A quarter past six on Friday morning. The sun is not even up but the fans outside the gates at Gleneagles have been awake for hours. They have travelled from a way away already, since there are so few places to stay in this neck of Scotland. Only the players, officials and their families are at the grand hotel, the bright lights of which are providing pretty much the only illumination around the Centenary course. At this hour everything is serene. It is the last time it will feel that way until late in the day, when night has come and the throng has gone.
At half past the gates are opened. And by twenty to the 2,000-odd seats in the horseshoe-shaped grandstands at the 1st tee are all full. Prime real estate, this, but it will be another hour before the fans who are lucky enough to have got a spot have anything to watch. It is a long, cold wait in the dark. By seven the sky above the Ochils was at last starting to turn pink. And the 1st hole, 442 yards long, was fringed right round with fans packed 10 or more deep.
They were an odd mix. Spaniards, Danes, Germans, French and, of course, English, Irish, Welsh and Scots – all united only by their love of the Ryder Cup and their mutual animus towards the Americans. There was a knot of USA fans in one stand, conspicuous by the small Stars and Stripes flags attached to their hats. One stood to lead the first cheer. “Give me a ‘U’! Give me an ‘A’!” Oh. She sat back down, to the sound of derisory hoots and jeers.
It was the loudest noise of the morning until the captains appeared from out of the tunnel that runs down to the 1st tee. Tom Watson was offered a respectful ovation, which he received with – what else? – a polite tip of his cap. Paul McGinley, on the other hand, started pumping his fist, encouraging the crowd to get to their feet. You could see him swelling with pride as the volume rose. By the time the first group of players, Bubba Watson and Webb Simpson, Justin Rose and Henrik Stenson, arrived there were so many people stamping their feet on the floorboards that it sounded as if a freight train was running past the back of the grandstand.
Even the experienced old announcer, Ivor Robson, fluffed his lines. He said that Watson would be taking the first shot of the Cup even as Simpson was addressing his ball. The European fans made a running joke of it, calling out “Now on the tee – Bubba Watson” each time an American stepped up. They had a repertoire of songs too, one for each player, the wittier ones concocted and conducted by a choir sponsored by a travel company. When left to their own devices, most of the spectators were happy to stick with old stalwarts like “Ole! Ole! Ole!” The US debutant Patrick Reed said he found it all so intense he “could hardly breathe”.
Watson himself made a great play of stepping back from the ball, once, twice, three times, to cup his hand to his ear and urge the crowd to shout louder still. When he did decide to take his shot, he did not even wait for silence to fall. He just played through the uproar. He might have regretted that, since he sent the drive way left into the rough. He still fared better than Simpson, who popped the very first shot of the tournament to the near edge of the fairway, scarcely 200 yards on from the tee. He was even giddier than the confused deer that burst on to the fairway a few moments later.
Rose giggled after Simpson’s poor shot and Watson rebuked him for it. Watson is always an ornery sort when out on course. A little later in the round, on the 8th, he hit his drive right into the crowd by the side of the green. As soon as the ball fell, an enthusiastic American fan shrieked, scurried towards it and stooped to pick it up. She dropped it as if it was hot before the dozens of fans around here had even finished screaming “NO!” Watson arrived soon after, in a funk, and barked at the spectators who were trying to take pictures of him on their phones. “Put your phones down!” he said. “Come on! Show some respect!”
It was a good thing he had not been there to see what happened a few moments earlier. His head might have exploded. She moved the ball only a foot or so but it had been sitting on top of the rough when she picked it up and was nestled down into it after she dropped it. Phil Mickelson snapped too and told a cameraman “Just cover the golf. Don’t interfere.” At the Ryder Cup the crowds, and the camp followers allowed inside the ropes, are another hazard to be negotiated, along with the bunkers, burns and trees.
