Narrator: Donald Trump claims to have won eighteen club golf championships. It’s a number he has boasted about for years, a testament, he says, to his exceptional skill. Yet, as sports writer Rick Reilly began to investigate, the claim started to unravel. One of those championships was supposedly won at Trump International in West Palm Beach in 1999. The only problem? The course didn't open until 2000. When pressed, Trump’s team explained he had played a "soft opening" round and simply declared himself the first champion. This single, brazen fabrication is the entry point into a much larger story. In his book, Commander in Cheat: How Golf Explains Trump, Reilly argues that this behavior is not an isolated quirk. Instead, he posits that golf, a game built on honor and self-regulation, is the perfect lens through which to understand the character, business practices, and presidency of Donald Trump. The book contends that how a person acts on the golf course, especially when they think no one is watching, reveals everything.

Narrator: The central premise of Commander in Cheat is that Donald Trump's relationship with the truth is flexible, and nowhere is this more apparent than in his golf accomplishments. The claim of winning 18 club championships serves as the book's foundational "Big Lie." Reilly systematically dismantles this assertion, revealing a pattern of exaggeration, misrepresentation, and outright fabrication.

For instance, many of these so-called championships were not the main club events but rather senior or "super senior" tournaments. In one case, Trump tweeted about winning the 2013 club championship at Trump International, but the plaque listed another man, Tom Roush, as the winner. It turned out Trump had won the "Super Seniors Club Championship" for players over 60, a fact he conveniently omitted. In another instance, Trump claimed victory in the senior club championship at his Bedminster course despite being 87 miles away at his Philadelphia course on the day of the tournament. He simply called the pro shop, announced he’d shot a 73, and had himself declared the winner. This pattern of creating victories out of thin air is a recurring theme, illustrating a deep-seated need to project an image of a winner, even if the victory itself is a complete fiction.

Narrator: Trump's behavior on the course is not just about post-game bragging; it’s about winning in the moment, by any means necessary. Reilly traces this "win at all costs" mentality back to Trump's upbringing, where his father, Fred Trump, instilled a ruthless drive to be a "killer" and a "winner." This philosophy was honed during his college years at Cobbs Creek, a rough-and-tumble public course in Philadelphia known for its high-stakes gamblers and hustlers. There, Trump learned that competition was a form of combat where deception and psychological games were standard practice.

This hustler’s mentality is on full display in his golf game. Reilly recounts numerous anecdotes of Trump's brazen cheating. In one story, sportscaster Mike Tirico was playing with Trump when he hit a perfect shot on a par 5, seemingly right next to the pin. When they arrived at the green, Tirico's ball was inexplicably in a deep bunker. Later, Trump's caddy quietly admitted that Trump had picked up Tirico's ball and thrown it into the sand trap. From kicking his own ball out of the rough to taking an unheard-of "gimme" on a chip shot, Trump’s actions show a belief that rules are for other people. As one playing partner noted, Trump seems to believe that everyone cheats, so his own cheating is merely leveling the playing field.

Narrator: The book argues that Trump's on-course persona translates directly to his business practices in the golf world. Reilly outlines what he calls the "Buy, Lie, and Cry" strategy. First, Trump buys a distressed golf course for a low price. Second, he lies about its value, pouring money into ostentatious features like giant waterfalls and promoting it as the "best in the world." Third, he cries to the local government, suing them to argue the very same property is worth a fraction of his public claims in order to get a massive tax break.

The most glaring example is Trump Westchester in New York. During his presidential campaign, Trump valued the course at over $50 million in financial disclosures. At the exact same time, his lawyers were suing the local town, claiming the course was only worth $1.4 million for tax purposes. This strategy of public exaggeration and private devaluation is a hallmark of his golf empire. While he claims to own the "greatest collection of golf courses, ever," objective rankings from publications like Golf Digest show that none of his courses are considered among the top tier in the United States. The brand is built on perception, not reality.

Narrator: Trump's "win at all costs" approach extends to his financial obligations, leaving a wake of unpaid contractors, broken deals, and bitter legal disputes. The book details a long history of Trump refusing to pay vendors and contractors what they are owed, leveraging his wealth and army of lawyers to intimidate smaller businesses into accepting pennies on the dollar.

One of the most poignant stories is that of Andrew Tesoro, an architect hired to design the clubhouse at Trump Westchester. After completing the work, Trump refused to pay the final balance of over $100,000. Knowing Tesoro was a single father who couldn't afford a protracted legal battle, Trump offered him a final settlement of just $25,000. Tesoro felt he had no choice but to accept, later stating, "I got snookered." This pattern is repeated in Scotland, where his promises of 6,000 jobs and a billion-dollar investment for his Aberdeen course never materialized, leaving behind environmental damage and a resentful community. For Trump, a deal is never truly final, and his word is merely a starting point for renegotiation.

Narrator: During his campaign and throughout Barack Obama's presidency, Trump was a relentless critic of the president's golf habits, tweeting dozens of times that Obama should "get off the golf course" and get back to work. Reilly exposes the profound hypocrisy of this criticism. According to data from TrumpGolfCount.com, Trump played far more golf as president than Obama did.

Furthermore, the cost to taxpayers was exponentially higher. Obama typically played at secure, inexpensive military bases near Washington, D.C. In contrast, Trump’s frequent trips to his own properties in Florida and New Jersey incurred massive expenses for security, staff, and transportation, with one analysis estimating the cost at over $100 million during his term. The golf course became a political stage where he would conduct business, entertain donors who paid hefty membership fees for access, and project an image of a working president, even when photos showed him wearing golf shoes and a glove.

Narrator: In the final analysis, Reilly argues that Trump's behavior has left a "big orange stain" on the game of golf. At a time when the sport was trying to become more inclusive and shed its elitist image, Trump reinforced the worst stereotypes: that it's a game for rich, rule-breaking blowhards. He contrasts Trump's view of golf as an "aspirational" game for the wealthy with the sport's humble Scottish origins as a game for everyone.

The book's ultimate conclusion is that Trump's actions in golf are not trivial. They are a clear and consistent indicator of his character. His willingness to cheat, lie, and bully on the course is the same willingness he shows in business and politics. The lack of integrity in a game of honor is a microcosm of a larger disregard for rules, norms, and truth.

Narrator: The single most important takeaway from Commander in Cheat is that for Donald Trump, golf is not a test of character but a performance. The scorecard is irrelevant; the only thing that matters is the story he tells about it afterward. The book powerfully argues that his cheating, his exaggerations, and his disregard for the game's foundational values are not just quirks but are, in fact, a blueprint for understanding his approach to everything, from real estate deals to the American presidency.

Reilly leaves the reader with a chilling and resonant question that extends far beyond the fairway. If a person will cheat to win at golf, is it that much of a leap to believe they would cheat to win an election, to stop an investigation, or to alter the course of a nation? It's a question that challenges us to consider that the small ways people behave when they think it doesn't matter may be the most revealing of all.