Why even Tiger couldn't save Nike's clubs

"The more I practise, the luckier I get"

Gary Player

Roy Keane’s now coaching the WAGs, private equity firms are eyeing golf-tech like it’s 2021 crypto, LIV might reinvent itself (again) in 2026, simulation golf in Asia is exploding making 'outdoorsy' optional, golf is apparently wellness in disguise now, oh and PXG’s finally showing up to the PGA Show, miracles do happen.

The true cost of Tiger’s seventh back surgery

Why it matters: Tiger Woods announced more back surgery recently, his third procedure in 18 months. This isn’t just about one player’s health; it’s about the business reality surrounding golf’s most valuable asset. Woods generates an estimated $16 million in incremental economic value per tournament he enters. His absence creates measurable declines in television viewership (estimated 20%-30%), sponsor activation value, and fan attendance.

Our Take: The economics of Tiger Woods have fundamentally shifted. For 25 years, golf's model was simple: when Tiger plays, people watch. Money follows. Now he exists primarily as a brand rather than a competitor. TGL represents a new model, monetise the name without requiring the body to hold up for 72 holes. His course design business keeps growing, and apparel deals remain intact. But when Tiger fully retires, what happens to purses, media rights, and sponsor valuations inflated by his presence? The PGA Tour has long been preparing for a post-Tiger era, but is the market fully ready?

YouTube's ‘Good Good Golf’ secures title sponsorship for new PGA Tour event

Why it matters: The PGA Tour announced the Good Good Championship in Austin, Texas, a new end-of-season event debuting in 2026. This marks the first time a golf-centric YouTube content brand has become a PGA Tour title sponsor. The move validates the massive commercial growth of the digital golf creator space, with Good Good recently completing a $45 million funding round. Title sponsorships for Tour events are reportedly worth multi-millions, providing the Tour with vital revenue for its quieter period.

Our Take: This is a shrewd, multi-generational play by the PGA Tour. It effectively bridges the gap between the traditional golf establishment and the coveted, younger, highly engaged audience of the YouTube generation. For Good Good, the sponsorship is the ultimate brand-awareness swing, turning a digital media company into an official partner of pro golf's largest stage. It shows the Tour is embracing new media brands to secure its financial future and audience base in the post Tiger era.

Why the LPGA's parity problem is actually a business problem

Why it matters: Competitive parity is a sporting triumph but a commercial challenge. Sports marketing research shows star-driven narratives drive higher ratings, sponsor engagement, and merchandise sales. The LPGA’s record parity, a new winner on tour nearly every week, means no single player is capturing the sustained attention that elevates the tour’s profile. Sponsors struggle to activate around constantly changing winners, and broadcasters cannot build season-long storylines.

Our Take: The LPGA’s depth is both a blessing and a challenge. The tour is stronger than ever globally, but without sustained star power, it struggles to secure premium media rights and top-tier sponsorships. Unlike men’s golf, which faces uncertainty when stars retire, the LPGA is building a model that doesn’t collapse if one or two players step away. The key is converting competitive depth into compelling narratives, whether through player personality content, rivalry storylines, or format innovations that let depth become the draw rather than a problem.

Listen: Golf Channel Podcast with Brandel Chamblee Chamblee breaks down professional golf and potential LIV strategies.

Read: Legacy: What the All Blacks Can Teach Us About the Business of Life by James Kerr Not golf, but a great read on building high-performing, resilient team cultures.

Watch: Tommy Fleetwood's emotional victory in India, capped by his son joining him on the 18th green.

Follow: @NoLayingUp on X/Twitter Sharp, independent golf coverage and commentary.

Nike Golf: The $2 billion lesson in what brand power can’t buy

Nike lost money on golf equipment for 20 consecutive years. Not a few quarters. Not through a recession. Two full decades. The most dominant sports marketing company in history, armed with the might of Tiger Woods in his prime and virtually unlimited budgets, couldn't crack golf equipment profitably.

When Nike finally shut down its club and ball manufacturing in 2016, co-founder Phil Knight didn't sugarcoat it, "We lost money for 20 years on equipment and balls. We realised next year wasn't going to be any different." The question isn't why they exited. It's how they burned through $2 billion before accepting what the equipment specialists already knew.

Why Nike thought they’d win

In 2002, the logic looked foolproof. Nike had conquered basketball with Jordan, dominated running with innovative footwear tech, and built the most recognisable brand in global sport. Tiger Woods was at absolute peak dominance, winning majors in Nike apparel and swoosh-branded balls. The strategic leap seemed like a no-brainer: put a full bag of Nike clubs in Tiger's paws and watch the money roll in. Tiger won his first tournament with Nike equipment. The fairytale lasted exactly one event. The reality was brutal and immediate. Golfers didn't buy the clubs. Not in the numbers Nike projected, not at the margins they needed, and not with the loyalty their other categories commanded. Twenty years later, after burning billions, Nike walked away from equipment entirely while keeping their apparel business, which has thrived ever since.

Nike failed to grasp that golfers are ruthlessly rational buyers

Golf equipment isn't an emotional purchase like running shoes or team jerseys. It's a technical decision backed by data, fitting sessions, and the aggressive, unsolicited advice from your mate Colin. When a runner buys Nike shoes, they're buying performance, style, and identity. The product works because Nike spent decades perfecting footwear technology and earning that trust.

But equipment operates differently. Golfers don't buy clubs because Tiger uses them or because the swoosh looks sharp. They buy clubs because a launch monitor proved the ball goes straighter, a custom fitting showed better spin rates, or their playing partner gained 15 yards and won't shut up about it.

Nike tried to market clubs the way they market shoes, through aspiration, aesthetics, and athlete endorsement. It didn't work. Golfers wanted proof, not promises. And when Phil Mickelson publicly stated in 2003 that Tiger had "inferior equipment," the entire industry nodded in agreement and that credibility gap became permanent. No amount of marketing budget could overcome the perception that Nike clubs were style over substance.

The specialist problem: going to war without a weapon

Nike entered a market dominated by companies that had spent 50+ years perfecting one thing: making golf clubs. Titleist, Callaway, TaylorMade, and Ping weren't lifestyle brands dabbling in equipment. They were obsessive engineers with decades of R&D breakthroughs that genuinely changed how golf is played.

Callaway's Big Bertha revolutionised driver forgiveness. TaylorMade pioneered adjustable weights and movable hosels. Ping created the most game-improvement irons ever designed. Each brand earned credibility through signature innovations that made serious golfers reconsider their entire bag.

Nike never had that moment. Their VR Pro Blades were well-made. The Covert drivers were legitimately competitive. But "good enough" doesn't win in golf equipment. Without a breakthrough product that forced the industry to catch up, Nike was always facing an uphill battle. Even Tiger eventually switched back to different irons mid-contract, a hammer blow which undoubtably resulted in Nike’s CFO pouring themselves a very large and stiff drink.

The economics were wrong from the start

Golf club manufacturing is brutally capital intensive with challenging margins. Each new driver model requires millions in R&D, aerodynamic testing, tour feedback loops, and retooling before a single unit ships. Product cycles run 12-18 months, meaning you're constantly investing in the next generation while discounting the current one. Apparel margins often hit 50-60%. Equipment margins struggle past 30%, and that's before accounting for inventory risk, retail partnerships, and tour player contracts. Nike was subsidising equipment losses with clothing profits, hoping scale would eventually flip the model positive. It never did.

Compare this to how Takomo and PXG have entered the market decades later. Takomo launched direct-to-consumer with no tour presence, minimal marketing, and a value proposition built entirely on performance-per-pound. PXG went the opposite route, positioning as ultra-premium with founder Bob Parsons bankrolling losses as a passion project, not a profit centre. PXG are known for their unique focus on extreme performance and advanced technology, built through innovation resulting in a meticulous and expensive manufacturing process.  Both understood what Nike didn't: you can't casually enter golf equipment expecting brand equity to carry you. You need either a radical cost structure or a wealthy and obsessive patron ready to subsidise credibility-building for years.

Nike had neither. They had a traditional retail model, premium pricing without premium credibility, and shareholders who eventually demanded results.

Where Nike actually won

Here's what often gets lost: Nike's exit from equipment wasn't total failure. It was strategic retreat to where they actually dominate. They kept the apparel and footwear business, which has grown significantly since 2016. Rory McIlroy, Brooks Koepka, Scottie Scheffler, and Nelly Korda still wear the swoosh on tour. Nike's golf clothing revenue continues climbing as competitors like Adidas begin to refocus on golf with their ‘Golf Originals’.

The lesson isn't that Nike failed at golf. It's that they correctly identified where their competitive advantage existed and doubled down. Knowing when to quit isn't weakness, it's capital allocation discipline.

What the rest of the industry should learn

Brand power has limits. Even the strongest consumer brand in sports couldn't overcome technical credibility gaps. In equipment, trust is earned through performance breakthroughs, not marketing campaigns. Athlete endorsements don't transfer to equipment sales the way they do in apparel. Tiger wearing Nike shirts sold millions of shirts. Tiger playing Nike clubs didn't move the same volume because golfers make equipment decisions differently.

Market entry timing matters. Nike's big equipment push coincided with golf's participation decline post-2008 financial crisis. Fewer golfers meant shrinking market share at the exact moment Nike needed growth to justify the investment.

Direct-to-consumer models have changed the game. Takomo, Sub70, and Haywood prove you can build equipment credibility without tour presence if your product performs and your price point undercuts the establishment. Nike tried to compete on the incumbents' terms. The disruptors who've succeeded since did the opposite.

Capital intensity without a clear path to profitability invites shareholder impatience. Nike could afford to lose money for 20 years. Most brands can't. Before entering golf equipment, stress-test how long you can sustain losses and what specifically will change the trajectory.

The question Nike never answered

Here's what still haunts the story: if Nike had launched today with a direct-to-consumer model, no tour presence, and half the R&D budget focused on value-driven performance, would they have won?

We'll never know. But the brands succeeding now in equipment, whether it's Takomo's DTC efficiency or PXG's extreme and expensive obsession with innovation and performance, understood something Nike didn't. In golf equipment, you can't buy credibility. You have to earn it, one launch monitor session at a time.

Nike tried to market their way to equipment dominance. The industry taught them you can't. That's a $2 billion lesson the rest of us got for free.

How The Masters saved Augusta National

In 1933, Augusta National was on the brink of collapse. The club, co-founded by Bobby Jones and Clifford Roberts, had fewer than 100 members, mounting debts and an unfinished course. Jones had retired from competitive golf, and the Great Depression had crushed membership interest in what was meant to be the most exclusive golf club in America.

Desperate to keep the lights on, Jones and Roberts devised a bold idea: if they couldn’t sell memberships, they’d sell a spectacle. They created a tournament, the Augusta National Invitation Tournament, to bring the world’s best players to Georgia and showcase the course to a national audience.

The gamble worked. The first tournament in 1934 drew attention and visitors that membership drives never could. By 1939, it was renamed The Masters, and it transformed Augusta from a financial liability into golf’s most recognisable brand.

A great business lesson from the home of the green jacket, when your primary revenue model fails, build something new that makes people care. The Masters remains one of the world’s most prestigious tournaments, but it began as a survival strategy.

AI isn’t just changing business, it’s changing golf. We’ll dive into how artificial intelligence is shaping the modern game, from smarter swings to data-driven decisions on and off the course.

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Have a good week. Until next Friday,

David

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