Donald Trump's Golf Cheating Allegations: Authors and Athletes Reportedly Detail Course Shenanigans
Oscar De La Hoya and veteran golf writer Rick Reilly are among several figures alleging that Donald Trump bends the rules on the golf course

Donald Trump's conduct on the golf course is under fresh scrutiny after boxing great Oscar De La Hoya publicly accused the US president of cheating during a round they played together in the United States.
De La Hoya is far from the first high-profile figure to claim that Trump plays fast and loose with golf's gentlemanly code.
The president's behaviour on the fairways has been dissected for years by rivals, authors and veteran golf reporters, turning what might seem like a trivial sporting gripe into a recurring question about how he handles rules when he thinks nobody is really watching.
Oscar de la Hoya Says Donald Trump 'Didn't Count' Water Shots
De La Hoya told AP that during their round, Trump appeared to ignore basic scoring rules and physically improved his lies. The Olympic champion and multi-weight world title holder said the president failed to count balls that went into the water and moved his ball from the rough into better positions in the fairway.
'It was unbelievable,' De La Hoya said, adding that the behaviour clashed with what golfers usually regard as an honour system. '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.'
Barack Obama has also hinted that Trump's golf game might be less than pristine, although De La Hoya's account is one of the more detailed recent examples from a fellow celebrity athlete.
The White House has not issued a specific response to De La Hoya's comments. Trump has repeatedly rejected similar claims, insisting in earlier remarks that he has 'too much integrity' to cheat at golf.

Authors and Golf Writers Detail Donald Trump's On-Course Tricks
Rick Reilly, a long-time golf writer, turned Trump's alleged course behaviour into a book-length investigation. In a 2024 interview discussing that work, Reilly described what he said was a consistent pattern when playing with Trump.
Reilly claimed Trump used a highly modified golf cart to race ahead of his group, reaching the landing area before his playing partners so he could allegedly reposition his ball without witnesses standing right over it. According to Reilly, Trump would shift his own ball into the clear while sometimes nudging opponents' balls into bunkers.
He recalled a particular round in Los Angeles when Trump hit into a pond. By the time the group walked up, the ball was miraculously sitting in the fairway. When asked how that could have happened, Reilly said Trump offered a throwaway explanation: 'Must've been the tide.'
Nothing in that anecdote can be independently checked now, of course, and it lives in the foggy world of sporting memory, where bravado, annoyance and half-forgotten details tend to mix. Still, the story fits the same basic template as De La Hoya's account, which is partly why these claims keep resurfacing.
British Reporter's Balmedie Round Adds to Pattern Around Donald Trump
It is not only American journalists making such claims about Trump. British golf journalist Kevin Brown has previously described a 2012 round at Trump's Balmedie course in Scotland that, while not focused on outright cheating, painted a familiar picture of a player keen to dictate the day's pace and tone.
Brown said Trump grew impatient when he paused to enjoy the coastal scenery, at one point telling a playing partner to 'get a move on'. It sounds trivial, but in golf etiquette that kind of urgency, especially from a course owner and host, can subtly tilt the mood and, some would argue, the fairness of proceedings.
Taken together, these accounts portray a president who treats the course as an extension of his own world, where rules are flexible, and outcomes can be nudged, literally, with the toe of a shoe. Supporters might shrug and see it as showmanship. Critics hear something closer to a metaphor for his political style. Both camps are reading a lot into a little white ball, which is kind of the point.
Golf, LIV and the Politics of Donald Trump's Fairway Image
Golf has long been central to Trump's public image. During his first year in office, records showed he visited his golf properties more than 150 times, and at least 77 times in his second year. The bulk of those trips were to Mar-a-Lago, Trump International Golf Club in Palm Beach, and his Bedminster resort in New Jersey.
He has also bound his brand tightly to LIV Golf, the Saudi-backed breakaway circuit that has shaken up the sport's establishment. Trump has hosted LIV events at his properties and often appears at tournaments, greeting players and working the galleries.
That embrace is not one-way. After winning LIV Golf New York earlier this month, Chilean star Joaquin Niemann praised Trump's hospitality and the condition of his Bedminster course. Niemann described it as 'really special' to have the president on site, saying Trump 'definitely loves' the sport and its players.
Those plaudits matter, at least within the golf world. They remind people that, beyond the allegations and political noise, plenty of professionals genuinely enjoy playing his tracks and working with him as a host. It is a more flattering picture than the one painted by De La Hoya and Reilly, which is precisely why both versions are now jostling for space in the public mind.
It can be recalled that Trump has consistently pushed back when accused of cheating, flatly denying past claims and promoting himself as a strong competitor who simply hates to lose. His supporters often argue the stories are exaggerated or politically motivated. His critics, meanwhile, see them as revealing, almost weirdly on-the-nose examples of how he approaches rules in general.
None of this will decide an election. But in a sport that prides itself on players calling penalties on themselves, the question of whether the president follows the same code has turned into a running subplot, one that refuses to roll quietly into the rough and disappear.
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