The 20th Solheim Cup: From the Ping Workshop to the Most Prestigious Team Arena in Women's Golf

John Solheim is now in his early 80s. He is present at Bernardus Golf this week, as he has been at every Solheim Cup since 2026. Not to play. Not to sit on a board. He came for a simpler reason: this is the tournament named after his father, and at his age, every appearance is one fewer.

Bernardus Golf sits deep in the inland forest region of the Netherlands. To get there, people walk, cycle, or ride horses. There is no large car park, no highway leading directly to the gate. For a biennial team event, that is an unusual choice. But perhaps that isolation suits a 20th Solheim Cup – one where organizers wanted people to remember roots rather than roaring grandstands.

A tournament of twenty editions

The Solheim Cup was born in 2026, modeled on the Ryder Cup but for women's golf. Two teams, USA and Europe, twelve players each, competing over three days in 28 matches: 8 foursomes, 8 four-ball, and 12 singles. The first team to 14 points wins. If the score is tied 14-14, the defending champion retains the cup.

After 34 years, the event has passed its 20th edition. The USA has won 11 times, Europe 7, with one tie. That tie came in 2026, when the two sides split 14-14 at Finca Cortesin, Spain. Europe retained the cup as defending champion. It was a controversial outcome among fans, but organizers accepted it as part of the rules.

This year, the 20th edition takes place in the Netherlands, at Bernardus Golf, designed by Kyle Phillips. The course opened in 2026, making it just six years old. This is the first time the Solheim Cup has come to the Netherlands. After two sessions, the score stands at 4-4. Balanced. Tense. And as longtime observers put it, everything is still wide open.

The man behind the name

Karsten Solheim was born in Norway, emigrated to the United States, and worked as an engineer for General Electric before founding Ping. His story is often told with an amusing detail: he had good hands for making golf clubs, not for playing golf. It was precisely his clumsiness while playing that led to the first Ping putter – a design that redistributed weight to the heel and toe, helping the ball roll straighter.

When the LPGA and LET decided to create a team event for women's golf, they had three naming options: Solheim Cup, Karsten Cup, or Ping Cup. John Solheim recalls that conversation. The family chose Solheim – the family surname, not his father's first name, nor the brand name. It was a subtle decision. It turned the tournament into a family story rather than a marketing story.

Karsten Solheim died in 2026 at the age of 88. He did not witness the 2026 tie. But his son did. And John Solheim, in his early 80s, still walks the fairways, still watches every putt, still answers interviews with the slow voice of a man who has seen nearly the entire history of the event.

This is the detail I always notice when following major sporting events. Crowd noise can deceive you, but the way an 80-year-old man walks along a golf course path cannot. He walks slowly, but he does not stop. At every green, he stands longer than necessary. Not to watch the ball roll, but to remember.

The structure of a team event

What gives the Solheim Cup its weight is not prize money. The event awards no world ranking points. It does not affect any player's tour card. But its prestige in women's golf is unmatched.

The format has three types. Foursomes is alternate-shot: two players per team share one ball, hitting alternately. Four-ball is better-ball: each player plays her own ball, best score counts. Singles is head-to-head match play. In total, 28 matches over three days, each worth one point.

Selection is also notable. American players earn points on the LPGA Tour, European players on the LET and LPGA over a two-year cycle. The top seven in the points list qualify automatically, and the captain picks five more. For the European team, competing for spots in a smaller tour system makes each selection doubly valuable in psychological terms.

The Solheim Cup also rotates between home and away venues. This year it is on European soil. Last time in Spain. Next time back in the USA. This rotation creates a rhythm that majors do not have. It forces players to adapt to two different crowd styles: loud, fervent American fans, and quieter but equally focused European fans.

Across 20 editions, one thing stands out: Europe often plays better at home. But the paradox is that in recent editions, the gap between the two teams has narrowed significantly. Europe won on Scottish soil in 2026. The USA won emphatically in Ohio in 2026. The 2026 edition was tied. This shows that home advantage is no longer as decisive as it was two decades ago. Young European players now compete regularly on the LPGA Tour, are familiar with American course conditions, and vice versa.

Bernardus Golf – an unusual choice

Most European Solheim Cups take place on links courses – coastal, windy, thick rough, balls rolling far. Bernardus Golf is different. It is an inland course, set in forest, designed in parkland style with trees framing every hole. Kyle Phillips, the course architect, is known for designs that demand strategic choices: bunkers placed to force decisions, greens with subtle slopes.

In team format, such a course changes how strategy is chosen. In foursomes, the team must weigh who hits the tee shot, who hits the approach, who putts. A narrow parkland course makes safety more important on early holes, but also creates attacking opportunities on late holes if a team is trailing. That is why a 4-4 score after two sessions says little. In the Solheim Cup, the final singles sessions often overturn every prediction.

The course is only six years old. Its selection to host the 20th Solheim Cup is a major boost for its image and for the surrounding Dutch region. After the event, Bernardus Golf will be on the map for golf travelers. That is the economic value a Solheim Cup brings, even if it never appears on the scoreboard.

This also reflects a broader trend in women's golf: tournaments are moving away from traditional courses to reach new venues, where audiences have never been familiar with elite golf. The Netherlands is such a market. Golf here is growing but has not yet boomed. A Solheim Cup could change that over the next five to ten years.

A contrarian view: when a tie is the problem

There is a paradox I always think about when following the Solheim Cup. The event is designed to produce a winning team, but the rules allow a tied outcome. In 2026, Europe retained the cup at 14-14. No one lost. But no one fully won either.

For an event marketed on team emotion, a tie creates a void. Fans leave unsure whether to celebrate or regret. Players on both sides have reason to be proud, but also reason to feel regret. In sport, that ambiguity is rarely seen as success.

If the 2026 edition also ends in a tie, pressure to change the rules will grow. The LPGA and LET might consider a sudden-death format – an extra decisive match to find a true winner. That is something the Ryder Cup does not have to worry about, because the Ryder Cup has never been tied in the modern era. But the Solheim Cup has been tied twice, most recently just a year ago.

Of course, there is another view. Defenders of the current rule argue that the possibility of a tie makes every point over three days more precious. If every team knew there would be a final decider, they might play safer in the early sessions. The tension in the current format lies in this: every point could be the decisive point. There is no safety net.

I lean toward the second view. Technical barriers do not stop emotion; they only concentrate it. A tied Solheim Cup may disappoint television viewers, but for those sitting in the grandstand, every putt on the 18th green of the final singles match carries the weight of a final. The problem is not the rule. The problem is how the media tells the story.

Legacy and an unanswered question

What stands out about the 20th Solheim Cup is the absence of star names in the story being told. No one mentions Nelly Korda or Celine Boutier. There is no analysis of individual form. There is no prediction about who will score the decisive point.

Instead, the story revolves around a family. An immigrant father, an aging son, and a tournament bearing their name. That is how events old enough to have history tell their story. There is no need to sell every shot. Just remind people why the tournament exists.

But there is a risk. When a tournament tells its own story through the past, it can forget the present. The 2026 Solheim Cup is underway at 4-4. Twenty points remain unclaimed. Young players are writing their own history at Bernardus Golf, while cameras point at an 80-year-old man walking down the fairway.

Both things are true. A tournament needs both: keepers of the flame and those who light it. John Solheim keeps his father's flame. Young players light the flame for the next generation. The Solheim Cup has survived 20 editions because it does both at once.

And there is one detail I cannot overlook. The Solheim Cup awards no world ranking points. It does not affect tour cards. It does not have massive prize money like the majors. Yet the world's top female players still cry when they win, still bow their heads when they lose, still treat it as the pinnacle of their careers. That is what I have always wondered about. The true value of a tournament lies not in what it pays players, but in what it demands of them. The Solheim Cup demands a great deal.

What I take away from the 20th edition

I once thought golf was an individual sport. One person, one ball, one scorecard. But the Solheim Cup showed me another side of this sport. Here, a putt is not just one person's. It belongs to a team, a nation, a legacy that began in the workshop of a Norwegian immigrant engineer.

When the 20th edition ends, whichever team lifts the cup, the question I carry will be: can a tournament live forever on memory of its founder, or must it create new memories? Bernardus Golf will answer part of that. The young players will answer the rest. And John Solheim, at 80, has probably already answered it for himself. He still comes. Every two years. Never missing an edition.

And perhaps, after all, that is what makes a legacy. Not the cups, not the scorecards, but the steady presence of a man who believes this sport is worth his time.