When Grayson Murray won the 2024 Sony Open in a playoff for his first PGA Tour victory in seven years, it was against the backdrop of a player more known for his public missteps than his performance. It was only after he was gone that I was introduced to the true man behind the headlines.

Over the summer I heard whispers about all the lives Murray had touched behind the scenes. Stories trickled in from mini-tour players about help Murray delivered during tough times, from struggling caddies who received anonymous assistance with medical bills. A former college teammate recalled how Murray drove six hours to Georgia to help him move after a divorce, no questions asked. The more people I spoke to, the more that came forward with their own Grayson stories, often shared through tears and trembling voices. I ultimately spent a month speaking with his family, friends and those whose lives he impacted. What emerged was a portrait richer than the caricature drawn through sports media, myself included.

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Through intimate conversations with those in Murray’s inner circle, I was given deeper insight into his demons—with anxiety that could paralyze him before tournaments, clinical depression that darkened even his brightest achievements, battles with alcohol that began in his college years, and a gambling addiction he kept hidden from almost everyone. Yet he always had a generosity of spirit that few glimpsed. Like the time Murray was at a children’s hospital during a tournament week and discovered a young patient’s family had been taking buses to make their weekly appointments. Without fanfare or hesitation, Murray purchased them a car on the spot. Or how he saved all the free gear he received from sponsors and tournaments; friends thought he was a hoarder, only to discover Murray was distributing those items to high schoolers in need. Most revealing were the messages sent to people in rehabilitation centers across the country, telling them not to lose hope and to stay strong, all while carrying his own burdens.

What emerged was the real story of Grayson Murray, with its triumphs and struggles serving not just as a memorial, but as a reminder of others fighting similar battles in silence. Many of those stories are being shared this week at the Sony Open, where Murray’s victory a year ago—and his life as a whole—is being celebrated. 

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Yet the real lesson from Murray’s passing is not solely in discovering who he really was—although that revelation continues to humble those who knew him from afar. The deeper truth lies in confronting our collective tendency to render judgment from a distance, to look at behavior we don’t understand and rush to write stories with villains instead of humans.

When we see conduct that appears erratic or concerning—whether it’s an outburst caught on camera or an inflammatory social media post—our instinct is to criticize and condemn, to draw lines between right and wrong. At times this impulse serves a purpose; unchecked misconduct can metastasize, causing harm to communities and institutions we cherish. Golf, with its emphasis on decorum and tradition, feels this tension more acutely than most.

But even questioning behavior can be done in the context of recognizing human struggle. We can acknowledge transgressions without transforming the transgressor into a parody. We can balance our desire for accountability with an understanding that behind every headline, every viral moment of misconduct, exists a person wrestling with circumstances we may never fully comprehend.

Most of us will never have the opportunity to spend a month investigating what was happening in someone’s life, or realize how our words and perceptions may be feeding a misleading narrative. We glimpse athletes through the keyhole of press conferences and social media posts, through scores and statistics and viral clips. And it’s easy to tear them down. They occupy a realm of privilege most can only dream of: million-dollar purses, private jets, houses in gated communities. Their problems, we tell ourselves, can’t be that serious.

But money and fame don’t chase away the demons that visit in the shadows. Success at the highest levels often acts as an amplifier, turning private struggles into public spectacles, transforming personal battles into fodder for comment sections and, yes, columns. The pressure to maintain an image, to justify your position, to prove you belong—it can turn internal doubts into crushing weight.

Murray’s story isn’t unique in professional sports; it’s just one we can finally see clearly, even if tragically in hindsight. The polished veneer of professional athletics often masks the truth: that excellence and anguish aren’t mutually exclusive, and that those we view from afar are fighting battles we may never know.

This article was originally published on golfdigest.com