Years-old accusations that Donald Trump bends the rules on the golf course have resurfaced after the president claimed a pair of club championship titles at his Bedminster course, though the allegations rest on anecdotes from critics and remain unverified.
Trump posted on Truth Social on August 2, celebrating his win in the Senior Division of the Bedminster Club Championship with a score of 70. He also claimed victory in the super senior category. The post, accompanied by a video, carried the confidence of a man who has long considered himself one of the better golfers ever to occupy the Oval Office.
Fox News reported that Trump shot a 2-under par 70 on a Tom Fazio-designed course that has hosted the U.S. Women's Open and LIV Golf events, a layout with water hazards and deep bunkers that tests even touring professionals. Trump claimed it was his 40th club championship title.
In his Truth Social post, Trump did not shy from self-assessment:
"I won with a score of 70, and am so honored in that, unlike the rest of the field, I'm given very little time to practice, because I'm focused on many other things. It's called TALENT, and I have it, and they don't!"
The victories prompted a familiar cycle. Within days, old accusations from sportswriters and celebrities resurfaced, questioning whether Trump plays the game honestly. The claims span more than a decade, and none have been independently verified. Trump has previously said he has "too much integrity" to cheat at the sport.
The loudest voice in the latest round of recycled allegations belongs to Oscar De La Hoya, the former professional boxer who won titles at five weight classes, super featherweight, lightweight, light welterweight, light middleweight, and middleweight. De La Hoya spoke to the Associated Press in 2016 about a round he played with Trump, though the date and location of that round were never specified.
De La Hoya alleged that Trump moved his ball from the rough onto the fairway and did not count shots that landed in the water. As the Daily Mail noted, De La Hoya told the AP:
"It was unbelievable. It shows something about his character. Golf is a gentleman's sport. You don't lie about your score; you don't lie about moving your ball. It goes to show what we're dealing with."
Strong words, but they came during the heat of the 2016 presidential campaign, when opposition voices across entertainment and sports were lining up to take shots at Trump. De La Hoya offered no video, no scorecard, and no corroborating witnesses in the AP interview. The accusation has circulated for nearly a decade without new evidence emerging to support it.
Trump has long been a target of unverified personal claims, a pattern familiar to readers who followed the unverified accusations that author Michael Wolff leveled against the president's inner circle.
Veteran sports writer Rick Reilly published a book in 2019 devoted to Trump's alleged history of cheating at golf. Reilly described a round in Los Angeles where Trump hit a shot into a pond, only for the ball to somehow end up in the fairway. When confronted, Trump allegedly replied: "Must've been the tide."
Reilly also claimed Trump drove a modified golf cart that moved faster than standard models, allowing him to reach his ball before the rest of his group, and, according to Reilly, to move it into a better lie before anyone could see the original position. Reilly further alleged that Trump kicked opponents' balls into sand traps.
The allegations are colorful. They are also sourced entirely to Reilly's own telling. The book's title was not specified in the reporting, and no independent corroboration of the specific incidents Reilly described has surfaced publicly. Reilly, a longtime media figure, published the book during a period when anti-Trump content sold well, a commercial incentive worth noting when evaluating the claims.
Trump has shown a consistent willingness to push back against critics and media narratives, as he did when he doubled down on his Reflecting Pool vandalism claims and told detractors to revisit their legal education.
British golf writer Kevin Brown added a thinner allegation. Brown recalled a 2012 round at Trump's Balmedie course in Scotland where Trump displayed impatience and told a playing partner to "get a move on." Brown characterized Trump as eager to move quickly through the round.
Being impatient on the golf course is not cheating. Plenty of avid golfers push for faster play. Brown's account describes a personality trait, not a rules violation, yet it has been bundled into the broader narrative as though it carries the same weight as De La Hoya's or Reilly's claims.
Barack Obama was also mentioned as having "hinted at" Trump's golfing dishonesty, but no direct quote, specific incident, or date was provided. An unnamed hint from a political rival does not constitute evidence of anything.
Lost in the recycled accusations is what Trump actually did on the course. A score of 70 on a championship-caliber layout is a legitimate round by any standard. Trump National Golf Club Bedminster has hosted major professional events, and its design demands accuracy off the tee and discipline around the greens. Shooting 2-under par there requires real skill, regardless of the division.
Trump's claim of 40 club championship titles is a number that has drawn skepticism in some media circles, but no reporting in the available material disputes it with contrary records or testimony from club officials. The president plays frequently at courses he owns, and club championships at private facilities are common events with established rules and scoring.
The broader pattern here is familiar to anyone who has watched how the media covers Trump beyond policy. Accusations surface, often from years-old interviews or books with commercial motives, and cycle back into the news whenever Trump does something that draws attention. The accusations are treated as established fact through sheer repetition, even when the underlying evidence remains a collection of one-person anecdotes with no corroboration. Trump's own administration has faced similar dynamics on personnel matters, as when the president personally intervened in a staff security clearance dispute that had lingered for over a year.
De La Hoya's 2016 AP interview, Reilly's 2019 book, and Brown's 2012 recollection share a common feature: none produced a scorecard, a photograph, a video, or a second witness to back up the specific claims. In a sport where foursomes play together and scorecards are signed and submitted, the absence of any documentary evidence after more than a decade is notable.
Trump has denied cheating. His critics have repeated their allegations. Neither side has moved the ball, so to speak, since these stories first appeared. The timing of the resurfacing, right after Trump celebrated a championship win, suggests the goal is less about golf integrity and more about keeping a negative narrative in circulation.
That pattern extends well beyond the links. Trump-adjacent figures regularly face recycled attacks timed to moments of visibility, a tactic seen when a Michigan Senate candidate drew bipartisan backlash for targeting Usha Vance and a Trump aide online.
If someone has real evidence that Trump cheats at golf, they should produce it. Until then, a boxer's campaign-season interview and a sportswriter's book deal are exactly what they look like: unverified claims from people with reasons to talk.
