Despite the prospect of them being team-mates for years to come Brooks Koepka and Bryson DeChambeau don’t overly get on, to put it mildly. Be it how quick one of them plays or the lack of abs on the other the pair are cut from a different cloth. So who would we rather spend a bit of time with?
Alex: You’re basically offering me a night out with someone who parties way harder than I usually would, or a quiet evening in a pub where I’ll largely spend two hours nodding along while sporadically glancing at the clock.
The former is much more fun, so Brooks Koepka please. I have so many questions for him and I reckon he loosens up once he gets a beer or two. Imagine the gossip you’d gather on that night out. You’d be dining out on his stories for years…
Dan: I think I’d find an awful lot more to talk about with Bryson than I would with Brooks. I think we’d probably find it easier to agree on where to meet as well.
I’d be interested to learn whether Bryson was a good listener. I’m presuming that he is the curious (as in inquisitive rather than odd, although maybe a bit of both) type so I think we could quite quickly be into some weird theories about what kit to use and how to use it. I’d like to think we’d also get away from golf and talk about some other things, although I acknowledge it’s possible he would have made his excuses and left me to it by then.
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Andy: If I’d been asked this time last year, I would have said Bryson. He seemed like an interesting guy and I do like how he sees the game differently to most.
Now, however, Brooks gets the nod. He comes across quite dry when facing the media but he’s a straight talker, and I like that. With a pint or two, I reckon you’d get some good stuff out of him.
On the other hand, Bryson appears to have become a total egomaniac – we get it, you go to the gym. I couldn’t think of many things worse than sitting in the pub listening to someone wax lyrical about a new PB they achieved while staring at themselves in the mirror.
Mark: ‘Brooksy’ and I would be a terrible combination. I struggle to react to people’s stories and him doing likewise at my moribund tales would make for a dreadful evening. We’d cancel one another out and I’d feel intimidated on many levels other than maybe dress sense which would be even safer than me.
Bryson on the other hand could be fun. One look at me and he’d very quickly realise that the gym chat is going nowhere so we could settle in to some quality time on my chipping concerns and come away from the evening with a new plan on how to beat them.
Despite the new-found bulk I think Big Bryson wouldn’t be able to slot many back so, after half a dozen cooking lagers, I’d expect him to be singing along to anything and waving his cap in the air, at which point I’d edge my way over to the pool table and leave him to it.
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