By the time Scottie Scheffler walked up to his ball just 16 inches from the cup on Royal Portrush’s first green, the question wasn’t if he’d win The Open. It was how much he’d win by — and how he was making one of the most difficult tests in golf look like a weekend scramble.
Scheffler’s final-round 68 sealed a four-shot victory and his fourth major championship — his second this year. At this point, his dominance is no longer a surprise. It’s expected. But what separates this win from the others isn’t just the margin or the setting. It’s how he won — and who he’s becoming right before our eyes.
The Tiger Comparisons Are Getting Louder
It’s normally foolish to compare anyone to Tiger Woods. That’s sacred ground. But when a player rolls through major after major, choking off competition before the back nine even starts — well, you’re forced to acknowledge it.
Scheffler’s performance at Portrush echoed Tiger’s 2000 eight-shot Open win at St. Andrews in its cold-blooded precision. The difference? Scheffler didn’t even need a huge cushion. He simply ended the suspense one hole at a time.
And unlike most dominant athletes, he doesn’t seem burdened by the historical weight of it all. If anything, he’s one of the few who looks lighter under pressure.
The Soliloquy That Changed Everything
Early in the week, Scheffler peeled back the curtain in a stunning pre-tournament presser — a five-minute philosophical dive into the mental and emotional cost of being No. 1. “What’s the point?” he asked, not in defeat, but in honest reflection. Winning, he admitted, wasn’t enough to fulfill the deepest parts of himself.
Most athletes avoid questions like that. Scheffler invites them. That self-awareness, that detachment from identity and outcome, is what makes his dominance so terrifying. He’s the best player in the world — and somehow, he’s not caught up in proving it.
The Putts Are Finally Falling — And That’s the Scary Part
There was one hole in Scheffler’s game over the past few years: his putting. That’s gone now. After years of tweaking, he switched to a mallet putter and added Phil Kenyon, one of the best putting coaches alive. The result? A complete transformation.
At The Open, Scheffler led the field in Strokes Gained: Putting for just the second time in his career. He gained nearly 10 strokes on the greens. He used to survive with average putting. Now he’s elite. That’s game over for the rest of the field.
And when he faltered briefly with a double bogey on the eighth, he bounced back instantly — birdie at nine, another at twelve, and par saves at 11 and 14 that crushed any hope of a comeback from the chasing pack. That’s what the greats do. They close doors the second they crack open.
He’s Not Chasing Stardom — And That’s Why He’s Becoming One
As Jordan Spieth put it, Scheffler’s not trying to be a superstar. He’s not chasing headlines. But fans are starting to come anyway — because when greatness reaches this level, it becomes impossible to ignore. Like Tiger. Like Brady. Like LeBron. You don’t want to miss the moment it becomes legacy.
Then came the moment on the 18th. Scheffler stood calmly during the trophy presentation until he saw his 1-year-old son, Bennett, struggling to climb the hill to reach him. “Da-da,” the toddler called out, faceplanting into the turf. Scheffler laughed, scooped him up, and let the claret jug sit untouched on the grass.
That’s the point. It’s not the trophies. It’s not the records. It’s not even the history. It’s the quiet, unscripted moments when the world’s best player puts it all down and picks up what matters most.
And that’s why nobody’s catching Scottie Scheffler anytime soon.
