No talent? No problem: The weird world of pro-am sport

Telegraph

24-02-2025

One Wednesday last September, a crowd of spectators is gathered around the West Course practice green at the Wentworth Club in Surrey. It is the week of the BMW PGA Championship, the flagship stop on professional golf's European Tour, and a host of the world's best players have descended on this leafy corner of England to compete for the $1.53 million victor's cheque.
Some of the onlookers stand with arms folded and expressions of quiet scrutiny. Others, mainly children, look on with wide-eyed fascination. Navigating my way through the mêlée, I go in search of who has drawn their attention. Playing today are many of the sport's most talented stars – among them Rory McIlroy and Tommy Fleetwood – but this isn't one of them.
Instead, pottering about, getting his eye in ahead of his round, is the 42-year-old television boxing pundit and retired cruiserweight Tony Bellew.
Bellew's handicap is 18, which is 18 shots greater than any professional golfer's, or indeed the very best amateurs. I squint as he misses a long putt, then grimaces slightly while it strays from the path. He laughs and locks eyes with a young boy at the front of the crowd. 'Good luck today, Tony,' the boy's father says. Some autograph books are thrust out. Bellew hands his putter to his caddy and wanders over to scribble his name.
A 30-foot screen displays the current leader board from the morning session. The names of McIlroy, Fleetwood and a dozen other pros are up there, but so is a chaotic litany of playing partners for the day, including tennis legend Sir Andy Murray, Strictly Come Dancing judge Anton Du Beke, A-list Spider-Man actor Tom Holland, former footballer Gareth Bale, and more CEOs or founders of travel and leisure companies than you'd ever want to google. (Believe me.)
Later, in the afternoon session, Bellew will play a round with Italian professional Matteo Manassero, former I'm a Celebrity… Get Me Out of Here! winner Sam Thompson, and the guy who played Brian May in Bohemian Rhapsody. Beside the big screen, a mostly full grandstand watches the first tee. Commentating on a loudspeaker, Martin Bayfield, the former England rugby player, TV presenter and body double for Hagrid in the Harry Potter films, introduces a nondescript business executive and urges the crowd to applaud him warmly, 'because it's a brave thing, doing this, when you're not used to it'.
As I try and fail to muster much admiration for the businessman's heroics, a golf cart zings by. On the back seat, offering a royal wave, is Channel 5's Dan Walker. I check the programme for his movements. Walker is playing in a group later with actor Dougray Scott, the South African professional Thriston Lawrence, and the jiggly comedian Michael McIntyre. They'll tee off just after a steel trader and a managing director at Standard Chartered. 'This is the beauty of pro-am,' Bayfield says, at one point. And what a strange thing it is, for everybody involved.
We watch sport, especially individual sports, to see athletes do things we could simply never do. We like to see the very best compete with the very best, while we sit – in the comfort of our armchair or a plastic flip-seat – at a healthy, judgmental remove. They're the pros; we're the amateurs. They're the gods; we're the mortals. Never the twain shall meet. Unless, that is, you find yourself in the alternate universe of 'pro-am' sport.
Golf, tennis, motorsport, sailing, football, snooker, baseball, basketball, cricket, bridge, padel… If they safely and feasibly can, almost all sports seem to include some kind of pro-am event these days, where the laymen take on (or more likely play alongside) their heroes. In some cases these events are charitable – some golf pro-ams can raise almost $20 million for good causes in just a few days. In others it's more of an exhibition, the emphasis on camaraderie and not competition. A few are even televised on Sky Sports.
'I've followed this industry for many years, and as the worlds of sports, celebrities and influencers merge into one, then pro-am is almost a natural momentum-builder from there,' says Mark Middlemas, CEO and founder of The Athlete Media Group, a sports marketing company.
Middlemas has seen pro-am go from a small commercial 'extra' to a whole industry. 'We live in a celebrity-obsessed world,' he says, 'with professionals, amateurs and those in the middle, like influencers, peddled out for anything. Celebrities bring their followings with them. So you can see why it would boost revenues and awareness, but it's almost going to another level now.'
Pseudosport it might be, but it's also fun to watch – not least when it offers a chance of exposing the gulf in class between us and them. For boastful amateurs to be put in their place.
Consider the 71 per cent of American non-pro tennis players who, according to a 2023 study, believe they could win a game against a professional, given the opportunity. To test out just this kind of confidence, former world number one Andy Roddick once took on a university champion in a one-off set. Roddick won, 7-4 – using a frying pan.
If the line between professionals and amateurs is supposed to be sacred – for why else do they play, and we watch? – we can blame Bing Crosby for trampling over it. In 1937, Bing (a two-handicap golfer) and his older brother, Larry, had the idea to start a little golf tournament in Southern California. Bing invited a few professionals along, and a couple of his Hollywood buddies, then had them compete for a modest sum before a paying crowd. All ticket revenue went to charity. And afterwards, the players shared a beachside clambake.
The first Crosby Clambake, played at Rancho Santa Fe Golf Club, was won by Slammin' Sam Snead, who Gary Player reckoned 'had the greatest golf swing of any human being that ever lived'. It caught on: it turned out amateurs loved playing golf with the professionals, crowds loved seeing the Hollywood stars, and the professionals at least got a free practice round.
Crosby's tournament is still held today, albeit with a tweaked format, as the AT&T Pebble Beach Pro-Am. The 2025 event was held just over two weeks ago; Rory McIlroy was the overall pro winner, taking $3.6 million, while the amateur contest featured former US Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice and 57-year-old billionaire investor Philippe Laffont – the eventual victor. Though PGA officials claim the cost of an amateur spot is generally much less, it's been reported that those playing at Pebble Beach pay $70,000 each for bragging rights alone.
The vague idea behind most professional-meets-amateur contests is that any unfairness is evened out by partnering up each pro with a weekend warrior. But things have changed since the 1930s: the bulk of amateurs who play are now corporate executives who've parted with tens of thousands of dollars for the opportunity.
Still, stars have turned out at Pebble Beach over the years. Clint Eastwood often attends. Jack Lemmon used to thrill the crowd with his relative ineptitude. A few, not least the actor Bill Murray – who appreciates that golf being played badly, or even quite well, is not good entertainment – do not try very hard to win, preferring to clown about.
Others, like Donald Trump, who was closer to the pay-to-play executives than the celebrities when he participated in seven Pebble Beach tournaments between 1993 and 2006, definitely do. In his first year, Trump hit a hole-in-one – and that time, there were witnesses.
'It was just a great moment, in front of thousands and thousands of people,' Trump told the San Francisco Chronicle in 2005. 'The place went crazy, totally nuts. Payne [Stewart, a pro on the day] was a friend of mine, and he said, 'Slow down your swing, Donald.' I didn't know if I did slow up my swing, but the ball went in the hole.' (Incidentally, in golf, it's customary for any player who hits a hole-in-one to buy everyone in the clubhouse a drink. This particular player did not.)
There are now standalone pro-ams strewn throughout the year, and they're such a part of the sporting landscape that a film, the 1996 Adam Sandler comedy Happy Gilmore, was set around that scene. (A sequel recently finished filming.)
Often, a golf pro-am is pegged to the front of a significant tournament, a curtain raiser on the Wednesday before play officially starts on Thursday. The professionals tend to be obligated to take part, if they're competing in the main tournament, and are not paid for their time. Some would probably rather be practising alone than entertaining a healthcare executive or Anton Du Beke, but so be it.
'I would be lying if I said the players enjoy doing them,' admits Matt Kamienski, the PGA Tour's vice president of tournament business affairs, with a light laugh. 'But some do, because they get business contacts through it.' He shrugs off any sympathy. 'That's just life, right? You think, 'Ugh, do I have to do that today?' But it's part of the job.'
Kamienski has played in a few pro-ams himself and loves them. 'They're unique. With any major professional sport – [imagine] the opportunity to be on the pitch with a Fifa World Cup winner, or on the court for a shoot-around with LeBron James. Just being around them is pretty special.'
The events are, he says, 'a big opportunity for the host to raise money, it's a big money driver', and they rarely struggle for players. 'It's $10-15,000 dollars, for one single spot, if you can get them. I think the highest we have is $25-30,000 per person. Pretty steep. But you're playing one of the top golf courses in the world the day before a tournament starts…'
Sponsors get spots, people buy in, but the real prize is a celebrity player with clout. 'People want to see them doing something different,' Kamienski says. Sportspeople, who are naturally competitive and have the time to play lots of golf, are most likely to sign up. But they are not immune to nerves. Sir Andy Murray, whose handicap was seven for Wentworth – though he intends to lower that to scratch – said he was petrified.
'It's a different sort of nerves. I'm not thinking I'm going to walk out on a tennis court and forget how to hit the ball. Whereas here, you're sort of nervous about... there's people standing like five metres away from where I'm driving, and I'm like, 'I'm useless at this game,'' he said afterwards. Later he posted on X: 'Huge thanks to all the amateur golfers on social media for their constructive criticism of my golf swing. Much appreciated.'
The former England football captain Alan Shearer has played the Wentworth tournament a number of times. 'I don't think I've ever been as nervous in my life as when I played in my first Wentworth BMW Pro-Am,' he once said. 'I've taken penalties in front of 90,000 fans at Wembley, but nothing compares to standing on that first tee with Lee Westwood and Declan Donnelly. I was shaking like a leaf… with 20,000 people around, you don't want to make a prat of yourself.'
You don't hear quite such apprehension from those who aren't already celebrated for their athleticism. The TV presenter Dan Walker set himself a challenge to become a scratch golfer when he turned 40 (now 47, he's at +1). 'I only play probably eight or 10 rounds of golf a year, but I love playing in the pro-ams. I learn so much from the professionals, I'm constantly taking mental notes. For a few short hours, you feel like a sportsperson. There's 20,000 people there. It's bananas,' he tells me.
'And you meet some amazing people. Michael McIntyre isn't the world's greatest golfer, he won't mind me telling you that, but he kept thousands of people entertained for five hours. It was amazing to watch somebody so universally liked. Even the moments of silence he made funny.'
"Sky Sports! Big fan. I like to keep up to date with all of the sports news, WHICH THIS ISN'T!"
Michael McIntyre being interviewed at the James Maddison Golf Day is pure chaos 🤣🏌️‍♂️ pic.twitter.com/KYogrF6IYC
— Sky Sports Golf (@SkySportsGolf) May 28, 2024
Golf, of course, is hostage to greater fortunes – the elements, the terrain, sheer luck – than many other sports. It's also safe, relatively sedate, and flooded with money, all of which means it lends itself well to a pro-am crossover. Any sport in which contributions are shared, like in a sailing regatta or even the Le Mans 24-hour race, is suitable. Too much of a team sport, however, and the quality is so diminished as to be listless – as anybody who's seen Soccer Aid might know.
Tennis is another sport where moneyed individuals can pay to partner a professional in doubles, and it fits the bill well. 'You can team up, and like golf, tennis is a thing where everyone descends on a new town around the world, with new sponsors and obligations, so there's a little bit of a pro-am scene,' says David Shaftel, founder and editor of The Second Serve, a tennis and culture website.
The wealthy amateur tennis player wishing to take on an ATP or WTA-level star currently has options. Tim Henman throws a pro-am jamboree in the week before Wimbledon every June, but with the greatest of respect to Tiger Tim, there are more attractive – and sunnier – ways to buy in.
The Bahamian former world number one doubles player Mark Knowles hosts a tournament in Nassau every December, where guests can pay a reported $8,000 for a luxury package that includes a knock-around with names such as Andy Roddick (using a racquet), John McEnroe and Victoria Azarenka; and each November, Richard Branson also has one on Necker Island – if you can get there.
Or if celebrities exercising is your thing, the Desert Smash in California, a starry affair held since 2004, just prior to the Indian Wells Open, is the place. Serena Williams and Novak Djokovic have appeared, miked up and bantering, and their playing partners are starrier than most: last year's was hosted by Charlize Theron, while Justin Bieber, Kevin Hart and Will Ferrell have appeared on the baseline. (Hart is good value. It's wise to book comedians – if the shots are ugly, they give the crowd something else to watch.)
But the event Shaftel remembers fondly is also the most mysterious. 'There used to be a big pro-am here in New York, which was a bit underground, called the Huggy Bears Invitational. It wasn't that it was secret, but it used to be that all this money changed hands out in the Hamptons the week before the US Open…'
The Huggy Bear, as it's known, started in 1985 and was run by the late Wall Street giant Ted Forstmann and his brother, Tony. Dozens of players decamped each year to Long Island for a super-exclusive, five-day, 32-team charity tournament. Everyone from Martina Navratilova and Ken Rosewall to John McEnroe and Roger Federer is said to have taken part. Press were barred, outsiders couldn't watch, and gambling – even within individual games – was allegedly rife.
One former Huggy Bear player tells the story of conferring with his doubles partner between points at the so-called 'charity' event. The partner leaned in and said: 'How about you make a f—king first serve before I lose another 100 grand? Think you could do that for me?' The Huggy Bear certainly had a healthy budget. Ray Charles reportedly once played as the evening entertainment guest.
Things are a little calmer – interpersonally, anyway – in sailing, where pro-am regattas are a chance for hobbyists to see just how much better a full-timer can be. Stephanie Roble, a Team USA Olympic sailor, has competed in six of them: 'Most were with a company whose CEO is a sailor and wanted to highlight sailing to his clients and employees.'
She doesn't mind that set-up at all. 'It's satisfying to share my sport with others, especially with people who might not have had other opportunities to get on the water,' she says. Typically she'll 'read the group on board and see how competitive they want to be. Generally I give everyone one small job on the boat and leave the main jobs to myself and the other pro on board, if there is one. I want everyone to feel included.' On rough waters, she adds, it can be 'inspiring to see people new to the sport be so brave'.
Back at Wentworth, 'inspiring' might not be the word the professionals would use about all the famous and wealthy amateur golfers who've hacked, joked and autographed their way around 18 holes with them, but everyone else involved is extremely pleased with how things went. At one point, Tony Bellew executed a gleeful forward roll on the fairway. The CEOs networked hard and had a great story for the boardroom on Monday. Even Sir Andy seems to have had a nice time.
But the winner, playing in a group with his two younger brothers and Tommy Fleetwood, is the adorable Tom Holland. The Spider-Man actor also happens to be the most famous person playing today, which must have left the organisers delighted.
Reflecting on the championship a few months later, Holland will go on to call his experience at Wentworth 'the best day of my life. I called my lady [the superstar actor, mogul and fashion plate Zendaya, to whom he is reportedly engaged] and was like, 'Listen, I'm thinking of turning pro.''
He was only kidding, but maybe he wasn't. That's the curious thing about pro-am. One good day with your hero, and even Spider-Man can be tempted to switch jobs.