McEwan: In defence of Tyrrell f***ing Hatton

Try as you might – and I have – it’s hard to find examples of anybody acknowledging an angry disposition as a strength.

Mark Twain called it “an acid that can do more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to anything on which it is poured.”

“For every minute you remain angry,” observed Ralph Emerson Waldo, “you give up sixty seconds of peace of mind.”

Sentiments with which Tyrrell Hatton might beg to differ.

It’s no secret the world No.16 exists in a perpetual state of incandescence, wrath simmering never more than millimetres beneath his stocky surface.

The Englishman’s outbursts have become the stuff of modern legend, his self-directed, potty-mouthed criticisms illustrative of a man who sets himself extraordinarily high standards. When he’s not telling his ball to f*** off, he’s getting ready to tell his ball to f*** off. He is a ‘hot mic’ operator’s dream – and not everybody likes it.

Last weekend, during the third round of the DP World Tour Championship, TV cameras captured him snapping a club in frustration. He pressed it down into the turf until the shaft snapped, much to the disgust of Sky Sports commentator Ewen Murray.

““Oh no,” he sighed. “It’s time for change, I’m afraid. That’s a terrible influence on the next generation.

“I’m sorry to say it. I’m his biggest supporter as a golfer.”

As the channel broadcast a slow-motion replay, Murray added: “Just have a look at this. Why? Why would you do that? We’ve all had our moments but he’s having too many of them.”

I’m a huge fan of Ewen Murray. He is a master of his craft. If he commentated on phonebook-ripping contests, I’d be inclined to tune-in. Honestly, he is quite possibly my favourite commentator in sport, not to mention a lovely man, too.

But I fundamentally disagree with him here.

To call Hatton’s behaviour “a terrible influence on the next generation” feels melodramatic. It also massively underestimates children.

As an example, I watched hundreds of hours of football when I was a kid. I incorporated Jurgen Klinsmann’s swan dive celebration into kick-abouts with my friends, but what I never did was go into a tackle at knee-height and with my studs up à la Roy Keane on Alf Inge Haaland. Why? Because I understood the difference between right and wrong and was an independent-enough thinker to choose which behaviour to be influenced by. Without exception, my entire peer group was the same.

Have I ever broken a club in anger? God, yeah. Multiple times. I’m not proud of it but it has happened (and funnily enough, only ever as an adult; never as a child). Again, though, each of those instances has been entirely impulsive, spontaneous and driven by a split-second manifestation of my own aggravation. Not once have I hit a bad shot and wondered, ‘What would Tyrrell Hatton do here?’ In the time it would take to complete that thought, believe me, the club is already airborne.

So, yes, I’m very confident in my conviction that we overstate the influence of tour pros. If it was as significant as implied, wouldn’t we be taking selfies with the still-warm carcasses of animals we’ve just shot or, I dunno, having affairs with Perkins’ waitresses?

But back to Hatton.

I genuinely have no truck with his behaviour. The occasional swear-word and broken club is hardly the sort of thing with which to bother the church elders. It only becomes an issue in one of two scenarios. One, it becomes excessive, which is subjective, of course, but I don’t believe it has. And two, if it negatively affects his playing partners, and there is nothing to suggest it does (nor should it; if any of his playing partners are watching him that closely, they’re watching him too closely.)

I like the fact Hatton is different for the same reason I’ve previously written about the need for golf to have somebody in the Nick Kyrgios mould. We – fans, media, observers – routinely lament the lack of characters in the game. We grouse about the stoicism of, say, Patrick Cantlay and Xander Schauffele. We want to see passion, hunger, desire, agony, ecstasy. We demand our best players share their emotions because emotions prove they care and that this thing we devote so much time and energy to actually matters.

But as soon as somebody like Hatton provides us with their own interpretation of all of the above, we recoil in shock.

“NOT LIKE THAT, FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE!”

As though there are right and wrong ways to express your emotions.

Who the hell do we think we are?!

Hatton has spoken at length about his antics in the current edition of bunkered, explaining he has always been the way he is.

“I’ve been that way since I was a kid,” he said. “Just quite expressive and you always know where you stand with me. Ultimately, I’m just out there trying my best and I want everything to be perfect and I get frustrated with myself and other things when it’s not.

“Sometimes I’ll say something positive and it just turns to s***. I’m better off just being negative and it can only get better from there.”

Wins on the PGA Tour, DP World Tour, LIV Golf League, and multiple other circuits – not to mention three Ryder Cup appearances and more than 200 weeks inside the world’s top-20 – demonstrate that it’s working for him.

Nobody has to like it. But to demand he change and conform to ‘our’ standards, to ‘our’ values, to ‘our’ expectations?

To paraphrase the man himself, f*** that.

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Michael McEwan is the 2023 PPA Scotland ‘Columnist of the Year’ and ‘Writer of the Year’

Michael McEwan is the Deputy Editor of bunkered and has been part of the team since 2004. In that time, he has interviewed almost every major figure within the sport, from Jack Nicklaus, to Rory McIlroy, to Donald Trump. The host of the multi award-winning bunkered Podcast and a member of Balfron Golfing Society, Michael is the author of three books and is the 2023 PPA Scotland 'Writer of the Year' and 'Columnist of the Year'. Dislikes white belts, yellow balls and iron headcovers. Likes being drawn out of the media ballot to play Augusta National.

Deputy Editor