by Shane Ryan
—
That evening, on the wrong end of a 16.5-11.5 blowout, Watson was back in the hot seat, in front of the international press, this time with every member of his team beside him. For a while, it looked as though the press conference would be more or less standard—the rookies loved playing at the Ryder Cup, the veterans were disappointed, and the foursomes sessions, which finished 7-1 in favor of the Euros, made all the difference. Somebody asked Phil Mickelson to put his finger on the difference between this loss and the victory at Valhalla.
Mickelson praised Paul Azinger, and spoke about how his pod system had ensured that all the players were invested in the team’s success. Each of them could reasonably expect to know when they would play, and with whom. They had a “real game plan” then. And though he never mentioned Watson by name, the contrast in his words spoke volumes. Sensing blood, we asked for more, and the next two questions represented the most intensely awkward and fascinating moments I’ve ever witnessed at a golf press conference.
Q. That felt like a pretty brutal destruction of the leadership that’s gone on this week.
PHIL MICKELSON: Oh, I’m sorry you’re taking it that way. I’m just talking about what Paul Azinger did to help us play our best. It’s certainly—I don’t understand why you would take it that way. You asked me what I thought we should do going forward to bring our best golf out and I go back to when we played our best golf and try to replicate that formula.
Q. That didn’t happen this week?
PHIL MICKELSON: Uh (pausing) no. No, nobody here was in any decision. So, no.
That parenthetical “(pausing)” doesn’t begin to tell the story. In that moment, on Mickelson’s face, you could see the big decision play out. Was he really going to lead this public mutiny? Would he violate a longstanding code of silence and air his grievances in front of the media? The seconds ticked by, and he stared out at the room, eyes seeming to widen with each passing moment. Finally, he spoke, and the rebellion was on.
Watson wore a strained smile as Phil Mickelson attacked his captaincy from six seats away. When asked, he took the high road and chalked it up to a difference of opinion, but the room was unbearably tense. Next to Mickelson, Hunter Mahan tried to keep from smiling—a shocked sort of grin, amazed that his teammate had said something so inflammatory in such a public arena—while Keegan Bradley covered his face. Jimmy Walker smiled in disbelief at Furyk, who held up a hand as if to warn him from being too demonstrative in such a heavy moment. It became more awkward from there. When I asked for Furyk’s opinion, I inadvertently described the exchange between Phil and Watson as a “back-and-forth.” That’s when Mickelson interjected again.
“I don’t think the premise of your question is very well stated,” he said. “I don’t think that this has been back and forth.”
Awful silence reigned as the put-down hung in the air and Watson’s smile grew tighter. All eyes turned to Furyk.
“Gee, thanks,” he said, breaking some of the tension. He then gave a diplomatic answer, finishing with, “If I could put my finger on it, I would have changed this shit a long time ago.”
* * *
After that showcase, we waited for the Europeans, and all heads turned when we heard the sound of neighing coming from the door. It burst open a moment later, what I saw next was truly unforgettable: A visibly drunk Jamie Donaldson rode on Thomas Bjorn’s back, slapping his ass and shouting while Bjorn trotted ahead and neighed like a horse.
It didn’t exactly surprise me. In the celebration immediately following his win over Bradley, Donaldson had stood in the middle of a crowd of reporters, wearing a Welsh flag like a cape, and chugged an entire bottle of Moët & Chandon champagne. Since that moment, he had not been idle, and his teammates followed suit. They came soon after, each wearing the flags of their home countries around their neck. Most of them were well on the way to being drunk, and they exchanged quips from across the table.
“They always put baby in a corner,” said Westwood, eyeing his seat at the very edge. Soon after, Donaldson made an animal noise into the microphone. As Rory spoke—he had become the first player since Tom Watson in 1977 to win two majors and a Ryder Cup in the same year—Westwood popped another bottle of champagne, and Sergio yelled, “Save me a sip!” from across the table. When the questions reached Victor Dubuission, he modestly said, “I think I played well.” Rory jumped to his defense.
“You did play very well,” he said. “No one thinks you played well; you did play well.”
Earlier that week, Nick Faldo had made waves by saying on live TV that Sergio Garcia had been “useless” at the 2008 Ryder Cup in Valhalla, which he had captained in a losing effort, and Sergio brought the house down when the topic of McGinley’s captaincy came up. Westwood mentioned all the previous captains McGinley had taken advice from, including Olazabal and Langer, and Sergio couldn’t resist interrupting.
“Do you think he talked to Faldo?” he asked, and that broke the last bit of decorum as his teammates cheered and the press roared. It devolved from there—at one point, the players all sang a song mocking McGinley for wearing a vest—and soon they stumbled out into the night.
* * *
As we prepared to leave Scotland, I thought back to the end of the day’s singles matches, and two vignettes that had struck me as particularly poignant.
The first involved Patrick Reed, who had shushed the fans on the way to beating Stenson. His match over, he looked on with the rest of the Americans, upset when Donaldson hit his Cup-winning wedge. But as the group made their way to the 18th green, something strange happened—he found that the Scots loved him for what he had done, for his audacity and his spirit and, most of all, his success. They shouted his name as he walked past, and reached out to touch him. Slowly, Reed’s face turned from a set frown to a reluctant smile, and then to something like real joy. He slapped their hands and acknowledged their cries. Even though he was on a losing team, he strode like a hero for a moment—the pantomime villain turned out to be the favorite American.
Moments later, after Victor Dubuisson and Zach Johnson halved their match to bring the day to a close, I watched the massive European huddle form on the green. The champagne bottles were out, spraying everywhere, and in the middle of it all, I spotted the shy smile of Dubuisson. The other players—especially Rory—brought him in close, hugging him and drenching him with the bubbling alcohol. And even though it was in Victor’s nature to be suspicious, to resist this kind of thing, I watched him lower his defenses, if only for a moment. Through the flashbulbs and the shouting, you could see the moment when he surrendered, and the happiness overcame him.
—
Paul McGinley enjoyed the moment quietly, away from the celebrations. He was destined never to get the credit he deserved, but that was okay—it’s not why he wanted the job. To everyone else, this might have looked like an easy European victory, but he knew exactly how hard it had been. Momentum is a capricious force, but each time the Americans threatened to steal the Cup away, he was there, with two years of brilliant preparation at his back—resolved in the face of the barrage.
He had seen it from the start: The storm came, the rock survived.
* * *
* The September 11 attacks delayed the 2001 Ryder Cup, and now it’s held on even years.
27
SEASONS CHANGE
But the Ryder Cup ended, the year turned, and the storms kept coming. Tiger Woods was the rock that golf had invented for itself, and the rock couldn’t stand. The currents of change had been set loose, and now they were sweeping over the sport, eroding the monuments that had once seemed so permanent.
Tiger finally returned in February. He commanded the same fear and respect from his peers, but now their deference was based on reputation alone. It didn’t last long—his short game abandoned him, and he suffered through a humiliating 82 at the Phoenix Open. The next week, at Torrey Pines, he withdrew during the opening round with another back injury, and announced an “
indefinite break.”
While his game continued to diminish, his presence loomed larger than ever. The idea that his career might come to a premature end sent waves of anxiety through golf’s establishment. What happens to a golden age when the foundation crumbles?
The only answer is change. At home and abroad, the list of winners early in the 2015 season told a story of youth—Rory McIlroy, Martin Kaymer, Jason Day, Patrick Reed, Dustin Johnson, Matt Every, Brooks Koepka. The new wave gathered energy with each victory, and the biggest coup of all came at Augusta National in April. There, Jordan Spieth demonstrated the same extraordinary skill from 2014, but none of the self-defeating impulses. In four dreamlike days, the great white hope matched Tiger’s tournament record of -18, fought off Phil Mickelson and Justin Rose on a nervous Sunday, and became a Masters champion at age twenty-one.
With Spieth and McIlroy in the vanguard, the rising stars braced for the brave new world. Professional golf was their sport now, even if that sport was still in thrall to the icon who changed it forever.
Spring became summer, and they fought on against the myth and the memory—shadows that would linger long after the man himself had walked away.
The resilient, star-crossed Jason Day walks ahead of Tiger.
Scott Halleran/Getty Images Sport/Getty Images
Victor Dubuisson, the man of mystery, escapes from the desert at the WGC Accenture Match Play Championship. Kohjiro Kinno/Sports Illustrated/Getty Images
Tiger tries to fight off Father Time in what will be his last tournament for three months.
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Patrick Reed, the sport’s rising villain, shares the WGC trophy with Donald Trump.
Fred Vuich/Sports Illustrated/Getty Images
The irrepressible Matt Every from behind a tree at Bay Hill.
Sam Greenwood/Getty Images Sport/Getty Images
Bubba Watson at Augusta hours before his big win.
Robert Beck/Sports Illustrated/Getty Images
Seung-Yul Noh and Keegan Bradley with a soul shake in New Orleans.
Marianna Massey/Getty Images Sport/Getty Images
Martin Kaymer and Jordan Spieth on Sunday at the Players Championship.
Chris Condon/US PGA TOUR/Getty Images
The fluke, Derek Ernst, hard at work. Maddie Meyer/Getty Images Sport/Getty Images
Sunday at Pinehurst with Rickie Fowler and Kaymer.
Ross Kinnaird/Getty Images Sport/Getty Images
Rory McIlroy at Hoylake, with a sneer for the competition. Angus Murray/Sports Illustrated/Getty Images
Dustin Johnson at Hoylake, trying to chase down McIlroy.
Ian Walton/R & A/Getty Images
The wolf and the lamb. Sam Greenwood/Getty Images Sport/Getty Images
McIlroy basks in the camera glow as night falls on Valhalla.
Fred Vuich/Sports Illustrated Classic/Getty Images
Billy Horschel celebrates after a clutch putt brings him closer to $10 million.
Sam Greenwood/Getty Images Sport/Getty Images
TO EMILY
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
For a book like this, it’s inevitable that some of those who have helped me along the way will not be thrilled with the finished product. To those, I can only say that I did my best to be honest.
Before anyone else, I have to thank Chris Reimer, Joel Schuchmann, and Tom Alter at the PGA Tour for helping me gain the access I needed to make this book possible, starting at the McGladrey Classic in November 2013—and in Chris’s case, much earlier. They continued to be helpful throughout the year, as did so many others with the Tour, including Doug Milne, John Bush, Mark Stevens, Laura Neal, D. J. Piehowski, Sean Martin, Kelly Barnes, and Royce Thompson, as well as Ty Votaw and commissioner Tim Finchem. I hope the minor criticisms I’ve sprinkled in here or there won’t overshadow the immense amount of respect and admiration I have for the Tour, and the efficiency, talent, and professionalism of those who work there.
Elsewhere among golf’s governing bodies, I owe a tremendous debt to Una Jones at the PGA of America for all her help over the past two years. I’d also like to thank Julius Mason at the PGA of America, Pete Kowalski and Mary Rung at the USGA, Mike Woodcock and Mary Flanagan at the R&A, Frances Jennings and Gordon Simpson of the European Tour, and Patrick Stiegman and Chad Millman at ESPN, all of whom were extremely helpful in facilitating my access to these wonderful events.
This book would not have been remotely possible without the help of my friends and colleagues in the golf media, a group of whip-smart professionals who are funny and wise, and whom I hold in very high esteem as the best of the best. I have to recognize Doug Ferguson, a pro’s pro who was generous with his time and advice far beyond what I deserved, even in my clueless early days. I think of Stephanie Wei the same way, and without her help and knowledge and encouragement, I’d probably still be wandering the driving ranges like a timid wallflower. John Feinstein belongs with them—he could not have been kinder to someone attempting to accomplish a shadow of what he had done two decades earlier with A Good Walk Spoiled. The talented Jim Moriarty helped me both in real life and with his terrific writing, and the same could be said for Alan Shipnuck, Michael Bamberger, and Tim Rosaforte. Jason Sobel was a great resource all year as I learned about life on Tour, and a chance meeting with him at the Edinburgh airport saved me from making a very stupid mistake. Adam Schupak was a good friend and, having written Dean Beman: Golf’s Driving Force, a solid source of knowledge about the early days of the PGA Tour. Michael Collins, who was always ready with a joke or a good story or a game of Ping-Pong, agreed to speak with me about his fascinating life for the book, and would barely let me buy him dinner in return. There are countless others who helped me in large and small ways throughout the year, including Jim McCabe, Alex Miceli, Ben Everill, Bob Harig, Farrell Evans, Stephen Hennessey, Ashley Mayo, Will Gray, Ron Green, Steve Eubanks, François Scimeca, Benjamin Cadiou, Sean Zak, Igor Guryashkin, Bryan Curtis, Tommy Roy, Jeff Szklinski, Teddy Greenstein, Kevin Ryan, Bernie McGuire, Steve Elling, Curt Sampson, Brian Keogh, Stephen Schramm, Dan Weiderer, Bret Strelow, and Brian Wacker.
Great thanks go to Sam Weinman and everyone at Golf Digest for letting me write for them in 2014—it was a huge honor, and on top of that, it was a pleasure to work with you. My gratitude also goes out to Dan Fierman and Bill Simmons at Grantland, along with Tommy Craggs, Tim Marchman, and Kevin Draper at Deadspin.
To all the golfers and caddies who spoke to me over the course of the year, as well as their families, I offer my thanks. To the agents who helped me along the way, especially David Winkle and Matt Judy, who gave me insight into their side of Tour life, I’m in your debt.
To the college coaches who gave freely of their time—a list that includes Frank Darby, John Fields, Mike McGraw, Josh Gregory, Buddy Alexander, and especially Chris Haack, whose Georgia alums played so well this year that I had to call him over and over, and was pleased to find him just as helpful and interesting each time—you, too, have my thanks.
There are many others to whom I owe a debt of gratitude.
To Stephen Hamblin at the AJGA, a great storyteller with an excellent memory, for sharing his perceptive and hilarious tales of the world’s greatest golfers in their younger days.
To Steven Bunn at the College Golf Fellowship, for speaking frankly with me about his faith and his work with Christian golfers.
To Roxane Coche, who was instrumental in helping me translate interviews and articles from French to English, and did so with great speed at a time of urgency.
To Wade Liles and Johnny Thompson, for their insight into the strange and wonderful world of equipment.
To Amy Wilson, president of the PGA Tour Wives Association, for speaking to me about the life of a spouse in the traveling circus.
To Josh Jackson at Paste Magazine, for his incredible understanding and patience as the process unfolded. To Nick Purdy and family, for the shelter.
To Byrd Lea
vell, literary agent extraordinaire who should get all the credit for envisioning this book and manufacturing its existence from thin air. To Mark Tavani at Random House, who nurtured it from a rough draft into the final form you see today, and to Lucy Warburton and Melissa Smith at Aurum Press in the UK for similar services. Will Bennett’s late editing services were similarly indispensable.
To everyone who read passages of the book and gave me great advice along the way, including Will Leitch, Andrew Westney, Adam Sarson, Chris Solomon, Kyle Porter, Chris Chaney, Robert Stewart, and Spike Friedman, this belongs to you as well.
To David Allen Sibley, for his wonderful guide to trees, and to all the course superintendents and others who helped me identify flora and fauna that I couldn’t discern on my own, including Alistair Beggs, Todd Raisch, Roger Meier, Mike Giuffre, Missy Maxson, David Hallford, Don Thornburgh, and Scott Walker.
To Wes Anderson and Stuart Murdoch.
To my wonderful family, including my parents, Tom Ryan and Kathy Fisch; my stepfather, Tom Fisch; my grandparents Harold and Joyce Ryan and Tom and Clare Cowell, Tommy and Carol, Maureen and Jim; and my three siblings—Thomas, Keegan, and Shannon—I thank you for the support.
To my best friend, Brandon Gardner, for a lifetime of inspiration.