We are a funny lot these days. Filling stadiums, paying exorbitant prices to wear hockey or football jerseys with numbers that advertise favorite players, and watching sports at all hours of the day on two or three dozen platforms . . . all of it seemingly provides absolute proof that we love sports.

Then why do so many people seem so mean-spirited and pent up with anger, frustration, and bitterness? Why are talk shows so loud and so contentious? What’s with veins popping and venom overflowing?

Rhetorical questions, of course. We know the answer. You’ve got to have a schtick, and if that schtick involves any combination of loud, obnoxious, ignorant, and controversial (three are mandatory, four is desired), then go for it. Various platforms are available and remember, if you rip a guy one day, you can definitely change your mind the next day because your audience is there for the rants, not the consistency.

Golf being the only sport in which my interest hasn’t waned over the years (truth be told it has grown exponentially), my wonderment comes from a slightly different angle. For the life of me, it’s always been my belief that you should appreciate the here and now most definitely, but have some respect. Please. You owe it to those who came before us to study history and give thanks to trails that were blazed and sacrifices that were made.

Boring are the stories that speculate how much the great players from yesteryear would have been had they possessed today’s equipment. Turn it around and ask: How effective would today’s privileged youth be if they had to rough it in primitive fashion, cross-country car rides not private jets; pedestrian sponsorships; diners, not steakhouses; poorly-maintained courses; and paltry prize money.

Which is a segue into the here and now, of course, where Scottie Scheffler, who at 29 is an old soul playing the sort of near-perfect golf that should enthrall us. We know the game is difficult; we are in awe of the ease to which he plays. Even more, we are in awe of his genuine, no-nonsense demeanor. Not exciting enough for you? Your problem. His golf IQ is off the charts and his dignity is right there, too.

He’s been No. 1 in the world for the last 141 weeks and given that Scheffler won his first tournament of 2026, last week’s American Express Championship, putting up a 6- or 7-win season – as he did in 2025 and 2024, respectively – is a very real consideration.

To savor the roll that Scheffler is on, consider that exactly four years ago he finished T-20 at the Farmers Insurance Open, where the PGA Tour is playing this week. That nice-though-not-great finish meant Scheffler at 24 had played 65 times as a pro on the PGA Tour without posting a win.

Anyone with an ounce of perspective would consider that understandable.

Ah, but there is this: Scheffler has now won 20 of his last 81 PGA Tour starts – a .247 winning clip that includes two Masters, a PGA Championship, and an Open Championship, three-quarters of the career Grand Slam should you be keeping score.

Anyone with an ounce of golf savvy would consider that utterly brilliant.

Yet here is where the story goes sideways, at least from my vantage point. To many, especially those who rely on social media and a world dominated by quick hits, impressions, and views, the Scheffler story is all about comparing him to Tiger Woods. Sigh.

Numbers are used to declare Tiger was better (at 29, Woods had twice completed the career grand slam and had 10 major wins) or how Scottie is doing things that only Tiger and Jack Nicklaus had done (20 wins and four majors by the age of 30).

Just as those days earlier in my life when work assignments involved coverage of Tiger Woods’ prime years and suggestions came down from above that we should compare him to Jack Nicklaus, today’s golf writers feel the need to make it Woods versus Scheffler.

Utterly senseless, all of it, and it escapes my sensibilities why we should take topics that should be left for vintage barroom arguments and treat them like legitimate storylines, which they surely aren’t.

It's a personal favorite photo that has been used before, but also fits well this week. When given the opportunity to interview Scottie Scheffler after he won the PGA Championship in May at the Quail Hollow Club, he impressed me his answer, but even more with his dignity as he crouched politely to disguise the clear height differential.

Does pointing out how Nicklaus will have more career majors than Woods take a molecule of greatness away from Tiger? Does the expectation that Scheffler will fall shy of Woods’ 82 wins, tied with Sam Snead for most in PGA Tour history, change your perception of Scottie?

No way and not a chance.

When it comes to generational greatness, you embrace what the superior individuals bring to the competitive arenas in their prime and since none of these behemoths played at the same it is foolhardy to offer proclamations as to who was better. Especially when it comes to Scheffler, who unlike Jack and Tiger, is still at his very best.

To see a recent rash of social media posts comparing Scottie and Tiger is disheartening. Filled with cliches and devoid of substance and insight, many of these posts don’t capture the essence of the young man from the Dallas area whose story is rich in flavor.

Two things stand out about Scheffler: One, in a world where young teen athletes are put on a pedestal, all those junior tournaments he won throughout Texas (it was reportedly 90, though it could have been 900 or maybe 9,000) didn’t mean much inside his home because he was never treated like anything special. And two, it’s a tribute to his character that as a Masters champ he’s had three chances to bring a guest with him for a pre-tournament practice round and he’s chosen two of his three sisters, Callie and Molly, and his mother, Diane.

Three women. The young man knows where his universe orbits.

Conversations with PGA Tour pros who knew Scheffler as a kid hanging around Royal Oaks paint a picture of a genuine range rat who hit pinpoint wedges, challenged anyone to a putting game called “Aces Only,” and studied divot patterns. Oh, “and he always wore pants,” said Joel Edwards. “He looked like a Tour player at 10.”

There is a beauty to Scheffler’s faith, to his choice of a caddie named Ted Scott who epitomizes the idiom “he walks the walk,” and to his commitment to a golf management company (Hambric Sports) where the founder, Rocky Hambric, served as his Confirmation Sponsor. Scottie would receive his golf guidance elsewhere, but with Rocky he got a compass in his life.

How does one compare Old Tom to Harry Vardon to Bobby Jones to the majestic trio from 1912 (Ben Hogan, Byron Nelson, Sam Snead) to Jack Nicklaus to Tiger Woods to Scottie Scheffler?

You cannot and should not.

But you can marvel and embrace the brilliant story that Scottie Scheffler is still very much working on. Let it breathe, let it play out, let it grow even more marvelously. And let it stand alone and not be held up to comparisons.

It’s way, way too good for that.