Bryson DeChambeau, who is known for his calm demeanor and ability to handle adversity with grace, was brutally attacked on the course Sunday by a gallery rope during the LIV Golf Chicago invitational.
I really hesitate to call this a “rope,” because let’s be real: A gallery rope isn’t really a rope. When I think of “rope” it’s a thick, secure object that could actually cause damage — not a glorified piece of elastic string to serve more as a reminder of where fans can’t walk, than any real kind of deterrent.
Still, to DeChambeau the entire world was ending. With real “I stubbed my toe” energy he dropped to one knee, swearing, complaining that it hit his eye. On the one hand, yeah that probably stung a little, on the other — jeez dude, you’re a 29-year-old man throwing a fit like a child because you walked into the mean rope. I didn’t whine this much when I cut part of my pinkie off using a kitchen mandolin while making dinner a few years back. I duct taped some paper towel to my finger, drove my ass to the ER and waited three hours with a blood-soaked rag around my finger only to be told it couldn’t be stitched back up, so they soaked my hand in iodine (which I promise was infinitely more painful than a gallery rope) and stuffed the gaping wound with coagulant.
Sorry for that visual, but it’s important to point out just how much of a baby Bryson was here. Maybe athletes aren’t like us after all.