The Riviera Riddle: Why Golf’s Greatest Players Keep Coming Up Short

I’ve been covering professional golf for 35 years, and I’ve learned that sometimes the most fascinating stories aren’t about who wins—they’re about who doesn’t. So let me lay out something that’s been gnawing at me since I started digging into this week’s Genesis Invitational at Riviera Country Club: How in the world has the greatest golf course in California managed to humble the two greatest golfers of all time?

Jack Nicklaus. Tiger Woods. Combined, they’ve won 15 major championships and redefined what’s possible in this game. Yet neither has won a single tournament at Riviera in their lifetimes.

Not once. Not even close, in some cases.

Here’s what gets me: it’s not like they showed up unprepared or lacked the skill set. This is a puzzle, and after spending half my career around tour players and caddies, I think I’m starting to understand why it matters—and what it tells us about the modern game.

The Setup That Defies the Obvious

Riviera isn’t some gotcha course designed to trick amateurs. It’s elegant, refined, everything you’d expect from a club that’s hosted Douglas Fairbanks Jr., Frank Sinatra, and in more recent times, Larry David and Adam Sandler. But beneath that Hollywood glamour is a golf course with teeth.

The numbers tell part of the story. In 100 years of the Los Angeles Open—now the Genesis Invitational—Bubba Watson has won three times. Phil Mickelson and Fred Couples have two apiece. These are world-class players, no doubt, but they’re not Nicklaus or Woods.

What makes Riviera so difficult? According to the course analysis, it demands several things simultaneously:

• Length slightly above average off the tee
• Elite approach work to quirky green shapes
• A left-to-right ball flight preference
• Exceptional short-game precision
• Speed control on tricky Poa Annua greens

In theory, Nicklaus should have owned this place. He was arguably the greatest course manager in golf history and naturally shaped the ball left-to-right. Tiger in his prime? He spent the 2000s hitting a controlled fade and demonstrated mastery of every facet of the game. Yet here we are—two second-place finishes apiece across combined 28+ attempts.

The Augusta Connection Nobody’s Talking About

What strikes me most is the curious link between Riviera success and Augusta National dominance. Bubba Watson has three Riviera wins and two Masters titles. Phil Mickelson? Two at each. Mike Weir won Riviera twice and took home a green jacket. Even Jordan Spieth, who calls Riviera one of his favorite courses, has noted something revealing:

“It’s one of those rare weeks where you just can’t get away with firing at flag sticks. Precision is so key, but being smart and recognising when even being precise still won’t work out.”

That’s the Masters temperament right there—course management over aggression, feel over mechanics. And here’s the kicker: Mickelson, Watson, and Weir are all left-handers. Is it a coincidence that three left-handed golfers have found success at both courses known for rewarding shot-shaping and finesse? I don’t think so.

But that explanation, while intriguing, doesn’t actually solve our central mystery. Nicklaus and Woods were both surgical with the golf ball. They could shape it both ways. They understood feel.

Maybe It’s Just Golf Being Golf

After three decades watching this game, I’ve come to respect something tournaments teach you: sometimes there’s no grand explanation. Sometimes a course just doesn’t suit a player, even when it logically should.

Nicklaus himself never figured it out. When asked in 1994 why Riviera eluded him despite 14 starts, he offered this humble assessment:

“I’ve had some pretty good rounds here but never four that were good enough to win.”

That’s the answer of a champion who understands golf’s randomness. Tiger, decades later, essentially threw up his hands too:

“I know the golf course. I also know I haven’t had a lot of success here.”

The difference between a second-place finish and a victory at Riviera might be one perfect round at the right moment, one week when the Poa Annua breaks your way instead of against you, one tournament when the course setup suits your eye.

The Modern Mystery Deepens

Now we’re watching the pattern potentially repeat. Scottie Scheffler, who’s dominated professional golf lately, has never finished better than seventh at Riviera. He’s never even come within eight shots of the 54-hole lead—meaning he’s never seriously contended. Rory McIlroy’s best efforts are a fourth-place finish in 2019 and a fifth in 2020, but he’s faded the last three years.

Is Riviera becoming an albatross for each generation’s top players? Or is this something else entirely—a reminder that golf, even at the highest level, retains elements of mystery?

What I know from my years covering the tour is this: the courses that humble champions are the ones worth respecting most. Riviera has done that for a century, and it’s showing no signs of stopping.