You might think the life of a tour pro is all fast cars and faster women, second homes the size of Tasmania and front yards plucked straight from the confines of Augusta National. And in some cases that’s true. There guys are not only good, they’re also rich. What you don’t see while blinded by the glint of the sun off their infinity pool, however, is the non-stop relentless grind that it took to get there. Sure, the best of the best have natural aptitude in spades, but as Viktor Hovland proves, glitz gets you nowhere without a little grit.

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That’s Big Vik’s left hand, in case you don’t recognise the mangled appendage you’re looking at. It looks like he stuck it down the garbage disposal and flicked the switch if the garbage disposal was filled with bees for some reason. It’s the visual embodiment of not $%#@!&* around and precisely the kind of capital-G Grind the upper echelon of professional golf requires.

All that said, Hovland isn’t living La Vida Loca just yet. He’s not slurping Cristal out of the Claret Jug or strolling around his supermodel girlfriend’s penthouse wearing nothing but a green jacket. The Ferrari is still just a Ford, if you want to keep it PG. But if those callouses are any indication, big things are coming.