If God had to invent a sports format, it would be the Ryder Cup… on TV
, The Times
I know you were stressed. I know you started to gaze at your iPhone to distract yourself from what looked like impending disaster. I know your heart was beating faster than if you’d just downed a quadruple espresso as Cameron Young and Justin Thomas made superb pressure putts on the 18th to defeat Tommy Fleetwood (folk hero, lovely chap) and Justin Rose (indomitable, classy) and what seemed so certain was suddenly up in the air.
There was a moment — I can’t remember when, precisely, because I was struggling to keep track of time — when the board seemed all red, except for Ludvig Aberg (what a performance by him on the final day, by the way), like a kind of chromatic premonition of European doom. Sepp Straka was reeling. Russell Henley was flying. The much mocked Bryson DeChambeau was roaring back against Matt Fitzpatrick, an impressive golfer whose technique was giving way in those closing holes, like a minor sinkhole in suburbia.
McIlroy, who suffered abuse throughout the tournament, is sprayed with champagne by Europe team-mate Lowry
CARL RECINE/GETTY IMAGES
But isn’t this what sport is all about: the jeopardy, the unexpected delirium, the procession that turns — against all expectation — into a cliffhanger? Richard Scudamore described the Premier League as “unscripted drama” but the three days of a Ryder Cup are — for me, and perhaps for you too — somehow more cumulative, more intense, more emotionally fraught than the 90 minutes of a footie match. Indeed, as Brentford were defeating Man U on Saturday, John and Rhian at the end of my row at the Gtech were keeping us all up to speed with events from New York, oohs and aahs all along the way.
I’m not saying that the Ryder Cup is inherently superior to a football match (a subjective issue, after all) but suggest that the variegated nature of the action (foursomes, four-balls, singles) offers greater scope for narrative intricacy, for shifts in momentum, for that beguiling sense that you are witnessing a tapestry of different storylines, personalities, quirks and controversies, all building to the denouement late on a Sunday evening when emotional rapture rises up like a tidal wave.
Team USA’s stirring comeback attempt made for truly unmissable sports viewing on Sunday night
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Perhaps what I’m saying is that if God were to invent a sports format, he’d invent the Ryder Cup. It’s a particularly majestic TV spectacle (for my money, much better than in person, and not just because you can mute the “geddin the hole” tomfoolery). From the sofa, you can — like an air traffic controller on a busy afternoon at Heathrow — keep track of everything in real time: every shot, every twitch, every moment of indecision, all in HD. If you’ve remembered to stock up on nachos, dips (M&S multi-flavour selection) and a few bottles of Erdinger, it’s heaven. Sky Sports did a superb job throughout, I felt, not least the inimitable Wayne Riley out on the course.
There are too many European heroes to pick out but I doubt we’ll quickly forget Rose’s putting, Fleetwood’s mettle (four points in the opening two days), Rahm’s stature (he seemed like a giant at times) or Rory McIlroy’s resilience. And what about the captaincy of Luke Donald (next time I’m feeling frantic about something, I’ll look at a photo of Donald for its calming effect), the statistical wizardry of Edoardo Molinari and the all-round contribution of the caddies; heroes all. Perhaps the difference, ultimately, is that the Europeans played as a cohesive team; the Americans as a group of individuals.
A couple of other observations. A lot has been said about the putt of Shane Lowry at the 18th to retain the cup, hands trembling ever so slightly, brow greased with perspiration. A lot has been written, too, about the glorious jig afterwards as the Europeans — and fans across a continent — jumped to their feet (I thought of Wordsworth’s line: “My heart leaps when I behold a rainbow in the sky”). Yet I couldn’t help thinking that the shot of the afternoon, perhaps the week, was Lowry’s iron to that final green, a shot — when you consider the context — of beguiling calibration and poise.
A lot has also been written about the American fans: the abuse meted out not just to the European players but their families too. It perhaps goes without saying that I wholeheartedly agree with every word of condemnation. But I can’t help mentioning the number of Americans (including hardcore golf fans) who have got in touch with me to say: we are appalled too. I sensed in the tenor of their messages the fear that all American golf fans will be tarred by the same brush, perhaps even all Americans. I’m guessing many English football fans – disgusted by the hooligan element they are so often tarnished by – will understand the point.
As the contest ended on Sunday night, I found myself reflecting on how sad it is that we’ll have to wait another two years for the next showdown, this time at Adare Manor, but of course this event benefits from its rarity value. Make Donald captain again, I say, and let him attempt a hat-trick of victories as captain, coming on top of his four as a player. Above all, though, let European fans show something that transcends golf and, indeed, sport. Love of one’s own team should never shade into hatred of the other.
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