The Jack Doherty Incident Reveals Golf’s Real Enemy: Not Bad Behavior, But Content for Its Own Sake
I’ve been covering professional golf for 35 years, and I’ve seen plenty of fan misbehavior. In my early days as a caddie for Tom Lehman, I watched spectators heckle from gallery ropes. I’ve covered 15 Masters where fans occasionally crossed lines. But what happened at the Waste Management Phoenix Open last week feels different—and that distinction matters more than most people realize.
Jack Doherty’s removal from TPC Scottsdale wasn’t fundamentally about disruption. It was about the weaponization of spectating itself. A 22-year-old streamer with 30 million followers apparently paid someone to shout during Mackenzie Hughes’ pre-shot routine, then filmed the whole thing for algorithmic distribution. The goal wasn’t to heckle a golfer. The goal was content engagement, full stop.
That’s the real story here, and it’s one the PGA Tour clearly understands—which is why they moved decisively, even if they’ve kept the details deliberately vague.
The Algorithm Meets the Fairway
What strikes me most about this incident is how it exposes a generational collision between golf’s foundational values and the economic incentives of modern digital platforms. The source article notes that Doherty’s “content that platform algorithms often amplify because it generates strong engagement through confrontation and unpredictability.” That’s the mechanism. But here’s what matters: this mechanism is fundamentally incompatible with competitive sports.
I’m not being naive about golf fan culture. The Phoenix Open, specifically, has earned its reputation as the tour’s most raucous event. The 16th hole at TPC Scottsdale operates in an atmosphere that’s closer to college football than to Augusta National. In 2024, the tournament actually had to temporarily close gates and halt alcohol sales due to overcrowding. Nobody’s pretending golf fans always behave like monks.
But there’s a crucial difference between spirited, even rowdy, fan enthusiasm and coordinated content creation designed to disrupt competition. One is part of the game’s texture. The other is parasitic.
Why the Tour’s Silence Is Strategic
The PGA Tour has notably declined to confirm specific details about Doherty’s ban or its duration. A Tour spokesperson offered carefully measured language:
“The PGA Tour and the Thunderbirds are committed to protecting the integrity of the competition and providing an exceptional experience for all fans. Disruptive fan behavior will not be tolerated and anyone violating the Fan Code of Conduct is subject to immediate ejection.”
That’s not evasion—it’s smart management. By not publicly amplifying the lifetime ban or confirming specific details, the Tour denies Doherty the very thing his business model depends on: attention and controversy. It’s the digital-age equivalent of refusing to engage with a heckler.
I’ve watched tour leadership wrestle with fan policy for decades, and they’ve generally gotten better at it. But this situation presents a novel problem: what do you do when someone’s job is literally to monetize disruption?
The Broader Reckoning Across Sports
The source article correctly identifies that this isn’t unique to golf. Professional sports leagues across the board are confronting an uncomfortable reality. Livestreaming technology, social media algorithms, and the rise of “content creator” as a viable career path have created incentives that didn’t exist five years ago. Why attend an event and simply experience it when you can attend an event, create a viral moment, and earn hundreds of thousands of dollars?
The WNBA has had to address fans throwing objects onto courts for social media attention. Stadiums everywhere are grappling with the same tension: how open should access be when that access can be instantly monetized in ways designed to undermine the sporting experience?
What Gets Missed in Moral Panic
Here’s where I think some observers miss the nuance: this isn’t fundamentally about “young people these days” or “lack of respect” or any of that comfortable generational moralizing. It’s about economic incentive structures. Doherty didn’t show up to the Phoenix Open primarily to watch golf. He showed up because the algorithm rewards confrontation, because his follower count grows when clips go viral, and because that translates to sponsorships and revenue.
The Tour’s swift action—and I credit them for this—doesn’t actually solve the problem permanently. It just removes one operator. Others will inevitably try similar stunts, because the financial incentives haven’t changed.
Why This Matters for Golf’s Future
In my experience, golf’s greatest strength has always been a certain self-governance. Players police themselves. Fans, for the most part, understand the sport’s traditions and respect them. That culture of responsibility is fragile, and it depends on a baseline assumption that people at tournaments are there to engage with the competition in good faith.
When attendance becomes primarily a content opportunity, that assumption breaks down. And unlike traditional hecklers—who are themselves invested in the event and the sport—algorithmic content creators have no stake in golf’s long-term health or reputation.
The good news: the Tour recognized this threat immediately and acted decisively. The better news: most fans, even at the raucous Phoenix Open, still come because they love the game. That ethos remains dominant. But Doherty’s ban signals something important—that tolerance for participation in professional golf has limits, and those limits exist to protect the competition itself.
That’s a boundary worth drawing. And I suspect we’ll see other leagues define their own versions in the months ahead.
