by Shane Ryan
Still, the Americans needed only to halve the final hole to win the match, and their chances looked good when Rory launched his tee shot into the right rough. With a tree in his way, Sergio lined up a 3-wood, knowing he needed to knock it stiff. It was a seemingly impossible shot, but he hit it cleanly from a good lie, and began to pace after the ball as it flew toward the green. “Be good!” he begged, and it was more than good—it was spectacular, coming to rest twenty-five feet from the cup. They two-putted for birdie, won the hole, and stole an incredible half point. It was the second draw for the Fowler/Walker combo, but this one felt more like a loss.
That left McDowell and Dubuisson against the undefeated pairing of Mickelson and Bradley, who had accumulated four wins and zero losses as a team in two Ryder Cups. That streak came to a screeching halt as Dubuisson hit a series of beautiful irons on the front nine to stake the Europeans to a 3-up lead. He even egged the crowd on at one point when the Americans made them putt a four-footer. The hero of the Arizona desert didn’t look very much like a rookie at all—he played with a sense of devastating calm. Phil and Keegan fought back valiantly, but the Europeans were relentless, and one last birdie on the 16th sealed a 3&2 win against their fatigued opponents.
The board had been Euro-blue all afternoon, and now the disaster was complete for Watson. The early advantage had disappeared totally, and the Europeans led 5-3 heading into the second day. The media started to hammer the American captain at his press conference, and his answers were defensive and grumpy. He refused to give a concrete explanation as to why he hadn’t played Reed and Spieth, and he referred to his gut over and over. He even called Rory’s putt on the 17th “Watson-esque” in a shout-out to his glory days—not exactly the self-congratulatory comment the American side wanted to hear at that moment.
He finished by talking about the next morning’s pairings, which didn’t include Mickelson or Bradley.
“Give them a break in the morning, get their legs back,” he said, “and there’s a good chance they’ll go in the afternoon in some way, shape, or form. They may not go together, but they will go in the afternoon.”
—
The Americans came into Saturday with renewed hope, and left staring at a replica of the day before.
In the morning, Rose and Stenson won again in the best match of the Cup, setting a record by going -12 as a team through sixteen holes. Bubba Watson and Matt Kuchar played excellent golf alongside them, but in one stretch, Rose and Stenson birdied ten straight holes between the 7th and 16th. It was a flat-out blitzkrieg, and there was nothing the Americans could do except go down fighting, which they did, 3&2. Collectively, both teams ended at -21 for the round, another record.
That match would be the only American loss of the morning. Furyk and Mahan blew out Donaldson and Westwood, and the young Americans, Spieth and Reed, came out firing yet again, thumping Bjorn and Kaymer 5&3. In the last match, Ian Poulter holed a huge chip on the 15th hole—his first real contribution in two matches—and made a birdie on 16 to square the match. He and McIlroy split the last two holes with Fowler and Walker, who netted their third half-point in three matches.
Once more, the U.S. had won the morning session 2.5 to 1.5, reducing the overall deficit to 6.5-5.5. And once again, Tom Watson was about to undermine their progress with some breathtakingly poor decision-making.
—
Graeme McDowell and Victor Dubuisson made up the fourth and final European pairing sent out in Saturday afternoon’s alternate shot session, but they were the second team to finish. The partnership was more than six months in the making, and McGinley’s vision had already paid dividends on Friday. Now, he was asking them to come through again.
Their opponents on Saturday were Jimmy Walker and Rickie Fowler, who had just finished their third eighteen-hole match in a span of about thirty hours. The Centenary course is a difficult one to walk, with endless hills and long distances between holes. Adding to their burden, each of their matches had been an emotional odyssey, ending with no wins. What’s more, Watson put them out last, where they were likely to meet the rested McDowell/Dubuisson duo that played in the same position Friday. Once again, McGinley’s anchors had a tired, reeling opponent, fattened for the kill.
Despite his assurances from the day before, Watson sat both Bradley and Mickelson all day Saturday—both morning and afternoon. When he delivered the surprising message that they wouldn’t be playing in foursomes, Phil made a desperate appeal to his captain. He even tried a text message plea when the first entreaty failed, but this time, Watson wouldn’t be swayed. (Apparently, Webb Simpson is a more compelling texter.)
The Europeans were shocked to see one of America’s best teams kept on the bench for an entire day. As Poulter later wrote, the Euros’ excitement about their own play was matched by their mystification at Watson’s decisions, chief among them this strange slight. The only conclusion they could draw was that there was some serious disagreement going on in the U.S. camp, and that idea gave them strength.
More puzzling still, Watson wouldn’t even play Bubba Watson, who had made six birdies that morning. His gut told him instead to go with Fowler and Walker, fresh off fifty-four holes of stressful draws.
Unfortunately, Watson’s gut had proved to be a seriously unreliable organ. By the third hole of the match, Jimmy Walker was spent. He hit a shot on that hole that, in McDowell’s words, was poor even by amateur standards. The Northern Irishman sensed a deep fatigue in his opponents, and he approached Dubuisson with a simple message: “Let’s show these guys how energetic we are. Let’s show these guys how up for this we are.”
Dubuisson heeded the advice, and the blitzkrieg was on. By the ninth hole, they were already 5-up on the Americans, who were wilting in the Scottish afternoon. By the 14th hole, it was over.
In that same session, McGinley led with Lee Westwood and Jamie Donaldson. Like McDowell, McGinley saw Westwood as a strong veteran leader, and someone he could pair with a Ryder Cup rookie. Hence his captain’s pick, which left Luke Donald off the team. History was his guide; in previous Cups, Westwood had worked the same magic with rookies like Nicolas Colsaerts and Martin Kaymer.
That rookie this time was Donaldson, who had suffered through his own drama to make the team. The Welsh thirty-eight-year-old had narrowly missed making the Ryder Cup team on points when he failed to get up and down on the 18th hole at the PGA Championship in Valhalla. When he saw McGinley in the caddie room after his round, he was distraught. The captain told Donaldson he wanted him to make the team, but that it would be tough to pick a rookie—he needed to earn his way through an automatic pick. Two days later, they spoke on the phone, and McGinley helped him formulate a plan. Donaldson would go to the Czech Republic to play in the European Tour event and try to earn the twenty thousand dollars it would take to make the team. McGinley advised him to play aggressively and without fear, and Donaldson heeded his words. Not only did he make the twenty thousand; he won the tournament.
Now, Westwood and Donaldson would face Zach Johnson and Matt Kuchar, who hadn’t played together in any practice rounds in the days leading up to the competition, and were a combined 0-3 up to that point. The Europeans won on the 17th hole.
“Every credit to Paul for having the confidence to send us out again,” said Westwood, referencing their loss in the morning four-ball session. “It was a ballsy move.”
“We seem to bring out the best in each other in the foursomes,” Donaldson said.
Sergio and Rory, fresh off the dramatic halved match Friday afternoon, united again to beat Furyk and Mahan—neither of whom were having the redemptive Ryder Cup they had imagined—for the third victory of the session.
That left Spieth and Reed, the unlikely American stars, trying to hold off the European onslaught and give the Americans a shadow of a prayer.
There are elements a captain can influence, but never completely control. The Europeans were thirty-two strokes better than the Americans over three days, and while pairin
gs and strategy surely influenced that gap, it’s possible that no American captain could have overcome McGinley’s preparation and his players’ excellence.
Then there are other elements, like luck, which are beyond any influence. Spieth and Reed had been the bright spots for Team USA through two days of struggle, but even their momentum faded as the sun began to set. After leading for most of the back nine, a series of missed putts by Patrick Reed reduced their lead to a single hole with just eighteen to play. The killer blow came on the 16th, when Reed stood over a two-foot par putt that would give the Americans a 1-up edge. The crowd gasped as the ball lipped out, and Reed buckled in disbelief. As he walked up the hill to the 17th tee, he ignored the outstretched hands of his teammates as they tried to encourage him. He was a picture of steaming rage, his fists clenched, anger emanating like smoke from his body. He seemed like he might spiral out of control.
Spieth played hero on the 17th, hitting the tee shot on the par-3 to six feet. Reed never had to putt—the Europeans conceded the hole after a poor tee shot—but he did anyway, sinking the birdie for his own reasons. Watson and McGinley looked on, knowing that if Europe halved the match on the last hole, with the final point of the day at stake, it would create an almost insurmountable 10-6 deficit for the Americans heading into Sunday singles.
Reed and Kaymer hit straight drives, but Spieth and Rose put their second shots into a greenside bunker right of the pin. After Spieth’s shot, a strange, half-excited groan could be heard from the stands behind the green. Moments later, on the fairway, American vice captain Andy North stood with both hands on his head, looking on in disbelief—the ball had somehow stopped just below the back lip, on a downhill lie in the sand, blocked from a direct strike by the grass jutting over the bunker. Reed was forced to attack it sideways, landing the ball far from the pin. Kaymer, in a more reasonable position, pitched his shot to within five feet. Spieth’s putt missed, and after Rose struck his birdie attempt, he turned to his European teammates and raised his putter in triumph. The putt fell.
The fans erupted, and the Americans watched in shock. Rickie Fowler’s caddie had arrived at the scene, fresh off their loss to McDowell and Dubuisson. Soon, Miguel Angel Jimenez rode up the center of the fairway on his cart, waving the European flag like a conquering hero—he brought good news from Sergio and Rory, who had just won their match. But Rose was the real star of the moment—he had secured a crucial half-point as dusk hit Scotland on Saturday night.
—
After darkness fell, Tom Watson came into the media room and spent the next twenty minutes trying to rationalize his decisions while downplaying his own accountability. In the rare moments when he seemed to accept a measure of blame—he admitted that a fourth straight match for Fowler and Walker was perhaps not the best idea—he immediately shifted the focus back to the players, implying that Walker had disappointed them all by succumbing to fatigue. One quote in particular displayed Watson at his deflecting best:
“They got a little tired,” Watson said. “And that certainly is something that I thought they could handle, and maybe I regret not understanding that they couldn’t handle it.”
As Watson used his players for a shield, he seemed, just like the day before, insistent on following his instincts. Most of the players didn’t seem to understand the logic behind his decisions because, as they noted later, he was reluctant to bring them into the fold.
“You know, you can question my decisions on that,” he said. “That’s fine. But I was making—I get back to the point, I made the best decisions I possibly could at the time. I was making the decisions with the help of my vice captains and my guts.”
Paul McGinley didn’t need to rely on his guts. Each time he sent a wave of players out, he was off the course, in constant communication with his vice captains. He plotted his next moves according to information he had obsessively researched before the Cup, and integrated it with new data from the course. Unlike Watson, he knew his players didn’t need a cheerleader, and he had a vice captain for each group in case they did (along with a fifth to stay with the four players who weren’t playing and organize their movements). His goal was to stay a half-day ahead of the action, and never to be caught unaware.
As he spoke, I thought again about the “template” I had been mocking earlier in the week. It’s a fine way to structure a team, but it takes a man with the energy, intelligence, and personal insight to execute it. McGinley was that man and more, a charismatic CEO who has set a standard that future captains may find very difficult to match.
The legacy of this Ryder Cup, I realized, was how it answered the question of whether a captain at a golf event actually mattered: Yes. Emphatically yes. McGinley’s hand was behind each of Europe’s triumphs, and Watson’s shadow darkened every American failure.
—
Saturday night, McGinley played motivational videos for his team, one of which showed a series of American highlights. The storm might come again, and he reminded them that twice in the last fifteen years, a Ryder Cup team had come back from a 10-6 deficit—the exact score on the board that very moment. It was his last moment of leadership, and a final call to avoid complacency—the final iceberg for the unsinkable European ship.
After the twelve singles matches go out on Sunday, the influence of the captain ebbs to almost nothing. There is no more strategy—good golf is the be-all and end-all. Unrestrained, the Americans finally played with inspiration, and the scoreboard turned a dangerous shade of red. You could feel the anxiety build in the crowd, and for a moment you could allow yourself to believe that the miracle was palpable. At 2:08 p.m., I looked at the scores and realized that if every match ended at that point, the final score would be 14-14—still enough for the Europeans to retain the cup, but on the verge of tilting to an American lead.
Jordan Spieth had led the charge for the Americans in the number 1 singles spot, racing out to a 3-up lead against Graeme McDowell—just as he had raced out to a lead against Bubba Watson at the Masters and Martin Kaymer at the Players Championship. McGinley had imagined his fellow Northern Irishman in the leadoff spot for years, even before he was announced as a captain, and for a minute it appeared that this would be the rare decision that didn’t work out. But McDowell stemmed the tide, avoiding a disastrous 4-down deficit, and starting on the 10th, he began to fight his way back into the match. After making his birdie there, he marched to the 11th with a renewed ferocity, and the first signs of aggravation had appeared on Spieth’s face. The American phenom had been brilliant for the entire Ryder Cup, but now he was isolated against a veteran, and he started to resemble the disheartened, sullen golfer from Augusta and Sawgrass.
On 11, framed by the changing leaves behind him, Spieth missed his birdie and gave an angry, petulant look at the hole. When McDowell dropped his own birdie to cut the lead to 1-up, he pumped both fists—the more he had the crowd, the more Spieth would falter, and the fans roared as if they knew it, too. On 12, Spieth missed a six-footer for birdie, and just that quickly, the match was all square.
With six holes remaining, it was time to see what kind of heart Spieth could muster. As it turned out, not much—he spoke harshly to his caddie, Greller, on 13, and by 16, he was back to the old habit of yelling at himself: “Why can’t you hit a fairway to save your life!” he shouted, with McDowell in earshot. “Cannot hit one fairway.” By then, the Northern Irishman had won two more holes to go 2-up, and McGinley swung by to give him a pat on the back and a few words of encouragement.
On 17, after the tee shots, Rory McIlroy joined them, and the three Northern Irishmen walked side-by-side to the green, old conflicts fading away. Graeme hit his par putt, dropped the club, and celebrated his victory. Spieth could only complain to Andy North, and his words were muted by the European cheers. Another big moment had passed him by.
—
McIlroy could afford to join his countrymen because he had absolutely trounced Rickie Fowler, making birdie on each of the first six holes to go 5
-up out of the gate. The idea of a Rory-Rickie rivalry had become popular that season, but Rory had built an enormous psychological advantage, and you had to wonder: Was it a rivalry at all? Even before the match began, it seemed like a bad pairing for the U.S.—strong as each player was, there could be no question who would win. Rory confirmed that suspicion by killing Rickie’s spirit within the first hour, and he coasted to a 5&4 win.
The Spieth turnaround destroyed the Americans—for the miracle to happen, that match had to go their way. As long as he held on, things looked hopeful, especially with Patrick Reed fighting doggedly against Henrik Stenson in the second match. From the first tee, the European fans had been after him, with one even shouting, “Have you practiced your putting, Patrick?”—a reference to his big miss on 16 the previous afternoon. As the pressure mounted, so did his intensity. When he holed a birdie putt on the seventh, he turned to the crowd and actually shushed them, putting a finger to his mouth and grinning maniacally.
The fans hated and loved it all at once, and the boos rang down around him. Before the match was even over, the British press had dubbed him “the pantomime villain”—another blow to his ongoing attempt to avoid that pesky v-word. But he backed up the gesture, fighting off Stenson with a birdie on 18 to win 1-up and finish the event as America’s leading player with 3.5 points to his name—a continuation of his excellent match play record at Augusta State.
Kuchar, Walker, and Mickelson would also register wins on the day, and Webb Simpson, Zach Johnson, and Hunter Mahan would notch half-points. Nevertheless, by three p.m. hope had faded for the Americans, and it was just a matter of guessing who would strike the fatal blow. It turned out to be Jamie Donaldson, whose wedge into the 15th hole stopped on a dime and came to rest a foot from the hole. On a hill in the fairway, the Americans looked on forlornly, sensing the end. Walking up to the green, Keegan Bradley saw the ball, took off his hat, and set off a wild celebration from the home crowd and the men in blue.