The temptation is on Brian Rolapp’s desk. Fall has arrived, LIV Golf’s traditional poaching season, and we know how this plays out: a handful of B- and C-level PGA Tour pros will defect, LIV’s backers will declare victory and pressure will mount on the PGA Tour to welcome back those who left. Given the billions Saudi Arabia wants to invest and Rolapp’s clean slate as the tour’s new CEO, cutting a deal would be seductive.
Since starting in July, Rolapp has been primed on the sport’s five-year civil war. Yet he isn’t a golf lifer, and briefings aren’t the same as living through it. He hasn’t felt the betrayal firsthand, hasn’t experienced the moral compromises, hasn’t endured the exhaustion that ground down everyone who gives a damn about this game and what it means. If he’s wondering why the wounds remain raw, the entertainment industry is demonstrating the cost of Saudi deals in real time.
The comedy world is reeling from fallout from some of its high-profile actsincluding Dave Chappelle, Bill Burr, Kevin Hart, Aziz Ansari, Sebastian Maniscalco, Pete Davidson and Tom Seguraperforming at an arts festival in Riyadh. Specific grievances differ, although the backlash mirrors golf’s reckoning particularly when it comes to hypocrisy. These comedians have built careers railing against censorship and cancel culture, then accepted checks from a regime that ruthlessly silences dissent. Chappelle and Burr, whose entire brands rest on speaking truth to power, reportedly agreed not to criticize the kingdom. (Sources tell Golf Digest many LIV contracts include identical gag clauses, which explains why players default to “growing the game” and “I’m not a politician” when pressed about Saudi atrocities.) Then theres Ansari, who has fashioned a public persona as a thoughtful voice on modern issues taking the money anyway.
“People are questioning why you would go over there and take their money to perform in front of these people,” Jimmy Kimmel asked Ansari this week. “I’m curious as to why you decided to do that.” Ansari’s response could have been lifted from any LIV player’s script: “There’s people over there that don’t agree with the stuff that the government’s doing, and to ascribe the worst behavior of the government onto those people, that’s not fair. I was just there to do a show for the people.” It should be noted that Ansari appeared on Kimmel to promote a film about, and we are not making this up, an angel warning society about the dangers of wealth disparity, luxury and excess.
The backlash has been swift and severe. Cancelled shows. Fellow comedians publicly condemning those who performed. Fanbases feeling betrayed, their loyalty reduced to a transaction. However, this isn’t about relitigating Saudi Arabia’s record. Anyone in golf has been force-fed that education. What matters is the response itself, and how it echoes what happened six years ago.
FAYEZ NURELDINE
Defenders were scarce when Saudi-backed golf first emerged, beyond DP World Tour CEO Keith Pelley, who greenlit a government partnership, and players pocketing millions. We may live in fractured times where moral lines blur, but some boundaries remain unmistakable. People with actual consciences could see them clearly. Then came the manufactured confusion. Bot armies flooded social media. A critical mass of players became regime mouthpieces. Bad-faith actors deployed endless whataboutism. Stakeholders made catastrophic decisions. An artificial divide emerged where clarity had once existed, and apathy set in.
The pattern makes sense. Sportswashing and soft-power diplomacy are often misconstrued, believing they are designed to distract you from whats really going on. On that front, LIV Golf has failed spectacularly. Everyone still knows exactly what Saudi Arabia is. But the real victory came slowly, almost imperceptibly. Professional golf surrendered to exhaustion. Players, fans, media, leadersall grew so weary they accepted peace at any price. The moral outrage of 2022, briefly reignited during the surprise framework agreement a year later, dissipated into fatigue. Golf’s audience had no appetite for a conflict that had consumed endless discourse, especially when confronted with murky global economics and relentless speciousness. Sports are supposed to offer escape, not force confrontation with reality’s horrors. Many fans just wanted their sanctuary back.
This is sportswashing’s true power. It doesn’t defeat resistance; it wears you down until you’re numb.
Which brings us back to Rolapp. Sources tell Golf Digest that representatives of two recent tour winners are in discussions with LIV. Other rank-and-file names are angling for one last career payday. None of them is a high-profile getJon Rahm remains the only major star to defect in four yearsbut they are recognizable enough to trigger another cycle of “What is the state of the game?” handwringing. Rolapp doesn’t carry his predecessor’s baggage. He inherited a mess with one mandate: clean it up. His NFL record shows he’ll abandon tradition for innovation, or more specifically, revenue. The Public Investment Fund, LIV Golfs financial backer run by Yasir Al-Rumayyan, still has a blank check. Oh, and theres pressure from the President of the United States, who has business relationships with both the tour and LIV Golf, to broker a deal.
But Rolapp also understands something crucial: fans are the real decision-makers. Without them, a league is nothing. They, not the players, are his actual bosses.
Three worlds exist right nowthe internet, golf and reality itself. The real world, evidenced by the comedy backlash unfolding, continues delivering a clear message, one that Rolapp should hear: Partnering with murderers and oppressors is no laughing matter.
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