The Last of Their Kind: Ian Baker-Finch and the Voices We Can’t Replace originally appeared on Athlon Sports.
I keep thinking about that moment a couple of Sundays ago when Ian Baker-Finch’s voice cracked during his farewell at the 3M Open. Nineteen years of calling golf’s biggest moments, and here he was, struggling to get through a simple goodbye. “I’ll miss being in your homes every weekend,” he said, and damn if that didn’t hit me right in the chest.
Baker-Finch announced his retirement from CBS just over two weeks ago, wrapping up 30 years behind a microphone. Another legend walking away. Another voice we won’t hear again.
And honestly? These obituaries for golf broadcasting are heartbreaking for me.
The Australian’s story still amazes me — a barefoot kid from Queensland who helped his dad build a golf course, won The Open Championship at Royal Birkdale in 1991, then watched his game completely fall apart. That collapse was brutal to witness. The guy shot 92 in the first round at Royal Troon in ’97, cried in the locker room, and walked away from competitive golf forever. But somehow, that devastating low point led him to the broadcast booth, where he found his true calling.
When Baker-Finch called Tiger’s comeback at Augusta in 2019, you could hear 30 years of golf heartbreak and joy in his voice. Same thing when Adam Scott finally slipped on that green jacket in 2013 — there was something beyond professional polish there. Pure wonder. The kind you can’t fake.
We’re hemorrhaging these voices, and it’s happening fast. Peter Alliss died in 2020, taking his wit and timing with him. Johnny Miller hung it up in 2019, and suddenly, no one was brave enough to say a player choked when they actually choked. Faldo stepped away from CBS two years ago. Now Baker-Finch.
What’s replacing them feels … sanitized. Corporate. Safe.
Here’s what killed me about Baker-Finch’s retirement announcement: He barely mentioned his broadcasting career. Instead, he talked about getting back to golf course design, spending time with family, rediscovering why he fell in love with this maddening game in the first place. That’s the difference between the old guard and everyone else — they were never performing. They were just sharing what they loved.
I remember watching Baker-Finch numerous times explain what a player was feeling during a crucial putt, and you knew he’d been there. He felt his knees shake, heard the gallery buzz and fade to a hush. He experienced that moment when everything went quiet except your heartbeat. He didn’t analyze shots; he translated them.
That’s what we’re losing. Not just expertise — actual wisdom from a guy who has been there. He earned his place in golf and speaking to us through our screens. Through decades of obsession, heartbreak and an inability to walk away from something that broke his heart but never stopped fascinating him.
The game will survive, obviously. New voices will emerge. But something’s shifting in how golf gets told, and I’m not sure we’re paying enough attention to what’s disappearing. These weren’t just commentators — they were custodians of golf’s stories, its unwritten rules, its soul.
Baker-Finch’s final broadcast was last Sunday at the Wyndham Championship. The same tournament where Faldo said goodbye. There’s probably some poetry in that, but right now it just feels like the end of something I didn’t realize I’d miss this much until it was too late.
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This story was originally reported by Athlon Sports on Aug 7, 2025, where it first appeared.
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