What Happens When You’ve Already Won
As Scottie Scheffler was cruising to victory, I began talking with my friend Fisher about what comes next for him once he (inevitably) wins the U.S. Open. We’ve seen this movie before, recently. Rory became aimless after winning the Masters, which he had spent the last ten years pining for. Tiger found a different kind of prison, becoming fixated on Jack’s mark of 18 majors from the moment he completed the Tiger Slam. With Scheffler’s comments earlier this week that were distilled down to “what’s the point?” it could be easy to view his drive as a ticking time bomb. Maybe he'll retire early? Maybe he’ll lose motivation as he grapples with how arbitrary greatness really is? But the more I thought about it, and read what others had to say, the more I realized we’re looking at this all wrong. I don’t think these were the words of someone losing motivation, rather someone who's figured out something that only a rare few ever unlock. What looks like disillusionment might actually be the most lethal mindset in professional golf.
For Tiger and Jordan, when the competition stopped, they didn't know who they were anymore. It helped them be the greatest versions of themselves in their respective sports, but their lives away from the sport have become very messy. On the other end, you have the ones who walk away on their own terms. The biggest example of this is Ash Barty, who walked away at #1 in the world. It wasn’t because of mental health; it was because she genuinely saw her sport as just a chapter that was ending. Fulfillment didn’t live on the court or field, so they didn’t need to keep searching for it there.
Scheffler seems to have found a third way: combining the competitive fire of Tiger and Jordan with the perspective of Barty.
The Third Way
Most athletes are chasing something. They’re trying to prove they're the best, trying to be a superstar, or cement a legacy. But Scottie doesn’t care about any of that. Jordan Spieth pointed this out yesterday. Scottie is already complete. That’s why winning doesn’t satisfy Scheffler the way it does others; he’s already full. His faith and perspective mean he was whole before his first win, before his first major, and he’ll still be whole when he completes the Grand Slam and wins his final major.
I almost look at his quote mathematically. Athlete A operates at 75% fulfilled. Win a major, they hit 95%. But as Scottie said, winning is fleeting, so it fades back to 75% over time. Scottie lives at a 95% baseline. So when he wins a major, it adds at most 5% fulfillment. The moment of victory is more intense for that other athlete than it is for Scheffler. Scottie doesn’t need a win to feel complete because he basically already is. So when he wins, it adds some joy, some excitement, but it doesn’t change who he is. And when the moment passes, he’s not searching for the next thing to feel whole again. He just goes home.
I forget where I first heard this, but someone said most athletes carry their careers like a loaded backpack that is full of pressure, expectations, and self-worth. Well, in this hypothetical, Scottie's backpack is light. He’s climbing the same mountain but with way less weight. If we stay with this climbing metaphor, the summit isn’t where Scottie thinks happiness lives. He’s not climbing because he needs to reach the top. He’s climbing because he loves the climb. Translate that to competition, even ignoring skill, he’s already got a huge leg up on the field.
How does he have this kind of peace in a world where everyone else seems addicted to striving? I think for Scottie, it comes down to three things: faith, perspective, and identity.
His faith gives him a foundation, and he truly believes his worth comes from something bigger than golf. Bad rounds don’t threaten his identity because his identity isn’t built on golf scores, and good rounds don’t inflate his ego because he sees his talent as something he’s been given, not something he earned. He and his caddie Ted Scott do bible study together, it’s how they met. Most player-caddie relationships are purely tactical, some are strong friendships, but Scheffler has someone who helps ground him spiritually during the biggest moments in golf.
His identity is already settled: he’s a Christian, a husband, a dad, a son, and below all of those, a golfer. You see this in how he talks about his parents, how they raised him to know he was loved for Scottie the person, not the golfer.
And his perspective keeps everything in balance. When he wins, he doesn't rush to hold his son Bennett for the cameras or because that's what champions are supposed to do. It’s because it’s what he genuinely wants. Once the final putt drops on Sunday, win or lose, the golf tournament is over and he's back to being a father. The day his first thought after winning isn’t “where's my wife and son?” is the day he steps away from the game. But I don’t think that day will ever come because his love for his family isn’t competing with his love for golf.
Others Who’ve Found It
So does Scottie have some secret code? No. Other athletes have had it, just not at his level of skill. Tim Tebow was where my mind first went. When I fed my theory into ChatGPT, it spit back Josh Hamilton and Arian Foster as other examples. All three of them had success, but here’s the thing: none of them were transcendent at their sport.
The best comparison for Scheffler is Roger Federer. Federer was never obsessed with numbers or legacy. He seemed to genuinely enjoy tennis for its own sake, often reflecting on loving the game but not needing it. While Federer wasn’t notably religious, and I don’t know what gave him that foundation, he figured out how to care deeply without being consumed. Both athletes are seemingly unbothered by noise, unmoved by pressure, and somehow still completely locked in. What makes this so impressive is that maintaining this perspective gets harder the more successful you become. The spotlight intensifies, the stakes feel higher, and the pressure to be great often overwhelms.
And this isn’t to say they don’t get frustrated or aren’t bratty at times. Quite the opposite. Roger smashed plenty of rackets in his career, and Scottie seemingly has more tantrums than any other player. But even in those moments, it never feels like they are unraveling, just releasing steam. The truth is, I don’t think it’s possible to have the kind of skill, drive, and internal standards these guys have and not have tantrums during play. I’d argue it’s better to have outbursts during competition. That intensity has to go somewhere. You can be grounded and centered and have great perspective, and still be pissed when you miss a slam or pull a wedge. But for them, these outbursts are emotional regulators. They let it out, and then move on. It’s emotion without identity crisis. And that’s an important distinction. A lot of athletes melt down because their mistakes feel like personal failure. For Scottie and Roger, the mistake is just a mistake. It’s frustrating and worth reacting to, but not soul-crushing. Compare that to Rory. You could see it in his body language at the Masters; every poor swing felt existential. Because of his sheer talent and because he still does have mental strength, he was able to win, but the emotional toll was obvious and something that has undoubtedly plagued his success.
So, to return to the question, will Scheffler need to set a goal? I don’t think so. I love comparing golfers to artists, well think of the great painters, they chase perfect brushstrokes because anything less feels incomplete. That’s how Scheffler seems to approach golf. You saw it on Sunday when he fist pumped the par saves despite a seven-shot lead. It was Tiger-esque. This approach is lethal because craftsmen never stop improving. They don’t plateau because wins are not what they chase. They’re chasing mastery of their craft, and mastery has no ceiling.
The Untested Theory
So far I’ve been highly complimentary of Scottie, but the thing is, we’re seeing all this during his peak years. He’s 27, healthy, and playing the best golf of his life. His perspective looks bulletproof right now, but every mindset eventually gets tested when things go sideways. What happens if he develops back issues, or his driver abandons him for a season? The craftsman thing sounds great when the craft is working. And while those tantrums are encouraging now, a missed putt is different from a lost season. Will his perspective hold when he can’t execute shots he’s made thousands of times?
Maybe we’re watching someone who hasn’t been truly tested yet. Maybe his foundation really is that strong. Or maybe when he says golf isn’t everything, he means it in a way that would survive real adversity. If he does, he’ll prove that the secret to sustained excellence is not wanting it more, but needing it less.
