There is a trophy in Philippine golf that has had only one recipient. Twelve years later, it still has just a single winner.
It is not awarded for the longest drive, the lowest score, or a championship victory. It is called the Honesty Trophy.
The woman who received it did so after correcting a mistake that benefited her—and in the process cost her own team a title.
Her name is Mathilda Sula Sun.
In 2014, she discovered that a more favorable score had been recorded on her scorecard. The error had been made by her marker, not by her. No one had noticed. No official was investigating. No opponent was questioning the result.
The mistake could easily have passed unnoticed. Instead, she reported it herself.
The correction changed the team standings and ultimately handed the Women’s Golf Association of the Philippines (WGAP) circuit championship to another club.
Years later, few remember the final standings. Many still remember what she did.
Golf is an unusual game. Much of it relies on the player. A competitor may stand alone on a fairway with no referee nearby, no camera recording every movement, no opponent watching every stroke. The game expects players to call penalties on themselves, even when doing so may affect the outcome.
Former WGAP president Rio Co has often reflected on that responsibility. “Golf is unique,” she says. “It is governed primarily by the player—and at the same time by rules and officials. It can build or destroy reputations.”
For then-WGAP president Marissa Romano, Mathilda’s decision was unforgettable. “My own Orchard team stood to benefit,” Romano recalls. “So the issue became more delicate. WGAP’s integrity—and my own—were on the line.”
She understood immediately what Mathilda had given up. In team competition, loyalty runs deep. Players carry not only their own hopes but those of teammates who have practiced, traveled, and competed alongside them.
“A player is torn between calling a penalty on herself and causing her team to lose,” Romano says. “The guilt and shame are devastating. Most do not want to go through this.”
And yet Mathilda did. Without prompting. Without fanfare.
Years later, she would remember the episode almost casually. “I reported myself in August 2014 and forgot all about it,” she says.
Months later, she was asked to attend an awards ceremony without being told why. “I got the sweetest surprise of my golfing experience,” she recalls. “An Honesty Trophy.” Her response to the recognition was characteristically modest: “Everyone would have done the same.” Romano’s answer came quickly, “No, Matê. Believe me, not everyone would.”
And perhaps that is why another story, years earlier and hundreds of kilometers away, still lingers in memory.
Faye Celones’ 1999 trophy, belatedly given
In 1999, at a ladies’ tournament in Davao, Faye Celones was announced as champion of Division E.
Trophies are generally reserved for divisions A to C, occasionally D. Players in the lower flights were seldom recognized in the same way.
Faye Celones declined a ‘kaldero’ for her division E championship and received a befitting belated trophy.
So when Faye heard her name called, she walked to the stage expecting a trophy. Instead, she was handed a kaldero (a cooking pot).
“I was totally shocked,” she recalls. “I thought I’d be receiving a trophy like the others. Even the second placer—a princess from Tagum—got a kaldero. I remember she had aides carrying her bag, holding an umbrella over her, and fanning her.”
Many would have laughed politely and taken their seats. Faye did not. With characteristic candor and good humor, she took the microphone and spoke. Her point was simple: Effort and achievement deserve equal recognition, regardless of category.
Her teammates still laugh when they tell the story. Not because she caused a scene. But because she said what others were thinking.
The organizers listened. Eventually, a proper trophy arrived in Manila.
Two women. Two entirely different moments.
One corrected a score that benefited her. The other questioned a practice that diminished the achievements of players in the lower divisions. Neither act involved a winning shot.
Neither produced a record that survives in sporting archives. The scorecards from those tournaments have long since been filed away. And somewhere in WGAP’s history sits an Honesty Trophy. Just one.
Twelve years after it was awarded, it remains without a second recipient. In the end, perhaps that solitary trophy tells its own story.
