By Eric W. Rose

Every now and then, a crisis unfolds that reminds communicators what right looks like — and what wrong looks like first.

This past week, during the Ryder Cup at Bethpage Black, the PGA of America found itself in a difficult situation when an on-site emcee led fans in a vulgar chant targeting Rory McIlroy. What followed became a public case study in how organizations stumble, recalibrate, and ultimately recover through principled leadership.

At first, the response faltered. PGA of America President Don Rea Jr. appeared to downplay the incident, comparing the vitriol at Bethpage to “what you could hear at a youth soccer game.” In that moment, the organization sounded tone-deaf to the seriousness of the abuse hurled at European players — and to the values of respect and decorum that golf has long claimed as its own.

Rea’s remarks were met with swift criticism, including from European players who viewed them as dismissive. His tone reinforced the perception that the PGA was more interested in defending its fan base than in defending the integrity of the game.

Then came the reset — led first by new PGA CEO Derek Sprague, and later by Rea himself.

Sprague delivered a textbook example of crisis leadership. He didn’t spin, delay, or delegate the problem away. Instead, he demonstrated moral clarity and accountability in real time. He called the behavior “not good for the game of golf,” and said simply, “We will do better.” Those five words signaled immediate ownership and empathy.

Sprague’s refusal to couch the incident in euphemisms told fans, players, and sponsors that leadership recognized the harm for what it was. While others initially rationalized the crowd’s behavior as something that “happens in sports,” Sprague drew a bright line between what’s acceptable and what isn’t. He didn’t respond with polished neutrality; he responded as a human being. “I was just really, really, really disappointed,” he said — a phrase that sounded unfiltered, authentic, and sincere.

That tone reset the organization’s moral compass. Sprague’s leadership made clear that accountability, not optics, would guide the PGA’s next steps.

But the story didn’t end there — it evolved.

Days later, Rea issued a letter to the PGA’s 30,000 members acknowledging what he initially failed to say. “While some fan behavior clearly crossed the line,” he wrote, “it was disrespectful, inappropriate, and not representative of who we are as the PGA of America.” He went further, taking personal accountability for his own missteps: “While it wasn’t my intention, some of my comments were seen in a negative light, which reflects poorly on not only myself but also on the PGA of America, and for that I truly apologize.”

That statement marked a turning point. Rea’s apology echoed the same principles that Sprague modeled — candor, empathy, and ownership. It showed that the PGA had moved from rationalization to reflection, from excuse-making to example-setting. The organization that once appeared defensive now sounded humbled and self-aware.

For communicators and executives alike, the sequence offers a valuable case study in organizational learning under fire. Sprague’s moral clarity established credibility. Rea’s eventual apology institutionalized it. Together, they turned what could have been a reputational bogey into a recovery grounded in values.

The best crisis response doesn’t just close an issue — it reaffirms what an organization stands for. The PGA has since committed to reviewing crowd-management protocols and strengthening messaging around fan behavior. But more importantly, its leaders reframed the moment to remind stakeholders that golf, at its core, is about decorum, sportsmanship, and integrity.

For CEOs and communicators, the takeaways are clear:

• Don’t sugarcoat what’s indefensible.
• Express genuine indignation.
• Take ownership without conditions.
• Reach out personally to those affected.
• Use the crisis to reaffirm your values.
• Sprague did all five. Rea, ultimately, did too.

And in doing so, both helped the PGA of America reclaim the credibility that defines true leadership.
When the next reputational firestorm hits — whether in sports, business, or politics — leaders would do well to remember this sequence: stumble, recalibrate, and own it. The difference between a scandal and a recovery lies not in the mistake itself, but in how swiftly and sincerely you choose to correct it.

Eric W. Rose is a partner at EKA PR in Los Angeles and a 40-year veteran executive in public relations, reputation management, and crisis communications.