Good Good

Good Good is golf YouTube’s phenomenon: the creator group — led by trick-shot prodigy Garrett Clark — that turned the stuffiest sport in the world into appointment internet viewing. Founded in 2020 in Frisco, Texas, by Clark, Stephen Castaneda, and Matt Scharff, the channel now sits north of 2.1 million subscribers and 719 million views — and, by 2025, had grown into a full-blown company with a $45 million funding round, a powerhouse apparel line, and even an equity stake in professional golf’s future.

The origin story is pure internet-era mythology. Garrett Clark grew up in Kansas and didn’t pick up a golf club until age 13 — and he hated it, right up until he jarred a hole-in-one from 85 yards with a 7-iron on his first real round. That one shot rewired his brain. He’d been posting YouTube videos since he was nine years old — Lego builds, piano covers — so filming golf was a natural next step. His personal channel, GM Golf, became a trick-shot laboratory: junior tournament recaps gave way to audacious trick shots that outperformed everything else he posted.

Then came the curveball that launched Good Good. Once GM Golf hit 30,000 subscribers, the NCAA contacted Clark’s family and flagged him as ineligible under the era’s name, image and likeness rules — years before NIL money became legal for college athletes. The door to a conventional college-golf path slammed shut. Clark enrolled at Kansas City Kansas Community College, where he played on the golf team while grinding out ninety videos in ninety days to save a struggling channel. The lifeline came over a dinner at IHOP with his friend Stephen Castaneda, who offered to start filming with him. Matt Scharff joined soon after, and the three founded Good Good in 2020. When it came time to name the thing, the boys kicked around cringey options — Bogey Boys, Birdie Boys, the Sandbaggers — until CEO Matt Kendrick, a veteran of the YouTube fishing empire Googan Squad who’d been sitting on the name since college, piped up: “Maybe we should call it Good Good.” They loved it instantly.

The formula broke the mold. Golf content had always been the domain of instructionals and tour coverage; Good Good made it entertainment — challenges, matches, course vlogs, trick shots, and the kind of group chemistry that reads like a sitcom that happens to involve golf. Clark is the face: a genuinely elite ball-striker whose creativity translates to every format. But the ensemble is the product — the rivalries, the running jokes, the way a Sunday match between friends can feel like appointment television. The audience skews young, and that is the entire point. Good Good is widely credited with popularizing golf among a younger demographic in the 2020s, pulling kids into the sport through trick shots and challenges rather than country clubs.

The collaborations scaled it beyond the channel. Pros, celebrities, and fellow creators all cycle through Good Good videos — Bryson DeChambeau, Kai Trump, tour pros, and the new generation of golf influencers — each one expanding the audience. Golf’s old guard noticed. The establishment that once ignored creators now courts them: the network attention, the major brand deals, the tour partnerships all followed the eyeballs.

And the eyeballs became a business empire. In early 2024, Good Good posted the highest checkout rate of all golf apparel in Golf Galaxy stores. By 2025, the premium apparel brand was reported to contribute roughly 75 percent of the company’s monthly revenue — Good Good is, in effect, a merchandise business wearing a YouTube channel as its marketing department. That same year the company closed a $45 million funding round with backers including Peyton Manning’s Omaha Productions, Scoreboard Ventures, and Creator Sports Capital, and picked up an equity stake in the Los Angeles Golf Club of TGL, the tech-driven golf league. Then came the ultimate establishment embrace: Good Good became the title sponsor of a PGA Tour event, the Good Good Championship. A group of friends who started filming on public courses with minimal equipment had put their name on the tour.

The road hasn’t been smooth. Former members cycled through as the company scaled — Brad Dalke, Grant Horvat, and Luke Kwon all departed at various points, each exit dissected by the fandom. And in August 2026 the brand faced its biggest crisis: a co-branded Callaway ad, created by Good Good, showed Clark menacingly shoving former Division I golfer Alexis Miestowski to the ground with the line “Do not touch my new driver.” The ad was pulled amid fierce criticism; Callaway cut ties and pledged a $1 million donation to organizations fighting violence against women; Dick’s Sporting Goods yanked Good Good products from shelves; and the group withdrew as title sponsor of the fall PGA Tour event. CEO Matt Kendrick went public accusing Callaway of approving the spot and then hanging the group out to dry. It was a brutal lesson in what happens when a creator brand plays in the big leagues — and a test the company is still working through.

What it proved, for all the chaos, is that golf’s barrier was never the game — it was the presentation. Make it fun, make it social, make it YouTube-native, and the kids show up with clubs. The content machine behind the fun is serious: daily uploads, massive productions, and a creative team that treats every video like an event. The wholesomeness is authentic; the operation is elite.

From trick shots in Kansas to a PGA Tour title sponsorship, Good Good changed what golf content could be — and forced the entire sport to reckon with where its future audience actually lives: on a phone, watching friends go low.