The Dye has faded at TPC Sawgrass. Davis Love III wants to bring it back

At its ribbon cutting in 1980, TPC Sawgrass represented something new in golf.

Carved from Florida swampland and built as the permanent home of The Players Championship, it was modern in ambition and unapologetic in temperament. Its architect, Pete Dye, was already known as a creative sadist, an artist with a knack for meting out abuse.

At Sawgrass, he produced a sun-splashed torture chamber. The world’s best players didn’t hide their pain.

Ben Crenshaw likened the layout to “Star Wars golf,” designed “by Darth Vader.” J. C. Snead did some literal sh-t talking. The course, he said, was “10 percent luck and 90 percent horse manure.”

Such griping did not go unheard. Over time, some of the layout’s sharpest features were softened. Dye himself made adjustments. Greens were toned down to suit the era of slick putting speeds. The look grew cleaner, less imposing.

Bit by bit, the Dye faded.

Davis Love III has been hired to bring it back.

Love, a two-time Players champion who has become a noted course architect himself, has spent the past few years helping the Tour tweak Sawgrass. His guiding principle is plain enough.

“What I want to see is Pete Dye back in the golf course,” Love said this week. “The greens have gotten flat. Some of the features have gone away.”

The flatter greens have created a secondary problem: Without enough slope to shed water, the putting surfaces can be harder to firm up after it rains.

Under Love’s direction, some lost elements have already been revived.

Tees have been pushed back on several par-5s. New mounding has sprouted on the stout par-4 14th. Last year, on the 6th hole, Love oversaw perhaps the most talked-about change thus far: the replanting of a tree that once overhung the fairway. Videos of that project set the internet aflame.

Not all the work has been so dramatic.

“We’re doing very boring stuff, like making the driving range longer,” Love said.

But even the mundane tasks tend to touch on the same theme. Extending the range requires digging a lake and shifting large amounts of dirt across the property. As that happens, Love and his collaborators can’t help wrestling with other questions.

“While we’re digging the lake on 4 and moving dirt, you have to ask what the long-term goal is for that bunker,” Love said. “Is it supposed to look like the 1982 picture or the 1989 picture?”

That question has become central to the project. Love and PGA Tour officials have combed through archival photos, searching for the moment when Dye’s vision was most fully realized. For Love, the answer keeps coming back to 1989.

By then, the course had already absorbed some early player feedback. A few of the most severe features had been tempered. But the layout still carried much of the visual intimidation and quirky contouring that made Dye’s work so distinctive.

Love recalled asking Dye about the scattershot bunkering at Whistling Straits, another of the architect’s celebrated designs.

“He told me, ‘Oh, they’re just there to intimidate you,’” Love said. “If you actually look at the fairway, it’s pretty wide.”

The same philosophy shaped Sawgrass. Dye liked to clutter the edges of a hole with nerve-racking distractions— mounds, waste areas, pot bunkers — so that players felt squeezed even when they weren’t.

“I just want to see the old look and the intimidating look back in the golf course,” Love said.

Love’s work is ongoing; it’s not slated for completion until 2028. And there’s a limit to what he can do. Today’s realities make a full rewind impossible. Today’s Players Championship requires infrastructure that didn’t exist when the course opened. Galleries are larger. Television towers and camera platforms need room to operate.

“That tee box needs to look like that because it’s a major championship. You need room for that camera,” Love said. “But once you get out in the fairway, especially around the greens, you can have the quirky stuff.”

For a man known across the game as one of its genuine good guys, Love now finds himself in the unusual role of restoring a dash of architectural cruelty.

Then again, at a Pete Dye course, simply being nice was never the point.