Greg Norman Goes Off On Scottie Scheffler After Ryder Cup

That’s it. That’s all they have to do. But the biggest difference for me in this RDER Cup is very simple. It comes down to two things so far. Greg Norman just exploded on Scotty Sheffller and it’s tearing the golf world apart. His brutal attack after the RDER Cup loss has fans questioning everything about Team USA’s so-called leader. But there’s more to this meltdown than what we saw on camera. And today, I’m revealing the truth behind Norman’s shocking outburst. Scotty Sheffller is the number one player in the world. Now, we’ve had the official World Golf ranking since 1986. Scotty Sheoffller was the first player, number one in the world in a Ryder Cup to lose his first three matches when he lost Saturday morning and then he doubled down. Beth Paige breakdown. The 2025 Ryder Cup at Beth Page Black was supposed to be payback. After getting cooked in Rome two years prior, Team USA strutdded into New York with fireworks, flag waving bravado, and a captain, Keegan Bradley, handpicked to inject raw American chaos into golf’s most civilized rivalry. The home crowd unhinged. The players paid, literally. For the first time, US golfers were taking $400,000 stipens for their time and effort. A move that had purists gagging into their Arnold Palmer’s. Front and center of the spectacle was Scotty Sheffler, the PGA Tour’s chosen one. Fresh off a near mythical season with wins at the Masters, players, and everything in between, Sheffller entered Beth Paige looking like destiny in Nike shoes. The analysts called him the anchor, the savior, the man who’d finally dragged the stars and stripes back to Rder Cup relevance. Instead, he played like a man allergic to chemistry. Paired with Russell Henley and Forsomes, Sheffller’s precision went missing faster than a Livy contract clause. Drives sprayed, irons ballooned, putts whispered past the cup. Europe, led by a frosty surgical Ludvig Oberg, made it look effortless. When the morning dust settled, the scoreboard read to Europe, and social media was already typing uh oh. Greg Norman, who’d been uncharacteristically quiet before the cup, emerged with crocodile tears and crocodile teeth. When you’re the best in the world, he told a post-match panel, “You don’t crumble under noise, you use it.” Translation: Sheffller choked, and from there, the spiral began. The irony: Norman once praised Sheffller’s mental fortitude during Liv’s rise, calling him unflapable. But as the pressure of home soil and 400k stipens mounted, unflapable turned into unrecognizable. The RDER Cup wasn’t Sheffller’s tournament. It was his undoing. By the end of day one, Team USA’s swagger had curdled into panic. Bradley’s wildcard picks looked like lottery tickets that didn’t hit. And Europe’s captain Luke Donald, calm as a surgeon in scrubs, just kept slicing America’s ego to pieces. It wasn’t just a loss, it was an omen. Crumbling Confidence Day One scoreboard was bad, but the vibes were worse. Sheffller, now 011, looked like a man haunted by his own highlight reel. Every time the cameras caught him mid swing, you could almost see the ghost of Rome 2023 whispering, “Not again.” The morning forsomes had been a wash, but the afternoon fourballs were a funeral. Sheffller paired with Brooks Kupka was supposed to bring firepower. Instead, he brought confusion. Kupka’s bombs landed. Sheffller’s irons missed greens by inches that felt like miles. Europe’s young guns, Oberg and Havland, toyed with them, draining birdies with the emotional detachment of men folding laundry. The match ended 2 and one, and Sheffller’s Rder Cup record dipped to 0 to6 in his last six matches. The postround pressers were a masterclass in damage control. Keegan Bradley tried to keep it positive. Scotty’s our guy. He’s the best in the world for a reason. But even that reassurance sounded like denial dressed in a red, white, and blue polo. The fans at Beth Page, notoriously unforgiving, started to turn. Booze slipped between cheers. A chant of Scotty Scotty became less encouragement, more interrogation. Then came Greg Norman. Oh, Greg. The man who’s turned shade throwing into an Olympic sport. On a Golf Channel panel, he dropped the verbal equivalent of a bunker grenade. The US has all the talent, but none of the cohesion. And Scotty, well, being the best on paper doesn’t mean much when the paper’s on fire. It wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t diplomatic. It was vintage shark circling blood in the water, and it landed like a gut punch. Sheffller, who spent his career trying to stay above the noise, suddenly found himself drowning in it. Every missed putt wasn’t just a point lost. It was ammunition for Norman’s smirk. Meanwhile, Twitter, or rather X, exploded. Memes of Sheffller missing two-footers, quotes from Norman spliced with slow-mo replays, and captions like, “World number one, not this weekend.” The golf internet had spoken, and it was ruthless. By the time Saturday dawned, the narrative was clear. Team USA wasn’t losing to Europe. They were losing to themselves. And Scotty Sheffller, whether fair or not, had become the face of the implosion. Saturday spiral. Scotty Sheffller simply didn’t show up. And yes, the Euros made all all these kinds of amazing putts and chipins to do all these wonderful things, but if you’re the best player in the world, you better goddamn play like it if the United States wants to win. And Scotty Sheffller simply did not. In the morning session on 18, he shanked a wedge on 18. Shanked a wedge into a bunker or into the fescue around a bunker that essentially lost the match. He stubbed a putt down the stretch on Saturday afternoon. Saturday morning arrived not with hope, but with hangover energy, the kind that comes after a national embarrassment and three cups of coffee can’t fix. Team USA needed redemption. Instead, they got relapse. The score line read, “Europe 9, USA 5.” And leading the parade of disappointment, Scotty Sheffller, the world’s number one golfer who suddenly couldn’t buy a win, a putt, or a clue. His pairing with Russell Henley for the morning fourballs was supposed to bring calm consistency. It brought chaos. John Rom and Tierrell Hatton chewed through the Americans like they were breakfast sandwiches. Sheffller’s swing, once poetry in motion, now looked like slam poetry performed at a corporate retreat. technically impressive, emotionally disjointed. He sprayed his drives into Beth Pa’s thick, rough, rolled putts tentatively, and by the ninth hole, the gallery had gone from rowdy to restless. On the 13th, when another birdie chant slid past the lip, a fan yelled, “Let Norman coach you, Scotty.” It was a joke, “Maybe,” but the crowd roared. That’s when Greg Norman’s shadow became more than commentary. It was presence. Norman miles away watching the carnage on a live feed posted a cryptic Instagram story. Pressure reveals the real golf. Twitter translated it immediately. Shark smells blood. By lunchtime, the screenshot had racked up 50,000 shares. Sheffller and Henley lost 3 and2. His Rder Cup record dropped to 031. Even the NBC commentators, normally gentle with the sports golden boys, couldn’t help themselves. for someone who dominates week to week. Brand Shambbley side. He looks completely lost in this format. Captain Keegan Bradley benched Sheffller for the afternoon. The official line was rest. The truth, he needed a reset, maybe even an exorcism. The cameras caught him on the range hitting silent angry wedges while the rest of the team trudged out to lose again. By sundown, Europe’s lead ballooned to 115. It wasn’t just defeat, it was humiliation. And in that humiliation, Greg Norman found his platform. On a podcast that night, he unloaded. This is what happens when golf becomes business, not battle. LIV built warriors, the PGA built accountants. It was a dig at the entire system and at Scotty specifically because to Norman, Sheffler was the face of that polite neutered golf establishment. And watching him crumble was in Norman’s eyes proof that the revolution had already won. That is bad luck, isn’t it? Let’s have another look at that. Tomy’s into a foot. So unlucky. Yeah, sort of hit the hole and the flag at the same time. Crowd chaos. Beth Paige Black was supposed to be a cathedral of patriotism. Instead, it became a coliseum of carnage. New York’s golf fans, loud, loyal, and just a little unhinged turned the Ryder Cup into an emotional roller coaster that even Greg Norman couldn’t script better. By Saturday afternoon, the Jeers had become a soundtrack. Rory Mroy was heckled for breathing. John Rom was booed for smiling. And Scotty Sheffller, he became the lightning rod. Every missed putt drew groans. Every shanked iron got sarcastic applause. By the time he stepped onto the 17th te during warm-ups, the crowd was half mocking, half mourning. Sheffller, usually stoic, cracked. His post round quote said it all. That was one of the lowest moments of my career. The emotion in his voice made headlines. The world’s best golfer brought to tears not by Europe, but by America. Keegan Bradley tried to defend the chaos. That’s New York passion, he said. But passion doesn’t explain fans booing their own player or hecklers shouting, “Go back to stroke play!” during Sheffller’s practice swings. “It was toxic theater and it fed into Norman’s favorite narrative that the PGA’s crown jewel couldn’t handle pressure when it wasn’t politely clapping. Europe thrived in the madness. Mroy and Hatton played like rock stars in a hostile bar gig, feeding off the booze like oxygen. Greg Norman, in a post-event interview, twisted the knife. Those crowds used to intimidate Europe, he said. Now they just embarrassed the US. The optics were brutal. The so-called American fortress had turned against its own hero. Norman’s smirk practically rode itself. This is why Liv was necessary, he declared in a later clip. Golf needed grit. It needed edge. Sheffller has none. And that’s the cruel irony. The man whose swing defines precision had his psyche publicly dismantled. One jer, one missed putt at a time. The louder the chance, the quieter he got. The Ryder Cup became less about Europe versus America and more about Scotty versus himself. By the time Sunday arrived, Beth Paige was running on fumes and caffeine. Team USA needed a miracle, and Sheffller needed redemption because if he didn’t win his singles match, Greg Norman’s rant would become gospel. Sunday Salvation, Scotty Sheffller, the number one player in the world, the most dominant player in golf over the last 3 years, has not won a single point or even haved a match. He is 0 and4. That has never happened in the history of the RDER Cup in the official World Golf Rankings era going back to 1986. Sunday morning broke with the energy of a final stand. Desperate, defiant, delusional. Team USA was down 159. They needed 9 and a half points. And leading the charge, Scotty Sheffller, the man everyone had already buried. His opponent, Rory Mroy, Europe’s emotional heartbeat. It was the heavyweight fight golf didn’t deserve, but desperately needed. Sheffller stepped to the tea, looking composed, but cold, eyes sunken with the kind of exhaustion only public humiliation brings. And then, against every headline and every meme, he started fighting back. Birdie on four, another on seven. Suddenly, the crowd, that same mob that had mocked him 24 hours earlier, began to believe again. The chance returned, this time laced with hope instead of hate. Let’s go, Scotty. Became a prayer. By the back nine, it was a war. Mroy drained a 25-footer on 15. Sheffller answered on 16. Every hole felt like a heartbeat. Every shot a referendum on whether redemption was possible. On the 18th, with the crowd roaring, Sheffller rolled in a nervy par putt to win oneup. It wasn’t dominance, it was deliverance. He didn’t celebrate. He exhaled. For the first time all weekend, Scotty looked human again, like the man who’d been hiding under the weight of the world’s expectations. His teammates swarmed him. The US bench erupted. Even the fans who’ booed him were now chanting his name like it had been theirs all along. Team USA mounted an incredible surge. Kantlay, Morawa, Shofflet, all delivering clutch wins. For a moment, it felt like Medina 2012 in reverse. But golf as always is cruel. Europe hung on. When John Romhd his match, the cup was theirs. 1513. Greg Norman didn’t post that night. No victory lap, no quote, just silence, which from him said everything. Maybe even he knew that mocking Sheffller after that fight back would have crossed the line from critic to cartoon. Scotty ended 1 to 31. Statistically awful, emotionally redemptive. His par on 18 didn’t win the cup, but it won something rarer. Dignity. After two days of ridicule, he’d finally proven he could bleed and still battle. But golf’s crulest twist. Even redemption wasn’t enough to silence the storm. Because once the final putt dropped, the fingerpointing began. And Norman, never one to waste a controversy, was ready to fire again. Fingerpointing. This is not the Scotty Sheffler we we’ve seen dominating the world. Meanwhile, you look at the Europeans, Tommy Fleetwood, who by the way has the best record in the history of the RDER Cup winning percentage-wise. The RDER Cup was over. The champagne was spraying, just not the American kind. Europe was dancing on the greens at Beth Page, and Team USA was left blinking into the flood lights, drenched in disappointment, and in Scotty Sheffller’s case, self-doubt. But before the flag could even be folded, the blame game began. Sheffller cost us the cup. That was the quote echoing across sports talk shows Monday morning. It wasn’t fair, but it was viral. The world’s number one reduced to a scapegoat because in golf, narrative always swings harder than the club. Greg Norman wasted 0 seconds capitalizing. The shark doesn’t just swim in chaos, he feeds on it. Appearing on a late night sports segment, Norman smirked through his sound bite. When your supposed leader goes 1 to 31, that’s not bad luck, that’s bad leadership. You can’t win team golf with solo mindsets. Translation: Sheffller, meet the bus. Norman’s already driving. Captain Keegan Bradley tried to take the heat. The pairings are on me, he said, owning the optics of a benching that looked suspiciously like a punishment. But even that gesture fell flat. Commentators pounced on Sheffller’s performance, his quiet demeanor, even his lack of visible fire. He looks like he’s playing a casual Thursday round, one analyst jabbed. Behind the scenes, murmurss spread about locker room tension, that Sheffller’s intensity, and Bradley’s brashness clashed. Others whispered about the money controversy, the 400k stipens that supposedly fractured morale. Norman’s earlier prophecy about golf becoming business, not battle, was suddenly sounding less bitter and more biblical. Even PGA loyalists couldn’t fully defend Sheffller. Brandle Shambblei called him mechanically brilliant but emotionally flat. Social media dubbed him the accountant. Greg Norman reposted that meme on his Instagram story with a shark emoji. Subtlety has never been his brand. What made it sting more was that Sheffller didn’t fight back. No quotes, no rebuttals, just silence. Maybe it was maturity, maybe it was damage control. But in the echo chamber of post Riter Cup discourse, silence sounds like surrender. For Norman, it was vindication. For Sheffler, it was a bruise that wouldn’t fade. And for Team USA, it was another chapter in a decad’s long comedy of errors. Big names, big hype, and the same familiar collapse. The moral, according to Greg Norman, you can’t buy chemistry and you can’t fake Killer Instinct. Expert eruptions. If golf had a talk show version of a food fight, the Monday after Beth Paige was it. Every analyst, pundit, and retired player with a microphone had a take, and most of them pointed at Scotty Sheffller like he was the only man holding a golf club all weekend. Shane Ryan of Golf Digest called Keegan Bradley’s captaincy a case study in chaos but saved his sharpest jab for Sheffller the best player in the world forgot how to lead. Ouch. Meanwhile, Rick Golfs never won for tact tweeted a report card. She chefller dambo C plus USA strategy F. Within an hour it had a million impressions and a Norman retweet. Norman still basking in the glow of being right for once went on Piers Morgan uncensored to double down. I don’t take joy in seeing the US fall, but this was inevitable. LIIV taught its players how to fight. The PGA teaches its players how to comply. It was pure theater, smug, self-satisfied, and soaked in the satisfaction of having the last word. But the backlash was swift. Golf traditionalists accused Norman of exploiting the loss to promote LIIV’s failed rebellion. One fiery column in Golf Monthly titled Norman’s victory lap is as tasteless as his shark logo went viral for its sheer audacity. Still, the damage was done. The story had become binary. Greg Norman, the provocator, versus Scotty Sheffller, the fallen hero. Experts began floating desperate solutions. Bring Tiger in for 2027. One panelist shouted, “He’ll bring order.” Another countered, “We don’t need a captain. We need therapy.” It was chaos disguised as analysis. Even Rory Mroy, normally diplomatic, couldn’t resist a subtle dig. They’ve got incredible talent, but they don’t play like a team. We just enjoy this more. Translation: Europe drinks champagne. USA drinks excuses. Meanwhile, Sheffller remained a ghost. No tweets, no interviews, no apologies, just the image of him walking off the 18th green, quiet, stoic, unseleelebrated, looping endlessly on highlight reels. By Wednesday, Golf Channel aired a segment titled, “What’s next for Scotty?” The host asked the question everyone was thinking. Can he bounce back or has Greg Norman’s curse finally landed? The word curse might have been tongue and cheek, but in golf, perception is reality. Norman couldn’t resist one final swing. If he learns to play for pride, not paycheck, he said. Maybe he’ll find himself again. The crowd laughed. But somewhere in Texas, Scotty Sheffller was already grinding quietly like a man who’d heard enough lasting lessons. When the chaos fades and the memes die down, what’s left is the echo. And that’s where the 2025 RDER Cup will live. A clash of talent, ego, and noise that left Scotty Sheffller’s reputation dented, and Greg Norman’s ego inflated to the size of a LIIV trophy. Sheffller’s final record, 1 to31, reads like a scar. His win over Rory Mroy salvaged pride, but didn’t erase pain. It proved he’s human, fallible, and maybe a little too polished for a sport that thrives on grit. The RDER Cup doesn’t reward perfection, it rewards chaos. And for once, the man who mastered calm couldn’t summon the storm. Greg Norman, meanwhile, walked away vindicated in his own mind. His pre-event prophecies about passion, chemistry, and American complacency aged like expensive wine. Or maybe just vinegar in a decanter. Either way, he got what he wanted. Proof that his critiques of the PGA Tour culture had teeth. But beneath Norman’s mockery lies an inconvenient truth. He wasn’t entirely wrong. Team USA is built on stars, not synergy. It does play for optics as much as outcome. And Scotty Sheffller, the quiet assassin of stroke play, looked lost when stripped of his routine and thrust into the chaos of team golf. The lesson then isn’t that Sheffller failed. It’s that the system failed him. A program obsessed with analytics, sponsorships, and social optics forgot what made the RDER Cup sacred. Emotion. Europe had it. America didn’t. Norman just said the quiet part loud. In the aftermath, calls for reform echoed louder than any cheer that week. Tiger Woods for captain in 2027. A revamp of pairing strategy, an overhaul of the task force. But reform can’t fix culture. Only accountability can. And Sheffller, whether he likes it or not, has become the symbol of that reckoning. A year from now, the memes will fade, the hot takes will cool, and Norman will find someone new to torment. But the scar of Beth Paige will linger. Not because of the loss, but because of what it revealed. That greatness without grit is just marketing. Sheffller may never say it out loud, but this Ryder Cup will define him. And maybe that’s exactly what he needs. Not another trophy, but a test of character because golf doesn’t remember who smiled on Sunday. It remembers who survived the storm. Greg Norman’s rant may fade into the noise, but the echo of Beth Paige still rings. The shark got his sound bite. The critics got their headlines. And Scotty Sheffler got his scar. But scars tell stories. And his isn’t finished. Because every downfall in golf comes with one guarantee. Someone’s always watching the next swing. Like and subscribe for the next meltdown.

Greg Norman Goes Off On Scottie Scheffler After Ryder Cup

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