Sport, or at least some pockets of sport, retain a strange affection for the days when athletes competed purely for the love of it, and not for money or fame or recognition.
This feeling can be the only explanation for the outcry that erupted earlier this week when it emerged that the US Ryder Cup players would be paid for their participation in this weekend’s event.
This year, the PGA of America introduced new appearance fees for its players, with each player in the USA team receiving $500,000, with $300k going to charity and $200k directly to the player, marking a major shift from the long-standing $200k charity-only model.
Given the reaction, you’d be forgiven for believing something far worse was happening than the Americans being given a few quid.
Former pro, Laura Davies, quickly branded the payments as “ludicrous” while Team Europe captain, Luke Donald, also made his disapproval known, insisting the Ryder Cup is about pride, not pay.
“This isn’t a week to get paid,” said the Englishman. “We have such strong purpose in this team and what we play for. I feel like if you have experiences that you remember for the rest of your life, that’s worth more than a couple of hundred-thousand dollars in your pocket.”
Such was the pressure upon the American players to forfeit their payments, many have said they’ll give their entire cut to charity and not merely the $300,000 which had already been earmarked for donation.
I understand the argument against paying these men to play in the Ryder Cup. Their motivation should be rooted in their desire to win this historic trophy, rather than be driven by any kind of financial gain.
But there seems to be a fundamental misunderstanding of the psyche of athletes by suggesting that any aspiration to play the Ryder Cup because they want success on the golf course and financial reward are mutually exclusive.
In fact, both can be true at the same time. Players can be desperate to play for the USA or Europe and be driven to win this historic event for their team while, concurrently, receiving money for doing so without it adversely affecting their competitive instincts.
Show me an athlete who’s only in sport for the money, and I’ll show you a failed athlete.
Certainly, it’s difficult to feel too much sympathy for any of these golfers about their financial situation. Every one of these men are millionaires many times over and the $200,000 they would have received for this weekend’s work in Bethpage is mere loose change to them.
But despite their wealth, the point still stands of why shouldn’t they be paid?
The Ryder Cup is, clearly, nothing without the players and given so many other people are making money out of this event, why on earth shouldn’t the players get a cut of the revenue they are generating?
This is exactly the same argument that arose when World Athletics announced they were to begin awarding prize money at the Olympic Games.
A year before Paris 2024, track and field’s governing body revealed they would pay every one of the 48 athletics gold medallists at last summer’s Olympics $50,000.
The backlash was instant, with many claiming that the Olympics and prize money shouldn’t mix.
This is utterly preposterous.
Yes, the Olympic Games began as an entirely amateur event. Professional athletes were even barred from competing until relatively recently, with the 1992 Olympics the first time professionals were permitted entry. This rule change is how the Dream Team were able to win basketball gold at Barcelona ‘92 to create what remains one of the most iconic Olympic victories in history.
Until Paris ’24, though, prize money at the Olympics had always been seen as out of the question.
Prize money, so the International Olympic Committee like to tell us, went against the Olympic spirit. Athletes should be competing for Olympic gold for their love of their sport and their love of the Olympics, rather than because of the potential for financial gain.
But this, in the same way it was suggested money and a desire to win the Ryder Cup cannot co-exist, is making the assumption that Olympic prize money detracts in any way from an athlete’s desire to become Olympic champion.
Of course it doesn’t. I can guarantee there’s not a single Olympic athlete on the planet who grew up driven by the prospect of making money. Becoming an Olympian requires such ridiculous levels of sacrifice that the drive has to be innate, and not financial.
Which is even more reason to then reward Olympians when they do succeed. The $50,000 that each athletics gold medallist won last summer will not have changed their lives entirely, nor will it have been anything close to the first thing they’ll have thought about in their winning moment. It will, though, have been a welcome bonus, particularly given that very few track and field athletes are well-off as a result of their sport.
The Olympic broadcast rights are sold for literally billions of dollars and, in the same way that the Ryder Cup is nothing without the players, the Olympics is nothing without the athletes.
So why should everyone else line their pockets with Olympic money, money that’s a direct result of the show the athletes put on, yet it be acceptable for the athletes themselves to receive nothing?
To think that tossing athletes a few quid in the aftermath of their Olympic appearance makes the slightest dent in how they feel about becoming an Olympian is not only ridiculous, it’s plain wrong.
I didn’t receive a penny for becoming an Olympian, and that’s okay with me in the same way that it’s okay with the vast majority of Olympians. But this prevailing feeling, and love for the Olympics, doesn’t mean that athletes should not be included in the list of recipients who receive Olympic revenue.
Elite sport is, almost exclusively, a professional pursuit these days, and this point remains whether or not athletes get paid or don’t get paid for any particular event.
So stop the hand-wringing about what paying athletes means and accept that if anyone’s making money out of sporting events, the athletes should be at the front of the queue to receive it.
