The Ryder Cup: Golf's Greatest Event

Chapter 1

DRAMA AT VALDERRAMA

It wasn't supposed to end this way.

Tiger Woods, Justin Leonard, Jim Furyk, Fred Couples, Davis Love III, Mark O'Meara, and the rest of the U.S. Ryder Cup team could only stand helplessly exposed in front of a worldwide audience as Seve Ballesteros held aloft the much-coveted gold cup, a gesture of victory in what had become golf's premier international event.

The Ryder Cup isn't that big or heavy a trophy, though it is made of gold. But Seve seemed to be straining a bit, almost as if he were holding up not only the cup but the large, gray, cloud-filled sky above it. Despite his imposing strength, his arms quivered slightly. Ballesteros, the Atlas of Europe, could not hold up the Ryder Cup forever—but the wide, sparkling grin on his olive-skinned face implied that he would sure try.

Surrounding him were his fellow team players, their hair pasted back or flattened on their heads by rain and their clothes disheveled from literally jumping for joy; a few were already tipsy from champagne. At that moment no amount of money could have increased their ecstasy. It was impossible not to notice the contrast between the European team and the chanting, umbrella-holding, gleeful crowd behind them—and the dour, despondent U.S. squad.

The appearance of the stunned and frustrated Americans that September evening in Sotogrande was almost a mirror image of the scene at the 1995 Ryder Cup two years earlier. At Oak Hills, outside Rochester, New York, the U.S. contingent was forced to witness the European players and captain celebrate their triumph, taking back the cup the Americans had won under Tom Watson in1993.

But 1997 should have been different. The Americans were favored, even with the treacherous winds of Valderrama. They simply could not lose a Ryder Cup Match twice in a row. They fielded a team of players that was perhaps the strongest since the 1981 squad. That now-legendary team had included Jack Nicklaus, Lee Trevino, Johnny Miller, Raymond Floyd, Ben Crenshaw, Tom Watson, Larry Nelson, and Tom Kite, among others. They had not only beaten the Europeans but had humbled them 18 1/2-9 1/2 at Walton Heath in England, the margin of victory so wide that it was reasonable to believe that Europe would never take back the Ryder Cup. And the 1997 team had Kite as its captain. He was a proven winner—nineteen PGA Tour events, the U.S. Open in 1992—and no American had earned more money on tour.

"The United States team assembled for the Valderrama Match was one of the strongest ever assembled," stated Neil Coles, chairman of the PGA European Tour, who had played on eight British Ryder Cup teams.

That Sunday in Spain the U.S. players staged a furious, Arnold Palmer-like charge to try to wrest the Ryder Cup from Europe's grasp. It had almost been the greatest single-day comeback since the Ryder Cup Matches officially began in 1927.

Still, as they watched their rival's euphoria and the start of a celebration that would last well into the warm, salt-aired night, that comeback couldn't wash the bitter taste of defeat from the Americans' mouths. They had no choice but to wait two long years for another stab at the Ryder Cup. At least this time it would be on their own turf, in Brookline, Massachusetts.

In 1967 the American team captain, Ben Hogan, had introduced his U.S. team by saying that "these are the best golfers in the world." At the time this was not hyperbole but the honest truth. And up to the 1980s any U.S. Ryder Cup captain could have made the same proclamation without much argument.

But in September 1997, as the shell-shocked Americans looked on—with the Battle of Brookline and the possibility of redemption an eternity away—the U.S. players knew that as far as millions of golf fans around the world were concerned, what Hogan had said in 1967 was no longer true.

Part of the reason the U.S. so badly wanted to win the Ryder Cup in 1997 was that the tournament that year was receiving an unprecedented amount of media attention. If the Americans were going to avenge their loss of 1995, there was no better time to do it than when a hefty portion of the world population was watching, listening, and reading about it.

What was the big deal about the Ryder Cup? After all, to some it was little more than an exhibition match, a fairly friendly outing among Americans, Englishmen, Scotsmen, Irishmen, and Spaniards, with a Swede or Italian or German thrown in. And, for goodness' sake, there wasn't even any prize money involved. These millionaire athletes were congregating every two years to scrum over a cup that, if sold, would retail for less than the round-trip airfare used to get to the Ryder Cup course. Fortunately, golf fans and the participants and officials involved knew what was at stake.

Television rights had been purchased at prices that were unthinkable a decade earlier: over $4.5 million. The number of trees felled to produce coverage in newspapers and magazines probably made a big dent in the Brazilian rain forest, and passes to the competition were as valued as winning lottery tickets. Around the globe the match was referred to as the "Drama at Valderrama."Chapter 1: Ryder Cup

DRAMA AT VALDERRAMA

It wasn't supposed to end this way.

Tiger Woods, Justin Leonard, Jim Furyk, Fred Couples, Davis Love III, Mark O'Meara, and the rest of the U.S. Ryder Cup team could only stand helplessly exposed in front of a worldwide audience as Seve Ballesteros held aloft the much-coveted gold cup, a gesture of victory in what had become golf's premier international event.

The Ryder Cup isn't that big or heavy a trophy, though it is made of gold. But Seve seemed to be straining a bit, almost as if he were holding up not only the cup but the large, gray, cloud-filled sky above it. Despite his imposing strength, his arms quivered slightly. Ballesteros, the Atlas of Europe, could not hold up the Ryder Cup forever—but the wide, sparkling grin on his olive-skinned face implied that he would sure try.

Surrounding him were his fellow team players, their hair pasted back or flattened on their heads by rain and their clothes disheveled from literally jumping for joy; a few were already tipsy from champagne. At that moment no amount of money could have increased their ecstasy. It was impossible not to notice the contrast between the European team and the chanting, umbrella-holding, gleeful crowd behind them—and the dour, despondent U.S. squad.

The appearance of the stunned and frustrated Americans that September evening in Sotogrande was almost a mirror image of the scene at the 1995 Ryder Cup two years earlier. At Oak Hills, outside Rochester, New York, the U.S. contingent was forced to witness the European players and captain celebrate their triumph, taking back the cup the Americans had won under Tom Watson in 1993.
But 1997 should have been different. The Americans were favored, even with the treacherous winds of Valderrama. They simply could not lose a Ryder Cup Match twice in a row. They fielded a team of players that was perhaps the strongest since the 1981 squad. That now-legendary team had included Jack Nicklaus, Lee Trevino, Johnny Miller, Raymond Floyd, Ben Crenshaw, Tom Watson, Larry Nelson, and Tom Kite, among others. They had not only beaten the Europeans but had humbled them 181        2-91        2 at Walton Heath in England, the margin of victory so wide that it was reasonable to believe that Europe would never take back the Ryder Cup. And the 1997 team had Kite as its captain. He was a proven winner—nineteen PGA Tour events, the U.S. Open in 1992—and no American had earned more money on tour.
"The United States team assembled for the Valderrama Match was one of the strongest ever assembled," stated Neil Coles, chairman of the PGA European Tour, who had played on eight British Ryder Cup teams.

That Sunday in Spain the U.S. players staged a furious, Arnold Palmer-like charge to try to wrest the Ryder Cup from Europe's grasp. It had almost been the greatest single-day comeback since the Ryder Cup Matches officially began in 1927.

Still, as they watched their rival's euphoria and the start of a celebration that would last well into the warm, salt-aired night, that comeback couldn't wash the bitter taste of defeat from the Americans' mouths. They had no choice but to wait two long years for another stab at the Ryder Cup. At least this time it would be on their own turf, in Brookline, Massachusetts.

In 1967 the American team captain, Ben Hogan, had introduced his U.S. team by saying that "these are the best golfers in the world." At the time this was not hyperbole but the honest truth. And up to the 1980s any U.S. Ryder Cup captain could have made the same proclamation without much argument.

But in September 1997, as the shell-shocked Americans looked on—with the Battle of Brookline and the possibility of redemption an eternity away—the U.S. players knew that as far as millions of golf fans around the world were concerned, what Hogan had said in 1967 was no longer true.

Part of the reason the U.S. so badly wanted to win the Ryder Cup in 1997 was that the tournament that year was receiving an unprecedented amount of media attention. If the Americans were going to avenge their loss of 1995, there was no better time to do it than when a hefty portion of the world population was watching, listening, and reading about it.

What was the big deal about the Ryder Cup? After all, to some it was little more than an exhibition match, a fairly friendly outing among Americans, Englishmen, Scotsmen, Irishmen, and Spaniards, with a Swede or Italian or German thrown in. And, for goodness' sake, there wasn't even any prize money involved. These millionaire athletes were congregating every two years to scrum over a cup that, if sold, would retail for less than the round-trip airfare used to get to the Ryder Cup course. Fortunately, golf fans and the participants and officials involved knew what was at stake.

Television rights had been purchased at prices that were unthinkable a decade earlier: over $4.5 million. The number of trees felled to produce coverage in newspapers and magazines probably made a big dent in the Brazilian rain forest, and passes to the competition were as valued as winning lottery tickets. Around the globe the match was referred to as the "Drama at Valderrama."


From the Trade Paperback edition.