Paula Creamer's body was weary and her voice was shot.
She was standing on the driving range at Torrey Pines Golf Course in late August, 24 hours removed from a raucous victory by the United States over Europe in the biggest team competition in women's golf, the Solheim Cup.
The Cup had been contested in Sugar Grove, Ill., and after an all-night celebration, Creamer boarded a plane to San Diego to make a promotional appearance as the defending champion of the LPGA Tour's Samsung World Championship, which begins today at Torrey Pines.
For Creamer, 23, who says her favorite pastime after golf is sleeping, it was a grueling day. She cheerfully gave a clinic for more than 150 children and was engaging and thoughtful in a news conference.
Somebody complimented her on how surprisingly refreshed she looked.
“That's what good makeup will do for you,” Creamer quipped.
It's all part of the job for players on the LPGA — the “We Try Harder” golf tour — which more than ever needs its athletes to put a good and enthusiastic face on what has been one of the most tumultuous years in its nearly half-century existence.
These are troubled times in virtually every corner of the golf industry because of the poor economy, and the LPGA is hurting more than most.
In July, Commissioner Carolyn Bivens resigned amid a player revolt fueled by unhappy sponsors — including some longtime LPGA supporters — who were disgruntled by her hard-line tactics and demands for more prize money.
This year, the schedule has 28 events, down from 34 two years ago. Next year, the number could be in the low 20s, with only 17 tournament contracts having been renewed to date.
The LPGA Championship, one of the tour's four majors, has lost its title support from McDonald's and doesn't have a sponsor or venue for next year.
Whatever the number of tournaments next year, the players will be making less money. One of the tour's cornerstone events, the Jamie Farr Owens Corning Classic in Ohio, nearly dissolved after 25 years but was revived last month when the tour agreed to lower the 2010 purse by $400,000.
It's not as if female golfers were rolling in cash before the economy crashed. Tiger Woods earned $1.35 million for his victory last week in the BMW Championship. That's slightly less than the $1.49 million that Jiyai Shin, the LPGA's leading money winner, has made for the season, and she has won three times.
Ron Sirak, a veteran golf writer who covers the LPGA for Golf World magazine, calls it “the perfect storm of bad stuff” for the tour.
Juli Inkster, 49, a Hall of Famer who has competed on the LPGA for 26 years, said, “It can't get any worse.”
Inkster, however, has been heartened by the efforts of interim Commissioner Marty Evans, a retired Navy rear admiral who has sought to mend ties with sponsors. The players would expect the same from the new permanent commissioner, whom the tour hopes to have in place by November.
“We've got to get back to what we do best, which is building relationships,” Inkster said.
The conundrum for the LPGA is that it already was at a crossroads, facing a major identity crisis, before the economy's dive. A tour that was founded by 13 women in 1950 has become a global entity in its sponsor relations, and, more noticeably, in the makeup of its players. While Americans dominated the tour for decades, they are now being overshadowed by foreigners, mostly players from Asia.
An American player has not topped the season money list since 1993, and this year only three Americans are among the top 10 in earnings.
The most delicate subject is the so-called “Asian invasion.” It has been perceived as a competitive boon, pushing the quality of play higher than it has ever been. But it remains a dicey marketing dilemma for the tour.
In 2000, just one player with an Asian surname finished in the top 10 on the money list. Today, there are five. Sixteen of the top 30 golfers in this year's money standings have Asian surnames, and eight of the 19 tournaments have been won by Asians.
In Bivens' most high-profile blunder, she instituted in August 2008 a policy that all players speak English by 2009. It was a rule clearly aimed at South Koreans, the largest and most successful group. The backlash was so quick and fierce, including threats of a discrimination lawsuit, the LPGA immediately backed off.
In the drama could be found a thread of legitimate concern. When players aren't able to speak English, it's difficult to promote them, and English-speaking media have a harder time relating those individuals' personality and background to fans. Also, the LPGA's success is largely based on its relationships with sponsors, and when a player can't easily schmooze with pro-am partners, it can be a problem.
Inkster said there are many Korean players who are humorous and engaging with people they know but are bound by culture to be more deferential with strangers, particularly those who are older.
“They've got great personalities. They're just not comfortable initiating conversation,” said Inkster, who added that the Koreans seem to be getting more comfortable with their noncompetitive role on tour.
Through the troubles, the players forge on, doing their best to overcome the issues that are out of their control. Sirak of Golf World said they remain the most fan-, sponsor- and media-friendly athletes on the planet.
“When you look at the PGA Tour versus the LPGA, there's more youth interaction with the LPGA,” said Torrey Gane, the Samsung World Championship tournament director. “On the PGA Tour, they sign an autograph and keep walking. Out here, they look at the individual, make eye contact. They really interact with people and show their appreciation.”
Inkster has been a proud example of that for nearly three decades.
“It blows my mind how good we are,” Inkster said, “and how much we still have to work to get to where we're at. The guys (on the PGA Tour) wouldn't last a week doing what we do.”
Union-Tribune
Tod Leonard: (619) 293-1858;
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