In this sporting era where individuals and occasions are proclaimed as the greatest of all time with bemusing regularity, there is quite a clamour at the top of the pile. The core emotions, and the level of talent, on display as the USA won the 41st Ryder Cup served as a reminder that precious little can class itself as superior to this biennial team‑golf tournament.
The nudge was timely. Football’s recurring nastiness, much of it amplified by social-media warriors, existed even before the scandals of recent days which have tarnished the game’s image further. Cycling and cyclists also operate in an atmosphere dogged by suspicion, as is the case with athletics.
It is a shame that a noisy minority of the Hazeltine crowd may provide the lingering memory of this Ryder Cup, however. The cat-calling is so noticeable because it emerges from an otherwise respectful scene, where the mood as a player lines up a crucial putt can be genuinely spine-tingling. Nothing compares in tour golf, with tribal connection absent for 102 weeks out of 104.
Ryder Cup golfers should not be portrayed as honest amateurs, but this event transcends like no other. Even the removal of commercial shackles to the point where many of Europe’s players have not worn caps over the three days, let alone standard sponsored ones, is a positive. Personality is encouraged and likely to be noticed more than it ever would at a Portuguese Open or Honda Classic, say. The shift into foursome and fourball formats in the first two days also test aspects of the game not possible during 72-hole strokeplay events.
The key thinking behind getting golf back into the Olympic Games was to take it to fresh markets, towards spectators who would not normally bother – the Ryder Cup already does that. A cross-section of society, never mind sport, books into and keeps an eye on this occasion every two years. Golf’s problem is the inability to retain that interest.
That the players fully buy into the scene is hardly a shock. For the vast majority of every two-year cycle, golf is an individual sport carrying individual aspirations. It can be a lonely place, even for the leading lights. When part of a collective, the idea of working hard for a team and towards a broader goal instantly appeals. Players love it when seeing themselves as a Wayne Rooney or Joe Montana. The negative potential, which always lingers, relates to the player who may miss that crucial putt; just ask Bernhard Langer, who still carries painful memories of Kiawah Island in 1991.
The European Tour provided a backbone for the 12-man contingent at Hazeltine but individual targets more often lie on the US equivalent due to blunt economics. Nationalistic fervour surrounds the USA, moreover, whereas the concept of singing and dancing for Europe has always appeared more contrived. Put bluntly, the latter would not exist in another environment.
The idea of being a proud European grew due to a dislike of perceived American arrogance, initially propagated by the late Seve Ballesteros. That feeling – and it has diluted given the residency of so many European players in the state of Florida – provides scope for golfers to tread where their young friends once did or still do, by feeling part of a team. In progressing through the ranks, there is no dressing-room dynamic. Some struggle with the change in aspiration, Tiger Woods the obvious example, but tend to revel in it more often than not.
That this is team golf rather than individual pursuit is not the only cause for the Ryder Cup’s status. In the Presidents Cup the USA take on the rest of the world minus Europe every two years. Australia’s Jason Day, the No1 player in the world, may be a part of that but that tournament will always be the poor relation.
The standard on display at Hazeltine cannot be regarded as irrelevant. The Ryder Cup has risen to the point where even the weakest matches routinely throw up brilliance. The weakest links are stronger than ever before.
Emotion has tinged the past week. Arnold Palmer’s death at the age of 87, while not exactly a surprise, immediately preceded this Ryder Cup, meaning dedication was logical. Given that it was he who hauled the sport he loved into competitive and commercial territory, the tributes for once were not remotely over the top.
Even Palmer could not have envisaged how a biennial meeting would batter down barriers. That applies to level of play just as much as scale of competition. Nothing compares to the Ryder Cup; golf’s fiercest rivalry and peerless selling point. The greatest of them all? It at least deserves to form a part of that discussion.
