In no other event could a putt like Bradley’s on Friday morning of the first session elicit a reaction akin to a major championship-winning celebration. It’s in the atmosphere, channeled by the crowd. It’s become the deciding factor in recent Ryder Cup history, and it’s the main character for this Ryder Cup at Bethpage Black, billed to be as raucous a scene that has existed in the sport. It’s expected to be fervent, joyous, vicious, and, importantly, have a material impact on who wins and loses. In that way, the Ryder Cup is an unmatched, intoxicating spectacle. A three-day event played every two years between 24 players, whose merit and viability are endlessly dissected for the better part of 18 months. An event that shirks the modern trappings of pro golf – money, status, trophies – and relies and thrives on national pride. It’s an exhibition, yet the results push players to tears of joy and heartbreak, spur heated arguments, and linger with players longer than their worst individual defeats. It’s singular in the sport. That is also why it contorts players into a mental pretzel like no other competition. One where Bradley nearly passes out after holing a putt and where the first tee shot is the biggest challenge of the round. It’s a test of skill, yes, yet what dictates the outcome is much more elemental.
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