Anthony Kim’s Adelaide Victory Is More Than a Comeback Story—It’s a Reckoning

I’ve covered 35 years of professional golf, caddied for Tom Lehman, watched the sport evolve through boom cycles and existential crises. I’ve seen plenty of comebacks—most of them don’t stick. But what Anthony Kim did Sunday at The Grange Golf Club in Adelaide isn’t just a feel-good narrative. It’s a mirror held up to how we talk about redemption in sports, and frankly, it should make us all sit with that for a minute.

Kim’s closing 9-under 63 to win LIV Golf Adelaide by three shots marked his first victory in nearly 16 years. Let that number breathe for a second. Sixteen years. Not because he lost his swing or fell out of love with the game—though both happened—but because he spent 12 years away from competitive golf entirely while battling drug and alcohol addiction. That’s not a sabbatical. That’s a disappeared person walking back into the spotlight and immediately playing championship golf.

The Weight of That Three-Shot Victory

I think what strikes me most isn’t the final margin or even the brilliant back-nine execution—those four consecutive birdies from holes 12-15, with putts of 17, 11, 14, and 17 feet, were as good as you’ll see anywhere. What matters is the context nobody can ignore: Kim had to play a qualifying tournament last month just to get another season on the LIV Tour. He wasn’t handed anything. At 40 years old, competing against younger, hungrier players, he still had to earn his seat at the table.

“For it to actually happen is pretty insane. I just want to thank all the people that have supported me.”

That’s Kim’s own reflection, and there’s real humility in it. But what caught my attention—and what I think matters for how we frame this story going forward—is what he said afterward:

“I was able to produce some good golf today, and I knew it was coming. Nobody else has to believe in me but me. And, for anybody that’s struggling, you can get through anything.”

In three decades covering this tour, I’ve rarely heard someone acknowledge both the luck and the agency involved in a comeback. He wasn’t saying “I knew I had it in me” like some mystical gift was always there. He was saying he had to do the work, believe when nobody else did, and then execute when the moment came. That’s the messy, unglamorous truth of actual redemption.

The Adelaide Context: LIV’s Real Test

Here’s what fascinates me about this happening on the LIV Tour specifically. The league’s been searching for narrative credibility since inception. Yes, they’ve signed marquee names and pumped television money into events, but one of the most legitimate stories they could tell is happening right now, and it has nothing to do with how much they’ve spent.

Kim peaked at world No. 6 back in 2008—the same year he played on a winning U.S. Ryder Cup team. Three PGA Tour wins. Real pedigree. But his previous best finish on LIV was a tie for 25th. Until Sunday, he was looking like another cautionary tale: the former star trying to revive something that had genuinely broken.

Instead, he posted 23-under for 54 holes and held off serious competition. Jon Rahm finished second at 20-under after shooting 71 on Sunday. Bryson DeChambeau, who’d shared the third-round lead, shot 74 and tied for third. These weren’t walk-overs. These were quality fields where Kim simply played better golf when it mattered.

On Performance and Perspective

I’ve caddied for enough top players to know that sustained excellence at this level requires both physical ability and a certain kind of mental architecture. What Kim demonstrated Sunday—holing that 15-footer on 17 to extend his lead to three shots, then walking the 18th with the crowd behind him—that’s not lucky. That’s recalibration. That’s muscle memory mixed with something harder to name: the knowledge of what you’ve lost and what you’re getting back.

The all-Australian Ripper team of Cameron Smith, Lucas Herbert, Marc Leishman, and Elvis Smylie won the team competition for the second straight week, which tells you something about consistency in their group. But the individual narrative overshadows that—as it should.

Why This Matters Beyond Adelaide

In my experience covering the tour through multiple eras, comeback stories that gain real traction are ones where the person doesn’t just succeed—they change how we think about what’s possible. Kim’s not pretending he didn’t struggle. He’s not running from the 12-year gap. He’s using it as context for why the victory means something.

“Nobody else has to believe in me but me.”

That line will live with me longer than the 63 or the three-shot margin. It’s a rejection of external validation as a requirement for trying. In 2026, with social media vectors for constant judgment and the pressure of public narrative, that’s radical.

Is this a permanent comeback? I don’t know. Nobody does. But Kim’s proven he can still execute at the highest competitive level against quality fields. He’s proven that 12 years away doesn’t erase the ability to manage a tournament or read greens or hit fairways under pressure. Whether Adelaide becomes a springboard or a singular bright spot will depend on how he plays next week and the week after that.

But for now, on a sunny day at The Grange, Anthony Kim reminded everyone watching that resurrection in sports isn’t metaphorical. Sometimes it’s just a 40-year-old American hitting putts in Australia and quietly showing us what perseverance actually looks like.