by Shane Ryan
Things began to change in 1979, when, in an attempt to make the Cup more competitive, the Great Britain & Ireland team was expanded to include all of Europe. The next two events produced two more routs, but in 1983, a European team led by Nick Faldo, Seve Ballesteros, and Bernhard Langer came within a point of doing what no European or British team had ever done—winning on American soil. On Sunday, with two matches remaining on the course, the score was tied at 13-apiece, and Lanny Wadkins played hero by hitting a pinpoint wedge on the 18th to halve his match against José Maria Cañizares. Tom Watson beat Langer in the final match, and the U.S. survived—barely.
It was a shock to the system, and the shock got worse in 1985, when the Europeans broke the long drought and won easily in England. Two years later in Ohio, the Europeans, led by Ballesteros and José Maria Olazabal, jumped out to such a huge two-day lead that even a late Sunday surge by the Americans couldn’t close the deficit. For the first time in sixty years of matches, the Europeans had won on American soil.
And just like that, the Ryder Cup turned from an unremarkable exhibition to one of the most tense, exciting weekends in golf. The Europeans shifted the paradigm entirely, and before long the Americans got a taste of their own medicine, losing over and over across the decades. Coming into Gleneagles in 2014, the Euros had nabbed seven victories in the last nine tries, dating back to 1995.* Only a miracle comeback at Brookline in ’99, and the Valhalla blowout in ’08, gave the U.S. any victories at all, and it had been twenty-one years since they last won on European soil, in 1993, with a younger Tom Watson as captain.
That was the record of success inherited by Paul McGinley. Unlike the Colin Montgomeries of the world, McGinley didn’t look particularly imposing. His face made you think of a chipmunk’s, and his speech had the high, flat, Northern Irish pitch that lacked the poetry native to the south. When he smiled, his teeth loomed large and his eyes popped open, and he had an earnest manner that erased any sense of mystery or power.
But McGinley was smart. He traveled with the players for two full years, scouting his team and envisioning the perfect partnerships. It became clear that it would take something truly shocking to catch this man off guard, but before showing up at Gleneagles, none of us understood the scope of what McGinley had built. What really surprised us, as the details came out, were the obsessive organizational and psychological preparations, all geared toward building a hive mind and creating an atmosphere of relentlessly positive energy. McGinley had considered everything.
He spoke all week about a “template” that had been carried out on European Ryder Cup teams dating back to Sam Torrance’s win in the 2002 event. (It was no coincidence that Torrance was one of McGinley’s vice captains this year.) Early in the week, I joked about the template with colleagues, and most considered it metaphysical hokum. Before long, we’d eat our words.
McGinley’s template is notable not for the profundity of its themes—which are as simple as avoiding complacency, having fun, and attacking in waves—but for the comprehensive nature of his setup.
He tailored every aspect of team life to serve the philosophy. This included motivational speeches. On Tuesday night, the players gathered to hear Sir Alex Ferguson, the legendary Manchester United manager who made a career of winning soccer matches at home as a heavy favorite—just as the Europeans would have to do in 2014. McGinley didn’t shy away from the “favorite” tag. He felt it was something the team should embrace, and Ferguson’s appearance was meant to solidify that mind-set.
This thematic consistency extended to motivational videos, and even to the images that adorned the walls of the team room.
“One particular one comes to mind is right outside our team room,” McGinley said on Saturday. “It’s a huge big one, probably two meters by three meters. And it’s a picture of a European rock in the middle of a raging storm in the ocean. The message underneath is:
‘We will be the rock when the storm arrives.’ ”
—
McGinley would have prepared obsessively regardless of the situation—it’s in his nature—but the urgency was heightened by the fact that the Americans had a deeper motivation. The European comeback at Medinah was an absolutely devastating blow to the Americans, especially after how well Davis Love III had captained his team. While the 10-6 Sunday deficit the Euros overcame was the same as the ’99 American victory in Brookline, Massachusetts, this reversal had happened on enemy soil, in front of a hostile crowd. There could be no debate—it was the worst meltdown in Ryder Cup history, and they wanted revenge.
The question on everybody’s mind was what sort of captain Tom Watson would make. If the debacle with the captain’s picks was an inauspicious beginning, it certainly wasn’t a lethal one. In the Monday press conferences, his words indicated that perhaps the same leadership style would carry over into the actual competition, for better or worse.
“I think the captain, he’s a person who inspires the team,” he said on Monday. “You start off with decisions you think are good for winning points, and they will change. In the heat of the battle, in the heat of the contest.”
On the surface, Watson’s answer was unremarkable. It was impossible to know at the time that in “the heat of the battle,” Watson would isolate himself and make gut decisions that didn’t reflect the best interests of the team, or even take their opinions into account. He was not afraid to change his mind at the last moment and obey his instincts, as he had by choosing Webb Simpson, even if they deviated from a set plan. In fact, it almost seemed as though he romanticized the idea—a great leader, he believed, operates as a self-assured maverick. He is a unilateral decision-maker whose motives can’t be questioned—bold, decisive, and a little bit secretive. The people below him may be puzzled by the occasional unorthodox decision, but it always worked out because of his razor-sharp intuition. It was a very American idea.
Here was the mind-set that had made him so effective as a player—the total self-belief that brooked no doubt. McGinley, on the other hand, lacked that pedigree, and in the face of his own insecurities, he had planned and planned and planned, connecting with his players when necessary, in order to formulate a comprehensive battle strategy that could be adjusted on the fly when adversity struck. Watson saw no need for this level of involvement. He was the gunslinger and the alpha male, and his moral authority would prevail. That attitude had led him to eight major titles and a brilliant career. Why wouldn’t it work in Scotland?
“I said it the very first day I became captain, I don’t see myself as a maverick,” McGinley said, demonstrating the contrast between the two men. “I see myself as a guy who has been very lucky to ride shotgun on a lot of success, both as a player and vice captain. I’ve learned a lot from the captains I’ve played under and been vice captain. This is not a time for me or Europe to have a maverick captain.”
* * *
“There’s nothing quite like the team atmosphere. There’s nothing quite like playing for each other in a game which is innately very individual. The game is selfish and we look out for ourselves week-in and week-out, and it’s individual achievement, and you live and die by your own achievement. When you come this week and play for each other and play for another 11 teammates, and the bonds that you develop this week, the kind of openness that everyone kind of has…We’ll do anything for each other this week. It’s a very, very special thing to be involved in.”
—GRAEME MCDOWELL, on Tuesday
The buildup to Friday proved less dramatic than previous Ryder Cups. The only real shit-stirring moment came courtesy of Phil Mickelson, who launched an attack on Europe’s best player at his press conference on Wednesday.
“Not only are we able to play together,” he said, after a question on team chemistry, “we also don’t litigate against each other. And that’s a real plus, I feel, heading into this week.”
Laughter greeted his comment, which was a clear shot at the ongoing lawsuit between Rory McIlroy and Graeme McDowell. The Northern Ir
ish players responded with silence, at least in public, but Ian Poulter wrote in his memoir No Limits that Rory found Phil that night at a private ceremony for the players, and hit back with a quip of his own: “At least I’m not wanted by the FBI.”
Otherwise, chivalry prevailed. The night before the Ryder Cup began, McGinley made a final speech to his players: He knew he had never been on their level, and he trusted them completely. The players left feeling confident and bright, ready for what the morning would bring.
—
In the cavernous media room at six fifteen a.m. Friday morning, surrounded by empty chairs and a few sleepy journalists, I heard a low rumbling from outside. It sounded like the drone of a distant army, far but monstrous, and it grew louder by the minute. Finally, I could make out a single word, repeated over and over with a chilling, rhythmic insistence:
“EU-ROPE! EU-ROPE! EU-ROPE!”
The European hordes had already arrived—massing on the first tee, chanting, singing, and driving up the energy. In golf, there is nothing like a European Ryder Cup crowd. I had watched a few hundred of them make more noise than tens of thousands of Americans at Medinah, and now they were on their home turf. The soccer tradition overseas differentiates them from their American counterparts—they are organized, they sing, and they’re not hampered by self-consciousness. It’s a mob mentality—primal, and a bit frightening—and there’s simply nothing like it in the States.
The players warmed up on the range in their winter hats, and just after seven, they made their way to the first tee. In the stadium setting, the rowdy voices cascaded down from three sides. The songs came one after another, led by a group of fans in Scottish sweaters sitting just behind the tee. A few brave American fans attempted to start a “U-S-A” chant—the only one they knew—and were quickly shouted down. They went quiet, having learned their lesson, and the Brits quickly launched into a taunting song, a tribute to the U.S. effort at Medinah: “Ten to six, and you still don’t win!”
They did cheer for Tom Watson, though—a tremendous honor, considering their allegiances. He waved back to them, and may have even received a louder cheer than McGinley, who arrived three minutes later. To the right of the hole, a few yards up the fairway, the Sky Sports team held court in a large TV studio with glass windows. Inside, Colin Montgomerie and Darren Clarke, who had each failed to usurp McGinley as captain, were already on the attack, describing his pairings as a “surprise” and “strange.”
Friday morning meant the first four-ball session—all four golfers playing their own ball, and the best individual score on each hole wins—and McGinley sent Henrik Stenson and Justin Rose out to lead the charge. The two had spoken at the BMW Championship in Colorado a few weeks earlier, and mutually decided they would like to play together. Stenson relayed the message to McGinley, who liked this idea even better than his own—unlike Ian Poulter, Rose’s traditional partner, both were in top form.
Watson countered with the team of Webb Simpson and Bubba Watson, and Simpson lined up to hit the first drive of the Ryder Cup. You had to wonder if this was some kind of statement—not only had Watson gone with his gut in picking Simpson, but he was going to put him on the front lines against Europe’s best. If he was trying to send a message, it worked—Simpson popped his first drive straight into the air. It had to be one of the worst opening shots in Ryder Cup history, and it sent a crystal clear message that the U.S. was well and truly screwed.
Bubba stepped up next, waving the crowd into hysterics, encouraging them to cheer while he swung his big pink driver. With the fans in full roar, he launched his drive, and basked in the attention.
This would be the American duo’s best moment of the day. Rose and Stenson played steady golf, and that was more than they needed. Put simply, Webb Simpson was a disaster. By the ninth hole, the announcers on the BBC radio stream were roasting him alive, and Bubba wasn’t much better. Neither one made a single birdie in the first fourteen holes, and Rose and Stenson cruised to an easy 5&4 victory for the first point of the Ryder Cup. Tom Watson’s first two big decisions had backfired in a big way—he wouldn’t play Simpson again until the Sunday singles session.
In the second match, Rickie Fowler and Jimmy Walker fell 3-down quickly to Bjorn and Kaymer, but managed to slowly crawl their way back. They still found themselves 2-down on the 16th hole, but Walker stepped up, hitting birdies there and on the 18th to force a halved match.
The bright spot for the Americans came in the third match of the day, when Patrick Reed and Jordan Spieth teamed up against Stephen Gallacher and Europe’s Ryder Cup star, Ian Poulter. From the start, things weren’t quite right with the Euros. Poulter missed a short par putt on the first hole—a shocking sight—and Reed and Spieth took a 1-up lead. They maintained that edge until the sixth hole, and then turned on the gas. It was the old ham-and-egg act—when Spieth struggled, Reed excelled, and vice versa. They alternated birdies, shouted encouragement to each other, and harnessed every bit of momentum.
The match quickly turned into a surprising rout. Poulter could get nothing going, and Gallacher was stumbling badly in front of the home crowd—for one reason or another, the moment was too big, and his Ryder Cup debut took on the shape of a nightmare. When Reed, looking like Babyface Nelson in his pinstripe pants, sunk another birdie putt on 11, the Americans had rocketed to a 6-up lead with just seven holes to play. From there, it was just a matter of time—the match ended on the 14th hole in a 5&4 victory.
Poulter had struggled all season, and everyone in the American locker room had wanted first crack at him—he was what they called a “big scalp.” Spieth and Reed, as Ryder Cup rookies, were excited to have the first chance, and they took advantage with the kind of energy and verve the Americans had been lacking for two decades. It seemed like a foregone conclusion that they’d play again in the afternoon.
In the final match of the morning, the dynamic Medinah duo of Phil and Keegan took on Rory McIlroy and Sergio Garcia. The lead fluctuated back and forth, and a surge by the Europeans on the back nine put them 1-up with three holes to play. For the first time, the Ryder Cup tension had truly arrived—this would be the match that the morning session turned on, and a win by either team would put their side out to an early lead.
The 16th was a par 5, 518 yards, and Bradley hit an excellent approach onto the green. With his teammates looking on from the hillside to the left of the green, he struck the eagle putt and pumped his fist hard, three times, when it fell in the hole. His face at that moment, flushed and anxious, was a picture of Ryder Cup triumph. He slapped five with Reed, Spieth, Bubba, and Webb Simpson, all of whom had come to watch the match. Bradley was in his element—a born teammate at his favorite event.
The teams halved the 17th, leaving them all square heading to 18, another par 5. A series of bad shots relegated the Europeans to par, setting the stage for Mickelson’s birdie putt. With Watson watching from behind the green, hands in the pockets of his windbreaker, Mickelson buried the winner. After trailing in three of four matches, the Americans had fought their way back, and held a 2.5-1.5 lead heading into the afternoon.
* * *
“I 100 percent assumed we were going back out, and because what Captain Tom said was, ‘we’ll have our other two afternoon pairings based on how the morning’s going.’ ”
—JORDAN SPIETH
Au contraire, Mr. Spieth. When he and Reed approached Watson, they were told that they wouldn’t be playing in the afternoon. Forget the fact that they were young and excited, and had only played fourteen holes—Watson was going back out with Keegan and Phil, who had played a stressful eighteen-hole match (not to mention Mickelson’s arthritis), and the Walker/Fowler combo, who had just gone the distance in a draw.
When he gave the young Americans the news, they acquiesced, for a moment, before Reed changed his mind.
“Well, really, I’m not all right with it,” he said.
Once again, Watson had said one thing and done another, and now the players we
re upset and puzzled. They held their tongues, but their body language told the story—both were angry. Watson hadn’t lost the team yet—it was too early, and the Americans were winning—but he was well on his way.
For McGinley, the storm he had prophesied had come early, and now his team needed to fulfill another edict: Attack in waves.
Friday afternoon brought the first “foursomes” session—alternate shot golf, with each team playing one ball per hole. Jamie Donaldson and Lee Westwood led off for the Euros, and they faced Jim Furyk and Matt Kuchar. Rose and Stenson would head out next against Hunter Mahan and Zach Johnson, and Rory and Sergio drew Walker and Fowler in the third match. In the anchor position, Mickelson and Bradley would play their second match against the fresh team of Graeme McDowell and Victor Dubuisson—an ideal match for the Europeans, even if some believed that foursomes was a difficult format for a Ryder Cup rookie’s first match. McGinley had addressed his concern by pairing Donaldson and Dubuisson, his rookies, with two hugely successful veterans in Westwood and McDowell.
The drama dissipated early—the European afternoon wave decimated the Americans. Every inch of turf Waton’s team had fought for in the morning slipped away in an avalanche of excellence. Donaldson and Westwood made three birdies over the middle of the round, and though Furyk and Kuchar fought back to 1-down with a birdie on 16, a finishing birdie by the Euros on 17 gave them a 2-up win.
Rose and Stenson won their second point of the Cup against Mahan and Johnson in a match of exceptional quality, hitting on five birdies to the Americans’ three to win on the 17th hole. In a rare bit of good news, Fowler and Walker played excellent golf against Rory and Sergio, going 2-up with two holes to play. The Europeans faced a loss on the par-3 17th, when Rory stood over a forty-five-foot putt for birdie. Miss, and the match was likely over. But after a summer full of incredible moments, he delivered one more—the putt rattled home as Walker and Fowler looked on in disbelief and the home crowd roared.