YouTube Golf is Too Far Gone
This Saturday––April 5th, 2025––LIV Golf will be putting on a show in Miami. But this one’s special: teams of two––one LIV professional and one YouTube Golfer––will compete. They’re calling it “The Duels.”
This is far from the first time a pro tour has attempted to capitalize on the growing sector; The PGA Tour ran a “Creator Classic” at this year’s Players Championship, and the Myrtle Beach Classic has become an annual spot for the PGA Tour to put its stamp on the YouTube Golf circuit.
In a way that professional golfers with allegiances to separate tours simply cannot, these players have become able to play both sides of the aisle: LIV and the Tour. As they become increasingly popular in an increasingly young community of consumers and their monetary attractiveness continues to grow, though, exclusivity agreements are arriving. The Tours have come for YouTube Golf, and planting their flags on creators will undoubtedly have an impact on an industry that thrives on what makes them different from the competitive, serious rigors of PGA Tour (or even the (questionable) competitive nature of LIV).
The term “YouTube Golfer” (YTG) can be traced through the history of golf on YouTube; the concept has continously evolved. Today, just because one has a channel about golf on YouTube does not make them a “YouTube Golfer.” Interestingly, the burgeoning commercial aspect of YTG has created an exclusive tour of sorts––a hierarchy has emerged. I suggest that to become a “YouTube Golfer,” one must be recognized by both the powers in the sector (with GoodGood or BobDoesSports or Bryson DeChambeau) and gain entry to the inner circle that is recognized by the established professional powers in the game (the PGA Tour and LIV Golf). Collaborations are what drive the big viewership, certainly, but the hierarchy must remain fluid and easy for new talent to climb, or the stale nature of professional golf’s current state will infect YTG.
It’s difficult to argue that the original YTG was not Rick Shiels. The British golf instructor turned content creator pioneered the blueprint for modern YouTube Golf, blending instructional videos, equipment reviews, and casual on-course vlogs into a formula that resonated with millions. His early success—built on authenticity and accessibility—set the stage for an entire ecosystem of creators who followed. I remember watching his videos in the mid-to-late 2010s when he maintained that because he had no sponsor, he could tell you what he really thought. The independence was what made him refreshing and popular––he critiqued critique equipment, courses, and tour formats without fear of repercussion.
Shiels’ now-famous signing with LIV Golf earlier this year was not only a repudiation of these values but an overt stance in the professional civil war. Wearing Jon Rahm’s villanous black leather LIV jacket for the announcement was as low class and out of touch as he could get. The message was clear, and it was sad: Rick had a price, and YouTube Golf has a price––just like the professionals. Shiels can’t participate in the Creator Classic. Who knows what else he’s had to censor or give up for the LIV money? He lost his credibility, and he began the road to fracturing the once-unified YouTube Golf community––the civil war has begun its expansion to yet another front.
And yet, I’m not personally as sad about what this might mean for the rest of YouTube Golf as I am about who Rick used to be. We watched his videos, and he offered us insight into his life as a golfer. His individuality made him interesting: you could relate to him as a person––not a perfect golfer by any means but one who, on his own, was trying his best to improve it. It was just the viewer and Rick, and now, by the collaboration-heavy, individuality-stifling environment of YTG, that relationship is gone––corrupted. You’ll never get it back.
Returning to the overall state of YouTube Golf, anyone can tell you how Shiels’ move is just the beginning. The Tours are clearly courting the big names, and fragmentation will happen––of that, there is little doubt.
But it’s the effects of this fragmentation, and how it poses an even larger risk to YTG than it did (and still does) to professional golf, that is interesting to analyze. The younger and younger trends of golf consumers is a market that professional golf will swallow, and it will be destroyed. To truly understand why YTG is even more vulnerable to the civil war and commercialization, one must look no farther than GoodGood.
What made early GM Golf compelling wasn't the golf––it was the palpable sense that you were watching real people, no pretense. You saw Steve Castaneda just be a regular struggling beginner––he didn’t really know the first thing about golf. Matt’s plain weird commentary was my favorite (see “Hey Peter” or “get the job done a different way”). These weren’t gimmicks but instead authentic reactions. Matt really was just that weird.
GoodGood's initial success came from amplifying this formula – take the camaraderie of GM Golf, add production value, and maintain the illusion of spontaneity. But as their subscriber count grew, so did the compromises. The editing became tighter, the challenges more structured, the outcomes suspiciously neat. What began as friends messing around on camera gradually morphed into content optimized for maximum engagement. The shift was subtle at first – a sponsored club here, a scripted bit there – but the trajectory was clear: GoodGood wasn't just documenting golf anymore; they were producing it.
Ask yourself this question, if you doubt it: when’s the last time you saw Matt Scharff ask, with that goofy grin on his face, “Hey Peter?” Not in any recent GoodGood video, I promise. What I’m really asking: When’s the last time it actually looked like they were simply, truly having fun?
Good Good’s transition mirrors Shiels' LIV deal in its fundamental trade-off: authenticity for scalability. Just as Shiels sacrificed his independent voice for tour money, GoodGood exchanged their charm for polish. The difference is that while Shiels' compromise was sudden and visible, Good Good's has been a slow creep toward corporatization. Both paths lead to the same destination.
The danger here isn't merely aesthetic. YouTube Golf's entire value proposition rests on its ability to maintain an alternative ecosystem – one where skill matters less than personality, where the barriers between creator and viewer feel permeable. When that ecosystem starts replicating professional golf's hierarchies and exclusivities, the distinction dissapears.
An alternative ecosystem is necessary for golf to continue to be cool and fun. If Good Good isn’t that, and Rick Shiels isn’t either, who will be? It’s becoming increasingly difficult to find one.
Indeed, YouTube Golf’s greatest strength is that it exists outside the traditional golf establishment. It doesn’t need tours, governing bodies, or TV networks to thrive. But now, those very institutions are circling, eager to co-opt its energy (ironically something that can’t be co-opted, and yet, that has never stopped anyone from trying).
The Creator Classic and “The Duels” aren’t just collaborations—they’re assimilation tactics. The tours know YouTube Golfers hold the key to younger fans, and they’re willing to pay for access. The moment creators become beholden to tour agendas, though, their compelling nature disappears.
The hierarchy is here: the tour-affiliates––GoodGood, BobDoesSports, Bryan Bros, Grant Horvat––then those below them––BustaJack or Luke Peavy (those who are just following the formulas of those who came before them in hopes of reaching the top). Anyone else who dares to do different in YTG simply lacks the viewership on a platform that is still fixated with the top.
The question isn't whether YouTube Golf will survive (it will), but whether it can retain enough of its original spirit to matter. I don’t watch YTG anymore; the videos don’t feel like conversations. Matt Scharff isn’t Matt Scharff, and Rick Shiels isn’t Rick Shiels. The rawness is gone, and the warnings were long ago. Where will consumers look next?