of America has always represented something more grounded. Its professionals are the people golfers actually know. They are the instructors giving lessons on Tuesday afternoons, the head professionals running member events, the club fitters, the junior golf advocates, the men and women greeting golfers in pro shops across America every single day.

That distinction matters.

If I were consulting for the PGA Championship, I would begin with one central idea:

The PGA Championship should fully embrace becoming “The People’s Major.”

Not as a slogan. As an identity.

For too long, the PGA Championship has tried to define itself against the other majors. It is not the Masters. It is not the U.S. Open. It is not The Open Championship. And it should stop trying to compete on those terms.

Instead, the PGA Championship should lean into the very thing that makes it unique. The PGA of America represents golfers themselves.

That starts with embracing the championship’s extraordinary history of champions.

The Wanamaker Trophy may not have the same mythological branding as Augusta’s Green Jacket, but its list of winners is every bit as impressive. Walter Hagen helped build professional golf through this championship. Jack Nicklaus dominated it. Tiger Woods turned it into a stage for modern greatness. From the match play era to today, the PGA Championship has often crowned the best golfer in the world at the peak of his powers.

That legacy should be celebrated relentlessly.

The PGA Championship should feel connected to the lineage of professional golf in a deeper way. Showcase former champions more visibly. Tell the stories of club professionals who qualified. Celebrate the history of the Wanamaker Trophy as one of the game’s great symbols. Build documentaries, short films, and onsite exhibits around the evolution of the professional golfer in America.

Because that is the PGA of America’s story.

But the biggest opportunity lies in venue philosophy.

The PGA Championship should become the major championship that truly belongs to all of golf.

The PGA of America is uniquely positioned to do something the other governing bodies cannot. It can embrace both the finest private clubs and the greatest public golf courses in America without contradiction. In fact, that contrast should become the guiding principle of the championship.

One year the tournament should be held at a historic private institution like Oak Hill Country Club or Southern Hills, and Baltusrol. The next, it should move to a public cathedral like Bethpage Black, Harding Park or Chamber Bay . Let us invest money into restoring truly public golf courses and build new ones with an aim to encourage the next generation of major championships.

And perhaps most importantly, it should travel everywhere.

The PGA Championship should intentionally touch every geographic corner of American golf. The Northeast. Florida. Texas. The Midwest. California. The Pacific Northwest. The Carolinas. Mountain golf. Municipal golf. Resort golf. Historic urban clubs. Sandbelt architecture. Oceanside golf. Inland classics.

The message should be clear:

This championship belongs to all golfers.

Because unlike the other majors, the PGA of America has actual representatives embedded in the game’s daily life. Its professionals are the heartbeat of golf in America. They represent the game not from a boardroom, but from practice tees, starter shacks, grill rooms, and pro shops.

That identity is powerful if properly embraced.

The PGA Championship should also elevate the role of PGA professionals within the tournament itself. Not as novelty stories, but as symbols of what makes the organization unique. No other major can authentically connect club professionals, aspiring juniors, public golfers, elite professionals, and private club culture under one umbrella.

The PGA can.

That is its advantage.

And ultimately, that is why I believe the PGA Championship should stop worrying about being compared to the other majors and instead focus on becoming something more meaningful.

The Masters is golf’s cathedral.

The U.S. Open is golf’s examination.

The Open Championship is golf’s oldest tradition.

The PGA Championship should become golf’s gathering place.

The people’s championship.

MAYBE ITS TIME TO BREAK THE BARRIER - WHAT ARE WE AFRAID OF???

The uncomfortable truth about par is that par itself may no longer accurately reflect professional golf.

Every year, major championship leaderboards ignite the same debate. Fans recoil when a player reaches fifteen or twenty under par. Television panels lament that courses have become “too easy.” Governing bodies respond by stretching courses longer, thickening rough, narrowing landing areas, and chasing an increasingly impossible defense against modern power.

But perhaps we are asking the wrong question.

Maybe the issue is not that the world’s best golfers are shooting too low.

Maybe the issue is that par has become outdated.

That sounds like heresy in a game built on tradition. Yet golf has quietly altered par before, especially at the championship level. We simply pretend otherwise.

Take Oakmont Country Club, perhaps the most feared championship venue in America. When it opened in 1903, Oakmont was originally a par 80. Over time, as equipment improved and professional golf evolved, holes were reclassified. The course eventually became the par 71 monster we know today.

That evolution matters.

Because in many ways, we have already admitted that par is flexible. Many classic championship venues once played as par 72s and now operate as par 70s for major championships. Tournament committees quietly converted reachable par 5s into par 4s because elite professionals no longer played them as intended.

And yet, for some reason, golf seems terrified of going further.

There appears to be an invisible psychological barrier around sub-70 par. Tournament organizers are comfortable lengthening courses to nearly 8,000 yards. They are willing to grow rough into ankle-high cabbage. They will speed greens to absurd levels. But reclassifying a hole? That still feels taboo.

Why?

If a 575-yard hole consistently plays as a birdie opportunity for the modern professional, is it truly a par 5 anymore?

That is the uncomfortable conversation golf refuses to have.

Professional golf has evolved dramatically. Modern athletes are stronger, faster, and more technically refined than ever before. Equipment has amplified that advantage. Launch monitors have optimized trajectories. Fitness transformed bodies. Data reshaped strategy.

The result is that many classic par 5s are no longer three-shot holes for elite players. In fact, some are barely strategic at all. A hole designed to ask thoughtful questions in 1925 can become little more than driver, mid-iron, two-putt in 2026.

So why cling to the old label?

Perhaps several par 5s at the professional level should now simply be par 4s. Perhaps some short par 4s should become par 3s. That sounds radical only because golf has conditioned itself to believe par is sacred rather than descriptive.

Par was never meant to be a permanent law of nature. It was meant to reflect expected scoring for expert play.

And expert play has changed.

Of course, technology remains part of the equation. I do believe the United States Golf Association and R&A are correct to pursue some form of rollback at the professional level. But I also believe they may have targeted the wrong area first.

The golf ball rollback is the harder and more disruptive solution.

A more effective approach may have been reducing professional driver head sizes and capping tee height specifically for elite competition. Modern distance is not simply about the golf ball. It is about the combination of forgiving 460cc drivers, optimized launch conditions, and equipment designed to maximize high-speed impact with minimal penalty for mishits.

Smaller driver heads would reintroduce precision. Lower tee heights would fundamentally alter launch dynamics and spin optimization. Those changes might have restored strategic architecture more naturally than simply reducing ball distance.

But until meaningful equipment changes occur, golf should at least reconsider its relationship with par.

Because the current approach often creates artificial championship setups that distort architecture rather than preserve it. Courses become overgrown, overwatered, and over-defended in an attempt to protect a number on a scorecard.

Meanwhile, the architecture itself often tells a different story.

Many Golden Age architects designed courses around angles, positioning, and strategic decisions, not brute length. Yet modern championships increasingly reduce those designs into survival exercises simply because organizers fear seeing low numbers relative to par.

But perhaps twenty under par is not offensive if par itself is inaccurate.

The real challenge for golf is psychological. Fans, broadcasters, and governing bodies have become emotionally attached to par as a benchmark of difficulty. A winning score of eight under sounds demanding. A winning score of twenty under sounds soft, even if the actual strokes taken are identical under a different par structure.

That is the illusion.

If a course currently listed as par 72 were reclassified as par 68, suddenly that round of eight under becomes four under. Nothing about the golf changes. Only the framing does.

And perhaps that framing would better reflect modern professional golf.

The truth is uncomfortable because it forces golf to admit something it hates admitting: the professional game has outgrown some of its traditional measurements.

Par is not sacred.

It is simply a number.

And maybe it is time we started treating it that way.

CONGRATULATIONS TO THE PGA OF AMERICA, ARONIMINK GOLF CLUB AND AARON RAI!

For those of us who care deeply about the game’s history, its traditions, and the places that preserve them, this week at Aronimink Golf Club was a reminder of what makes golf so special.

A sincere thank you to the PGA of America, the membership and staff of Aronimink Golf Club, and congratulations to Aaron Rai on an incredible PGA Championship victory.

Aronimink stands as one of Donald Ross’s great masterpieces, and to see it presented on such a stage was both inspiring and important for the continued appreciation of Golden Age architecture. Events like this do more than crown champions. They connect today’s game to the people, places, and ideals that built it.

The care shown by the club and the PGA of America ensured that players, guests, and fans alike experienced not only a championship, but the spirit of the game itself.

Golf is at its best when history, competition, and fellowship come together. This week was a wonderful example of that.

THANK YOU!

As always thank you for taking the time to read our newsletter. I believe we have 2 spots open to play the famed Oak Hill Country Club next month if you have an interest email me at [email protected].