Ryder Cup under close scrutiny

Not since the Olympics crawled out of Atlanta in disarray six years ago has a major international sporting event faced such a searching trial. The Ryder Cup's very existence as a safe haven for corinthianism is under threat. That might be why the organisers chose, as one of their sponsors, the manufacturers of Viagra, those masters of keeping spirits up.

The bookmakers, Sporting Index, are offering a novelty wager called the 'I'm a celebrity, get me out of here' bet, which is 10-1 Colin Montgomerie having to withdraw through injury before the weekend is out. 'I'm an ordinary member of the public, get me in there,' is a more appropriate motif for an event that has adopted the hedgehog position, with armed police turning the perimeter of the Belfry into the kind of place where world leaders hold major summits.

Now that so many American players believe that they are entitled to be paid for playing in the "Rarder Cup", as the southerners among them call it - and have threatened to jump on the first plane home if war breaks out in Iraq - it's legitimate to wonder whether this Brummie 'ring of steel' is intended to keep terrorists out or some of the contestants in.

There are strong grounds for at least asking whether the Ryder Cup has lost its innocence and its raison d'etre. After the frenzy and chauvinism of Brookline three years ago, golf seemed to be losing its struggle to remain what Sam Torrance, Europe's captain, called yesterday "a fair, honest sport" in which 24 millionaires live out Sam Ryder's vision, in 1927, of a competition that was designed to "influence a cordial, friendly and peaceful feeling throughout the whole civilised world".

Language evolves, and we cut to this, from Curtis Strange, the US captain, yesterday: "I think it's going to be a wonderful match. They're going to play their asses off. I think they're going to beat each others' brains out." Seeing that on the page, you might be surprised to discover that the Ryder Cup went away for a year and came back as A Clockwork Orange. Strange was just playing the impresario - appealing to the competitive urges of his team. He was not to know that the police presence was already encouraging some visitors to imagine tomorrow's tee-off as the Crips against the Bloods.

The natural state of American team games is loosely controlled frenzy. In a society built around the individual and its talents and liberties, the American 'team' lean towards the manic - to the extent that even the traditionally icy David Duval was seen whipping up the whoopers and hollerers in the Brookline crowd.

The irony is that the US-Europe rivalry in golf is largely contrived, in the sense that the leading players compete on both continents and share the same clubhouses and high-minded culture. To effect a biennial split in that cosy world of good manners and sensible clothing requires a certain artificiality: fake antipathy, which the Belfry is trying to control by selling booze by the barrel in the tented areas but banning it on the course.

So much of this Ryder Cup build-up has been about trying to strike a balance between healthy rivalry and dumb tub-thumping. It's hard to think of another showcase 'event' that has taken so many hits in such a short stretch of time. Brookline, and the American invasion of the 17th green during the Justin Leonard-Jose Maria Olazabal match (not to mention the hounding of Montgomerie from the galleries) was the nadir.

Incremental damage has been inflicted since by Tiger Woods's admission that he would rather win an American Express-sponsored Tour event (the subsequent retraction was unconvincing), and the neurosis over security, which will render a trip to the Belfry something of an ordeal for all but special pass-brandishing VIPs.

Let's say this at full volume: there is no link between the Ryder Cup or any golf tournament and September 11, beyond the fact that an outpouring of compassion and the unwillingness of some American players to travel prompted the Ryder Cup committee to announce a postponement this time last year. End of story. Questions about how the players "are dealing with the September 11 issue" are preposterous.

How are American embassy officials or visiting lecturers or US journalists in London dealing with the September 11 issue? Does anyone ever ask them? It remains a mystery why the golfing fraternity put themselves in a special category of risk, or loaded a single event with so much added melodrama, solely on the basis that they decided not to go ahead with it when it was originally scheduled to take place.

If the jingoism and yobbery of Brookline is reined back, it ought to be because golf has a tradition of gentility, not because behaving badly might offend the relatives of those who died at the World Trade Centre and beyond. And if players keep moaning about having to attend social functions or practising at inconvenient times (Woods again), they should be reminded that golf is the only sport that can get 24 millionaires to give up one week in 104 to play for something other than mountains of crisply ironed cash. Woods has a Himalayan range of the stuff already and should be content to give something back.

Tomorrow we leap into this swirling pot of high ideals, resentments, nerves, rhetoric, novelty bets and fourball and foursome alliances between men who spend the rest of the year trying to ruin each others' lives. The Ryder Cup makes a pack animal out of the lone wolf. "It's a huge deal for these players. You're playing for a lot of pride, you're playing for your country," Strange assured us. "It's like having a child. You can't explain what it's like until you have one," Torrance suggested. Having rolled in a 21-foot putt here in 1985 to secure Europe's first victory since 1957, Torrance ought to have no trouble explaining to the four rookies the Cup's life-altering potential.

The Americans, though, hold the copyright on locker-room bravado. Hal Sutton promised that he would be "running my mouth and pumping my fist" if Strange leaves him on the sidelines. Strange described the tactical mission in each match thus: "Punch, counter-punch, snuff him out." As Peter Dobereiner, the great Observer golf correspondent, observed: "Everyone gets wounded in a game of golf. The trick is not to bleed." The event's prime attraction is in seeing highly individualistic athletes re-tune themselves to matchplay, become part of a team, look outside themselves.

To that end the Europeans have been watching a 15-minute motivational video. "It's all great shots by each of the 12 guys with some great background music - thumping music. We play it and it really lifts them," explained Torrance, who has kitted out the European caddies in cashmere to help make them feel more than mere bag-carriers.

In defiance of time, meanwhile, the Americans have stuck with the 2001 logo that was issued before the postponement. "We have it on our hats, we have it on our bags. We have a couple of wonderful posters in the team rooms," Strange remarked. Respectful gestures aside, the last thing this Ryder Cup needs is to carry the weight of world affairs. The most sensible thing Strange said yesterday was this: "Everyone knows why we're a year late. That's enough."