Keegan Bradley flunked his first Ryder Cup test – but not for the reason you might think
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The US captain may have made a few ill-judged decisions on the opening day of the 45th Ryder Cup, but he was let down by the one thing that was supposed to be guaranteed…
Twelve years. Twelve years we’ve waited for this. Twelve years of constantly being told that the Black course will eat the Europeans alive. Twelve years of being warned about the raucous New York crowds. Twelve years of ‘bear pit’ chat. Twelve years of being told that this Ryder Cup will make those that went before it look tame.
So it was with a sense of trepidation that I climbed the three dozen steps into the small portion at the back of the first-tee grandstand designated to the incredibly important people of the world’s media. Booming out over Bethpage State Park was Pitbull’s 2012 bop-along Don’t Stop the Party. Turns out the party hadn’t started yet.
The first-tee grandstand for the 45th Ryder Cup is a peculiar affair. The 24 best players from either side of the Atlantic won’t be playing from the same box us normies do. That’s been moved halfway down the hill so a few thousand seats could be wedged in. The organizers also decided not to wrap the bleachers round the tee area, opting instead for a not-even-remotely-intimidating spread eagle design.
Think about the last three times this tournament was held in Europe. Rome, Paris, Scotland. All magnificent structures that encased the players, while the blue and yellow army enforced the colosseum-like vibe with a wall of song.
Back at Bethpage, though, and it suddenly felt like… well, a golf tournament.
Keegan Bradley came out before the sun had threatened the horizon and tried to wake up the dozing crowd with a call to arms – and some cringe cursing for good measure – while the DJ tried in vain to get a chant of “U-S-A” going. It seems even the American fans are bored of that.
It gave the visitors among the bleachers a chance to do what they do best: retort with some sarcasm-smothered serenading, starting with “is this a library?” to the tune of La Donna è Mobile, and telling their rivals that “you’re supposed to be at home”.
At one point, with the DJ’s Now That’s What I Call an Unimaginative Wedding Reception setlist failing to get anyone pumped up, they resorted to desperate tactics and threw a poor lady by the name of Heather out in front of the lifeless hoards. “Let’s make some noise!” she screamed-slash-pleaded. Crickets.
With 20 minutes to go until the 2025 Ryder Cup got underway, Bradley returned – this time with his vice-captains – and did some performative poses on the first tee before standing to soak in a half-hearted rendition of The Star Spangled Banner.
Where was the “tsunami of noise” that Bryson DeChambeau had promised us?
Well, it sort of arrived at the same time as he did. Cries of “We want Bryson!” and “Oh, Bryson DeChambeau” – to the tune of The White Stripes’ Seven Nation Army – rang out and then, there he was, on the big screen, draped in the flag, making his way to his adoring fans.
It was incredibly clear what the plan was. Whip the home crowd – that we had been warned about time and time again, remember? – into a frenzy and put the fear into the Europeans. The plan backfired. Why? Maybe the infamous New York sports fans don’t get up this early. (Isn’t this the city that never sleeps?) Or they only get rowdy with a little lite beer inside ‘em. Maybe it was because it isn’t the right crowd to create that kind of atmosphere due to ticket prices that required a remortgage.
The European team, seemingly fired up by the now laughable lack of atmosphere, flew out of the blocks. Over the first four matches, Europe won 22 holes to their hosts’ 10.
The boys in blue raced into a 3-0 lead. Jon Rahm and Tyrrell Hatton dispatched DeChambeau and Justin Thomas with relative ease at the 15th. Then, at the very same hole a few minutes later, Ludvig Aberg and Matt Fitzpatrick completed a comfortable victory over Russell Henley and Scottie Scheffler, who must be sick of the sight of the Swedish silent assassin. And, with barely time to catch a breath, Rory McIlroy and Tommy Fleetwood shook hands with Collin Morikawa and Harris English before their match had even crossed back over the road that separates the finishing quartet of holes from the rest of the course.
Down at the par-3 17th, where organizers have pitched a number of small bleachers and corporate hospitality tents, fans waited in their droves just to see a golf shot. That finally came when the fourth match – which had looked like a foregone conclusion when the American duo of Patrick Cantlay and Xander Schauffele went 3-up through 11, only for Viktor Hovland and Robert MacIntyre to rattle off three birdies in four holes to bring it back to all-square – arrived.
The thousands who had sat there all day, forced to watch on the big screen as the huge scoreboards frustratingly filled with blue, weren’t going to miss their opportunity.
Having stepped up to hit his team’s tee shot with the match tied, MacIntyre backed off, a nearby heckle affecting his pre-shot routine. Then came the slow chant. “Bobby! Bobby!” He caught his tee shot fat and it fell short into the bunker. Schauffele knocked it to 10 feet, and just like that, a guaranteed half point turned into a guaranteed full point on the board and the crowd were feeling it.
But then came the Commander-in-(mis)Chief himself. Air Force One pierced the blue sky and President Donald Trump was soon encased in his Perspex box, which had been specially constructed at the bottom of the grandstand behind the first tee, saluting the crowd and dancing to YMCA.
Buoyed by the sight of their glorious leader, this was now the Land of the Free-flowing lite beer, and as the Michelob went down the hatch, so did the standards.
One fan was warned by marshals that any more cursing at players would result in immediate ejection, while – in an incredibly bizarre scene befitting this unique competition – another group wearing stars-and-stripes morph suits taunted European players for the glacial pace of play. McIlroy responded with a salute of his own.
Elsewhere, some fans called on their peers to kick a stray American tee shot back into the fairway, before a group on 18 broke the silence with some calls of “Wazzup!” Remember that? So funny. So fresh.
In response, every time Captain Bradley appeared, the European fans serenaded him with a rendition of “should have picked yourself” to the tune of KC and the Sunshine Band’s Give It Up.
At one point, Bradley’s head sunk. Perhaps in agreement. Perhaps in acknowledgement that he got it horribly wrong by starting with foursomes, a format in which the Europeans generally excel.
Trailing by three going into the second day, the New Englander’s men face an uphill battle from here. The last time a team lost having led at the end of the first day was – you guessed it – 2012.
If they’re to avoid being embarrassed in their own backyard, the Americans are going to need the Bethpage brawlers to bring the noise. Otherwise, the Europeans are going to have a Fairytale of New York to add to the Miracle at Medinah.
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The first morning of the 2025 Ryder Cup felt flat as the fans failed to rise to the occasion.
