Cheating Shadows: Internet Invitational Champ Delivers Stern Wake-Up Call to Paige Spiranac as Scandal Lingers
The golf world, often a sanctuary of fairways and fellowship, can turn into a coliseum of controversy with one ill-fated swing—or in this case, one misplaced footfall. The Internet Invitational, Barstool Sports’ audacious $1 million showdown among 48 social media golf influencers at Big Cedar Lodge in Ridgedale, Missouri, wrapped up its inaugural run in mid-November 2025 amid cheers, tears, and a torrent of accusations. What began as a viral spectacle blending YouTube flair with competitive bite devolved into a rules quagmire, with golf influencer Paige Spiranac at its epicenter. Now, as the dust settles, the tournament’s champion has fired off a pointed message, underscoring that in the game of integrity, ignorance is no alibi.
Filmed over the summer but released episodically on YouTube starting October 27, the event pitted creators from Barstool, Good Good Golf, and beyond in a mix of stroke play and alternate-shot formats. It amassed millions of views, blending trash talk, trick shots, and high-stakes drama. Yet, the finale on November 14—featuring Spiranac, Barstool’s Frankie Borrelli, and Good Good’s Malosi “Mo” Togisala against Brad Dalke, Francis Ellis, and the late Cody “Beef” Franke—ignited a firestorm. Franke’s tragic passing in October at age 31 added a somber layer, but the on-course theatrics stole the spotlight.
## The Infraction That Ignited the Inferno
The controversy erupted on the 10th hole during the alternate-shot matchup. As Togisala prepared to strike from thick rough, cameras caught Spiranac stepping ahead of the ball, her foot pressing down the tall grass in front—a blatant violation of Rule 8.1, which prohibits improving the lie by altering the ground or vegetation. English pro and YouTuber Peter Finch, commentating on the broadcast, flagged it immediately: “That lie in the rough there was shit. Paige has gone ahead to the ball and literally pressed down all the long grass in front so he could hit it out. There’s no way he could have hit that shot without that.”
Togisala pulled off a miraculous escape, but the damage was done. On the green, opponents confronted Spiranac, with Barstool founder Dave Portnoy—serving as rules official—quipping, “Did Paige put that on a tee for him?” Spiranac, visibly shaken, insisted it was unintentional: “I didn’t realize you couldn’t do that. I thought it was allowed.” As tensions peaked, she broke down in tears, wiping her eyes before retreating to compose herself. Her team lost the hole anyway and ultimately the match on the 18th when Borrelli bladed a shot into the water, handing the $1 million prize to Dalke’s squad.
Compounding the moment, Togisala faced his own scrutiny later in the round for allegedly using the slope function on his rangefinder—a device permitted but with that feature disabled under the rules. Dubbed “Slopegate,” it fueled whispers of a team-wide ethical lapse. Spiranac’s squad dismissed it as a “non-issue” at the time, but the footage, viewed over 2.7 million times, sparked a digital lynch mob.
## Backlash: From Online Fury to Real-World Terror
The viral clip unleashed a deluge of vitriol. Spiranac, a former college golfer at San Diego State who turned pro briefly in 2016 before pivoting to content creation, has built a 4.2 million Instagram following on her blend of instruction, glamour, and candor. But this time, the feedback was venomous. On November 4, days before the finale aired, she shared screenshots of abusive DMs, including one reading: “I f—— hate you. You stupid b—- think you’re so much better than everyone… Go kill yourself you stupid c—.”
By November 25, after a self-imposed social media hiatus for mental health, Spiranac broke her silence in a raw Instagram video. “In all my years of playing golf, I have never been accused of cheating,” she said, voice cracking. “To blatantly cheat with that many people around, that many cameras around, would be insane. So, I made a mistake. I learned now that it was a rules infraction, and I’ll never do it again.” She revealed receiving “tens of thousands” of death threats—over 10,000 by her count—prompting thoughts of a restraining order. “It hasn’t been easy… I just needed to remove myself for my mental health. Luckily, having a good support system and family around.”
The outpouring drew sympathy from allies like Good Good’s Grant Horvat, who called the hate “disgusting,” and sparked broader debates on golf’s puritanical rules culture. Critics, however, were unrelenting. X users labeled her a “professional who should know better,” with one post amassing 1,600 likes: “Paige with an all-time move out of the woman playbook, cheating and then crying for sympathy.” Another, from a self-proclaimed 8.7 GHIN handicapper, fumed: “No professional, and frankly most amateurs, would ever think that’s acceptable.” Spiranac’s pre-event emotional posts about “insecurities” and fitting in only amplified perceptions of deflection.
## The Champion’s Chilling Rebuttal: No Excuses in the Fairway of Fate
Enter Brad Dalke, the 2016 U.S. Amateur champion and Good Good Golf stalwart whose steady play anchored the winning team. In a November 18 interview with Marca, Dalke delivered the stern message that’s kept the drama simmering. Addressing Spiranac’s tearful defense of ignorance, the 29-year-old Oklahoman didn’t mince words: “Her emotional response didn’t fully convince me. In a high-stakes setting like that, adherence to the rules has to come first—ignorance isn’t an excuse when you’re competing at that level.”
Dalke’s rebuke cuts deeper given the context. As a former top amateur who turned pro and now thrives in the creator space, he embodies the bridge between traditional golf’s rigor and YouTube’s levity. His team navigated the event’s chaos—including Franke’s posthumous honor—without a whisper of scandal, making their victory a beacon of sportsmanship. “We prioritized the integrity of the game over everything,” Dalke added, echoing sentiments from Finch and Portnoy. “Paige is talented, but talent without accountability stains the whole field.” His comments, shared amid tributes to Franke, underscore a refusal to let the scandal overshadow the event’s triumph, yet they refuse to absolve Spiranac’s misstep.
The message resonates in a sport where cheating allegations—like those that dogged legends from Tiger Woods to Vijay Singh—linger eternally. For Spiranac, whose career pivoted from LPGA dreams to 20 million social followers, it’s a stark reminder: the gallery’s roar can turn to boos in an instant.
## A Game’s Integrity vs. a Creator’s Brand: What’s Next?
The Internet Invitational’s success—rivaling PGA or LIV buzz without their budgets—proves creator golf’s pull, but at what cost? Spiranac’s saga highlights the double-edged sword: unprecedented reach breeds unprecedented scrutiny. She’s vowed to brush up on rules, posting instructional content on infractions like improving lies, but the damage to her “everywoman” appeal may endure. Fans divided—some decrying the “toxic masculinity” of the pile-on, others insisting “cheating is cheating”—signal golf’s evolving fault lines.
As 2026 tees off, Dalke’s words serve as a clarion call: In the creator era, where likes outnumber birdies, the true prize is unassailable integrity. For Spiranac, redemption lies not in tears or threats, but in teeing it up cleaner next time. The fairway awaits—will she play it straight?
