Every game in every sport has that moment where you just know it’s over. Whether by destiny or by fate or simply by the arc of history, the impending chain of events will play out by rules higher than those of the competition immediately at hand.
For the 37th Ryder Cup, played Sept. 16 to 21 at Valhalla Golf Club in Louisville, Ky., Hunter Mahan provided that moment.
I’ve never been a big fan of golf. Along with NASCAR, it’s the kind of Sunday TV that’s made for quality napping. I normally watch the Sunday rounds of the big events: the U.S. Open to watch the pros get humbled and scrape home with a par for the weekend; the Masters for the azalea and dogwoods and Amen Corner; and the British Open to watch the game played at ancient St. Andrews or solemn Carnoustie.
Despite finding golf on TV only a few notches this side of coma-inducing, I do appreciate the beauty and splendor of the sport. While the boredom stems mostly from my horrid ineptitude at hitting a golf ball and the accompanying admiration of anyone who can hit one well, the visual of white ball on green fairway with a crystal blue sky backdrop is enough to make me care ever so slightly.
The Ryder Cup is different though. Especially in an Olympic year, when sports all through the summer have been geared toward fostering the us v. them mentality, this is a competition that presents golf in a whole new way. It’s not one man against the field, the way a normal tournament runs; it’s played as a team, even when the singles matches must be played alone. You must stand with your teammates and hold their success or failure as your own.
The Sunday showdown between Mahan and Paul Casey was a microcosm of the weekend as a whole. Starting Friday morning, the Yanks managed to surge to a quick 3-1 lead in the morning matches, then staved off the Europeans through two more rounds of foursomes and four-ball.
Almost the entire day Sunday, Mahan had held the lead. Here and there, he’d picked up one hole, now two, now back to one. Mahan and Anthony Kim were the linchpins of captain Paul Azinger’s strategic gamble: In an event where the Sunday singles usually feature experienced, marquee names at the front end, Azinger had sent out two of his rookies.
But on hole 16, Casey finally got his break. Mahan floundered in the rough after his approach rolled off the back of the green, while Casey was able to waltz to a birdie to win the hole and bring the match to all square. As the pairing headed to 17, momentum not only was on Casey’s side — it was practically carrying his bags.
The tee shots seemed to dig Mahan even deeper: Casey was sitting pretty in the middle of the fairway, while Mahan was toiling from the semi-rough. The approach put Mahan one foot in the grave: he was 40 feet away, Casey half that.
Then, the shot.
It left Mahan’s putter with the desperation of a half-court try to beat the buzzer. It had too much speed, not the right line; Casey would win the hole and probably the match, and the Europeans would be on their way to another Ryder romp.
As Mahan’s ball flew across the green, it came to encounter a nifty little ridge, the kind installed by a course architect that beckons for the U.S. Open, but drives up handicaps of the club’s mere mortal members. The ball played off it more as a ricochet than a break, making a sudden hard right toward the cup.
But it still had too much speed. Sure, now the line was good, but at this rate it would just hop on over and all that great shot would be for naught.
Front of the cup.
Bounce.
Back of the cup.
In.
I exploded off the sofa with an exuberance I usually reserve for football and lacrosse. I clutched the remote in a death-grip and screamed in primal glee as Mahan did the same. The flag-waving crowd produced noise never before heard on a golf course, urged on by Mahan’s wild gesticulations and stomping.
Mahan, unfortunately, couldn’t hold his one-up lead and allowed Casey to sneak back and halve the match on 18. But his putt accomplished something more. It fired up the wildly jingoistic crowd and gave it the energy with which it boosted other Americans over the course of the day. Kentuckians Kenny Perry and J.B. Holmes both played masterfully through their respective back nines, the Anthony Kim-to-open gamble paid off, and Jim Furyk sealed the deal with a 2-and-1 victory against Miguel Angel Jimenez.
For the first time since the Miracle at Brookline in 1999, the American team members were Ryder Cup champions. Without Tiger Woods and against a European team that was as hot as any collection of players in the world. After nine years of embarrassment, one simple shot meant Azinger & Company could hold their heads up high.
Mahan’s putt may not have won his match, but it won the U.S. the Ryder Cup.
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