SOUTHAMPTON, N.Y. — Scottie Scheffler is confused. Sure, he’s the best in the world at playing this impossible game. He’s improved every year since turning pro. He wins more frequently than any golfer since Tiger Woods. But he’s puzzled right now, confronting a conundrum.
What is happening in his first rounds?
Scheffler was stuck on that thought Sunday night, about 20 minutes after his first attempt to finish the career grand slam had finished.
“At the end of the day, I don’t know exactly what it is,” he said. “I’ve been pretty good in first rounds over the last few years, and for some reason, the sharpness just hasn’t been there early in tournaments. I haven’t had those leads that I’ve needed in order to win tournaments. I’ve been playing catch-up all year.”
It would have taken a final-round 67 — rather than the 71 he logged — to get into a playoff with Wyndham Clark, the U.S. Open champ, but what Scheffler seems zeroed in on is that Thursday 72. It was eight shots worse than Clark’s opening 64 and it created a divide the world No. 1 couldn’t close over 54 holes in about 54 hours. If he had another 18, he might have gotten closer. If, if, if.
For now, as onlookers, the smartest course of action seems to be to shrug it off, to stay the course, to trust in Scottie. He remains the most gifted golfer we’ve seen in ages, and his Thursday hiccups are most likely just hiccups. It would feel improper and surprising if Scheffler never bags a U.S. Open, if he never finishes off his career grand slam. He’s finished top 10 at this event five times. We’ll comfortably pick up the Slamspeak next June, and with even greater fervor. It’ll be at Pebble Beach, a course he knows far better than Shinnecock.
Still, it’s worth bookmarking our shoulda-coulda thoughts. They’re not nothing. Scheffler’s season, though brilliant via big-picture analytics, has been defined by Thursday letdowns with self-inflicted errors. It keeps happening. He hasn’t had many 36-hole leads. He hasn’t had many 54-hole leads. His 2026 has left him shaking his head at times, so much that simply being in the final pairing Sunday felt, “good to be kind of back in the arena [and not] on the outside looking in.”
And what to make of the grand slam? This was only Scheffler’s first chance, but it was one of his best chances in a U.S. Open. For now, that’s no big deal. That’s a step in the right direction. But the longer that box remains unchecked, the more difficult the chase will start to feel. If I had only … only worsens over time.
Phil Mickelson had 34 cracks at the U.S. Open and came up empty 34 times. Since winning the 2017 Open Championship, Jordan Spieth has had 10 tries at the PGA, and has never gotten close. Tom Watson ended his career with 10 top 10s at the PGA but zero firsts. Many single-name legends of the sport reached the same imperfect tally: Trevino, Sarazen, Snead, Arnie. Even Byron Nelson, whose event gave Scheffler his first PGA Tour start, fell just shy.
The good thing for Scheffler? He probably isn’t remotely worried about any of that. Still, his memory is good enough to remember slipping the green jacket onto Rory McIlroy’s shoulders when he finished his slam.
If Scheffler is aware of anything in particular, it’s how tight the margins will be and how specific his task. The requirement — winning the toughest tournament of the year, with one chance every year — feels almost unfair. Does Scheffler have 20 more tries? Is it more like 15? Fewer than that? At the U.S. Open, opportunities slip away before you can register them as opportunities. His first round felt mediocre on Thursday morning. On Thursday evening it was a thorn in his side. On Sunday night, it was the only thing he could cite to explain why Wyndham Clark was holding the only silver missing from Scheffler’s trophy case.
“Yeah,” he said to finish his press conference, “that’s as good as I’m going to be able to elaborate.”
It was the final answer of his press conference Sunday night, and a sufficient one for the moment. There’ll be time for him to solve the grand-slam quest; as he wrapped up Sunday he was trying to solve something a bit simpler. It was Father’s Day and his young son, Bennett was seated on the floor next to him, cooing out of sight from the cameras. It was Scheffler’s 30th birthday, too. Life outside of golf was reaching back out to grab him. Scheffler rose from the podium, slid on a backpack inscribed with the name of his second son, Remy, scooped Bennett into his arms and moved on from Shinnecock.
“Alright buddy, let’s go get dinner,” he said, with the peace of someone who doesn’t think like the rest of us do.
“Pizza? Pizzaaa.”
