Histrionics part of Ryder Cup folklore

THE younger generation may have gained the impression that the misbehaviour which marred the 1999 Ryder Cup at Brookline was the first sign of trouble in a competition launched by wealthy British seed merchant Samuel Ryder back in 1927 to foster good relations between the people of the United States and Britain.

It succeeded in meeting Mr Ryder’s ideal, at least for a few years, not least because the Americans won most of the time and, anyway, their public hadn’t cottoned on to the idea.

They didn’t seem to notice when Britain (no Irish or continentals in those days) captured the trophy at Moortown, Leeds, in 1929 and at Southport & Ainsdale, Lancs, in 1933. Apart from those two blips, they had things pretty much to themselves and even the introduction of Irish players in 1947, the first contest immediately after the war, failed to check the imbalance.

It continued until 1957 when the little-known Lindrick course near Sheffield was the unlikely venue for a famous victory for the home side. Christy O’Connor and Harry Bradshaw played significant roles in the

outcome.

It was that year, too, when it became obvious to the public that the harmony and team spirit apparent on the course wasn’t always reflected by what was going on behind closed doors.

Nor was the ill-feeling confined to differences of opinion between the rival teams; very often there was friction within each camp and most especially among B & I players.

In 1957, for instance, Harry Weetman and Max Faulkner agreed to stand down from the final day singles matches because of a loss of form. That should have made things easy for Dai Rees, the playing captain of the day, until he was approached by the press who demanded a statement.

Weetman, a volatile Englishman, had told them: “I will never play again in a team captained by Dai Rees.”

The little Welshman held his counsel until the match had ended in victory by seven-and-a-half to four-and-a-half for his team. Weetman was then called before the PGA committee and suspended for a year, a sentence later reduced at the instigation of Rees.

There was aggro too, between the rival teams in 1957. American Tommy Bolt was renowned for a fiery temper and after being beaten by Scot Eric Brown, snarled: “I guess you won but I didn’t enjoy it one bit.” To which Brown replied: “Nor would I have done after the licking I have just given you.”

Bolt stormed off to the locker room and turned on the crowd: “They were the worst in the world. They roared when their guys won, cheered when I missed a putt and sat on their hands if I played a good shot. Good relations, hell! Don’t make me sick.”

The 1969 match at Royal Birkdale which ended in the first tie (16-16) is best remembered for an outstanding piece of sportsmanship by Jack Nicklaus. His opponent Tony Jacklin had a two foot putt to halve their match and the overall result when Nicklaus picked up his marker, offered his hand with a smile and said: “I am sure you would have holed it but I was not prepared to see you miss.”

Other members of the American team, however, had a far different approach. Ken Still and Dave Hill sounded like they were looking for trouble. On the first morning, Maurice Bembridge had to ask Still not to move as he as he stood over his tee shot on the 13th. The American responded theatrically by pushing everyone, caddies, players and officials, from their customary places. When the ball struck him after an attempted bunker recovery, Still said nothing until his partner Lee Trevino declared “it hit you, didn’t it” and strode to the next tee.

On the second day, Still teamed up with Hill and that’s when the fun began in earnest. Both Americans were asked to move at different times as Bernard Gallacher and Brian Huggett were putting and the little Welshman eventually snapped: “I want you behind me from now on.”

Further acrimonious words were exchanged until it came to a climax at the par three seventh where Still putted out of turn. When this was pointed out, he raged: “You can have the hole and the goddamn cup.”

Everything changed for the worst, sportsmanship wise, through the 80s as Europe won in 1985 and in 87 for the first time on American soil, then retained the cup in 89 after a 14-14 draw and Christy O’Connor Junior’s memorable two iron to the 18th in his shock defeat of Fred Couples.

Could the Yanks take it? It didn’t seem like it if what happened at Kiawah Island in 1991 was a reliable yardstick.

The Gulf War was just over and the Americans gung ho. It’s relatively recent history how Bernhard Langer failed with a putt on the 18th which, if successful, would have meant the trophy remaining in European hands.

The BBC’s Peter Alliss wondered whether it wasn’t just as well he missed it, saying: “If Langer had holed that putt and Europe had halved the match and kept the trophy, there might have been trouble, even fisticuffs.”

But the cup was back in American hands and remained so after 1993 at The Belfry. Peace broke out and to be fair, the Americans took it reasonably well after losing at Oak Hill in 1995 and two years later at Valderrama.

Captains this week, Curtis Strange and Torrance, were men prepared to shed blood in search of Ryder Cup victory in their own day. But they are adamant that players and spectators alike should, and indeed must, behave a lot better on this occasion.