JUST WHAT GOLF NEEDED ON A FAMILY SUNDAY: A HOLLYWOOD TEARJERKER

A U.S. Open that could have rewarded Rory McIlroy or Rickie Fowler instead introduced the world to Wyndham Clark, who broke through with a first major title in an emotional tribute to his late mother

     It wasn’t enough to hit the 72nd and final green and release his tears. No, there would be one last challenge for Wyndham Clark, in a career of trials and pain, in a life of loss and grief. The fairway ropes were released at Los Angeles Country Club, where a billion-dollar backdrop of hills, monster homes and luxury condos had company: hundreds of fans, all seemingly pointing phones at Clark as they pressed toward a makeshift stage fronted by police.

     What the hell was this? Clark turned around, surveyed the mob, and realized he had one last chore to perform before he could thank his mother in heaven. Putt the ball close enough to the cup, as he did from 60 feet, and finish off the most unlikely U.S. Open victory in years. Any Hollywood ending was supposed to reward Rory McIlroy, the self-described “sacrificial lamb” of golf’s ongoing holy war, with his first major championship since 2014. If not him, then Rickie Fowler, who never has won a major and showed up Sunday, appropriately, wearing splotches of orange from the days when he was the sport’s most marketable young player.

     But what America needed, on this Father’s Day, was a family tearjerker we weren’t expecting. Before the weekend, only tee-heads had heard of Clark, whose best finish in seven majors was 75th. He often considered quitting, most recently last year, after missing 24 cuts in a two-season span and desperately seeking answers from a sports psychologist who addressed his anger issues. Mostly, he still missed his mother, whose motivational pushes and messages ignited a career that flourished in college. Lise Clark died in 2013, after long battles with breast cancer, but not before delivering a final word to her son.

     “She's like, ‘Hey, play big.’ Play for something bigger than yourself. You have a platform to either witness or help or be a role model for so many people,’ ’’ he remembered. “And I've taken that to heart."

     He was lost without her, for years. His considerable talent didn’t emerge in his early years as a professional — until last month, when he won his first PGA Tour event at Quail Hollow and served notice that his mother’s voice finally was sinking in. He knew L.A. was ahead, the town where her cosmetics sales career led her to marry a former tennis pro, Randall Clark. They were married at Riviera Country Club, a few miles to the west. Was kismet at work? Wyndham arrived last week vowing to play “cocky,” proving it by nailing several long putts during the first two rounds. I knew I liked Clark on Saturday night, when he dared to confront NBC and the U.S. Golf Association by asking why late tee times left him and Fowler playing in near-darkness. “We played twilight golf,” he said. “It’s crazy to think we’re doing that on the last two holes of a major when we could have teed off two hours earlier.”

     Play big, talk big. He took his gumption into the final round. Fowler fell off, shaky from the start. Now it was a duel, the upstart against the superstar, with McIlroy looking like a man thrilled to play golf and tired of fighting the LIV Golf disruption as the PGA Tour’s front-facing spokesman. But as the sun baked the course and the day wound down, Clark wobbled occasionally and refused to crack, even when enveloped by an overzealous gallery that shouldn’t have been allowed that close to him. A year ago, he was ranked 293rd in the world. Today, he’s an American conversation piece, ranked 13th, a one-stroke winner over McIlroy and only the fourth player in 100 years to win the U.S. Open after previously not making a cut. When he tapped in to complete his masterpiece, he covered his tears with his cap and looked skyward. His friend and idol, Fowler, hugged him on the green and said, “Your mom was with you. She’d be very proud.”

     Save the political hostilities for another day. Pause the dreadful truth that the PGA Tour, in a feeble collapse of character and strength, capitulated to Saudi Arabia’s sovereign wealth fund in a vile merger that must be stopped by the Justice Department. Golf was aching for the feel-good lift of the Wyndham Clark story, straight out of his native Denver, where he and the NBA champion Nuggets are bringing fresh angles and big smiles to a sports nation tired of greed and egos.

     “I felt like my mom was watching over me today,” Clark said. “I worked so hard and dreamed about this moment for so long. I just felt it was my time.”

     He was quick to point out that his father took him to the course during his golfing infancy, with his mother’s encouragement, and emphasized work ethic and discipline. “I feel like I get a lot of my fieryness from him,” Clark said. “So he’s given a lot.”

     But it was his mother who was on his mind. “I am who I am today because of her,” he said. “She was kind of my rock and my always-there supporter. So when things were tough or when things were going great, she was always there to keep me grounded and either bring me up or keep the high going.”

     How would she react to his belated moment of glory, at 29? “I was a mama's boy, so there would be a lot of hugging and crying together,” he said. “But I know she'd be very proud of me. I miss her, and it's obviously great to think about her, and being here in L.A. and winning something like this makes me think of her even more than maybe my day-to-day when I'm not playing a championship.

     “It’s been a pretty amazing week. I’ve had some people come up to me and show pictures of my mom when they knew her back in their 20s and early 30s when she was living here. It was kind of a special vibe, being in L.A.”

     Surreal, he called the day. And surreal is the best characterization of what we experienced on the westside of L.A. The mood felt like a cocktail party, more a social event than the raucous tone of many U.S. Opens. Defending champion Matt Fitzpatrick maligned the atmosphere as “very poor, disappointing on the USGA side. I wish it was a few more people out here.” The crowds were shockingly small the first two days, and not until Sunday were people paying attention to the action. Meanwhile, on TV, viewers were treated not to the usual foliage and expanse of suburban venues — but to monuments of modern architecture, those residential buildings positioned bigger than life beyond the greens. Players talked about how they aimed for the “H” in the Beverly Hilton sign. Were the Golden Globes going to break out in the middle of a fairway?

     We learned more about the wildlife at Hugh Hefner’s former mansion than we wanted to know. "You can hear the monkeys almost every time you go back there," Patrick Cantlay said. “There’s a bunch of other wildlife you can hear occasionally.” And Lionel Richie’s mansion, off the fourth hole? Anyone familiar with his Commodores singing days might have wondered if it’s a “Brick … HOUSE.” It’s worth $26 million, part of nearby affluence mentioned every three minutes or so by NBC’s fawning announcers. Not surprisingly, they ignored LACC’s ugly history — no Jewish members until the 1970s, no Black members until 1991, and women still were required to play in dresses 25 years ago. Don’t worry, the men‘s Open doesn’t return until 2039.

     At this rate, McIlroy still might be waiting then for his elusive fifth major. Thirty-three tries, zero victories. He had chances and doinked only one bogey Sunday, but he missed too many putts when greatness beckoned. Will he ever win again on the biggest platforms? “When I do finally win this next major, it’s going to be really, really sweet,” he said. “I would go through 100 Sundays like this to get my hands on another major championship. The more I keep putting myself in these positions, sooner or later it’s going to happen for me.”

     Wyndham Clark won’t need 100 Sundays. If he accomplishes nothing else in golf, he has claimed his dream. “I feel like I belong on this stage,” he said. The bluest of skies, the focus of his joy and gratitude on the final frenzied green, suggested he only has begun to play big.

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     Jay Mariotti, called “without question the most impacting Chicago sportswriter of the past quarter-century,’’ writes general sports columns for Substack while appearing on some of the 1,678,498 podcasts and shows in production today. He is an accomplished columnist, TV panelist and talk/podcast host. Living in Los Angeles, he gravitated by osmosis to film projects.