Anthony Kim’s Adelaide Victory Isn’t Just a Comeback—It’s a Referendum on Redemption in Modern Golf

Look, I’ve been covering professional golf since before most of today’s tour players were born. I’ve watched the game transform from a gentleman’s pursuit into a high-stakes, high-pressure spectacle where one bad year can erase a decade of excellence from the public memory. So when Anthony Kim drained that final putt in Adelaide on Sunday to capture his first victory in nearly 16 years, something in my chest tightened that had nothing to do with sports sentimentality.

This wasn’t just another tournament result. This was a man staring down his own demons and winning.

The Context We Can’t Ignore

Here’s what strikes me most about Kim’s story, and what casual fans might miss: this victory is almost statistically improbable in modern professional golf. We live in an era where players lose their cards and rarely—and I mean rarely—come back to win. The competitive depth of the tour, even LIV Golf, is such that a 12-year absence should be career-ending. Period. Full stop.

Kim stepped away in 2014 battling addiction to drugs and alcohol. Let that sink in. Not a back injury that healed. Not a slump that corrected itself. Not family obligations or burnout. The man was fighting for his life. And instead of becoming another cautionary tale whispered about in the clubhouse, he became a cautionary tale with a plot twist: redemption.

What he accomplished on Sunday—a nine-under final round of 63 to win by three strokes over Jon Rahm—is the kind of performance that requires not just mechanical golf skill, but mental fortitude that’s almost incomprehensible to those of us who haven’t walked that particular road.

The LIV Question (and Why It Actually Matters Here)

Now, I’ll be honest with you: I’ve been skeptical of LIV Golf from day one. The tour has fractured the sport, created legitimate governance questions, and disrupted over 50 years of competitive hierarchy. These are real issues that deserve real criticism.

But here’s something LIV got right that traditional golf structures might have bungled: they created a pathway back for Kim. He returned in 2024 as a reserve, lost his card at season’s end, battled through an international playoff to reclaim his reserve status, and secured a spot on Dustin Johnson’s 4Aces team this week. That’s multiple chances. That’s infrastructure designed to give players—even players with complicated pasts—another shot.

The PGA Tour, for all its strengths, doesn’t always work that way. You lose your card, you’re off the tour. You’re playing Q-School or Korn Ferry. You’re grinding in obscurity. Would Kim have gotten this exact sequence of opportunities in a more rigid system? I honestly don’t know.

What Kim Said (And What It Reveals)

After the win, Kim offered this reflection:

“It has been overwhelming. But I’m never not going to fight for my family. God gave me a talent. I was able to produce some good golf today, I knew it was coming. Nobody else has to believe in me but me.”

That’s the soundbite, sure. But listen to what he’s actually saying: he’s not claiming he’s fixed. He’s not declaring himself “healed.” He’s acknowledging that the fight is ongoing. “I’m never not going to fight”—that’s not past tense. That’s present continuous. That’s a man who understands his challenge is permanent, but his commitment can be stronger.

Later, speaking to those struggling:

“For anybody that’s struggling, you can get through anything.”

In my 35 years around professional golf, I’ve heard a lot of victory speeches. This wasn’t about the quality of his iron play or his putter’s consistency. It was about showing up to the battle, day after day, when showing up at all would’ve been acceptable.

The Broader Story in Golf

What fascinates me—and what I think gets lost in the “greatest comeback ever” conversation—is what Kim’s victory says about professional golf’s capacity for second acts. Tiger’s 2019 Masters was magnificent, but Tiger never really left. Mickelson’s 2021 PGA Championship was shocking, but Phil kept playing. Kim actually disappeared. Completely. For a dozen years. And came back to win against one of the best fields in modern golf.

The social media response captured something genuine. As one post noted:

“Anthony Kim makes 9 birdies for a final round 63 to win LIV Golf Adelaide by 3 shots over Jon Rahm. He didn’t play golf for 12 years. Was relegated. Re-qualified. Now he’s won. This is one of the greatest comeback stories in sporting history.”

Even more tellingly, a self-described PGA Tour partisan offered this:

“I’m a PGA fan. I’ve never connected with the LIV product. But if anyone tries to downplay what Anthony Kim just did, shame on you. This is one of the greatest comebacks in the history of sports.”

That’s the sound of sports transcending the tribal divisions we’ve created around it. That’s the sound of people recognizing something authentic.

The Part Nobody Talks About

Here’s what I want to emphasize: Kim’s three years of sobriety are the real victory. The trophy is nice. The purse is nice. The vindication is earned. But the fact that he showed up sober, stayed sober under enormous pressure, and performed at an elite level while maintaining his recovery—that’s the actual achievement. The golf is just evidence of something deeper.

Having watched addiction ravage talented golfers over my decades on tour, I can tell you that stays invisible in most victory narratives. We talk about the shots, not the strength required to keep playing the game that once took everything from you.

Anthony Kim won in Adelaide. But more importantly, Anthony Kim won against Anthony Kim. The golf world is better for witnessing it.