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ROME — Rory McIlroy was still fuming late Saturday night.

He was a little embarrassed too, but he also felt his anger was justified. Video of him shouting expletives at Jim “Bones” McKay in the parking lot of Marco de Simone had gone viral a few hours earlier, but Bones wasn’t actually the target of his anger. Bones just happened to be the first American that McIlroy encountered outside the locker room when he was leaving the course, still pissed off about what happened at the end of his match that afternoon against Patrick Cantlay.

McIlroy and Cantlay are not friends, and at times there has been tension between them over the financial future of the PGA Tour, but on the course, there had always been mutual respect. Yet when Cantlay’s caddie Joe LaCava danced around the 18th green on Saturday night, waving his hat for nearly 30 seconds after Cantlay made a long birdie putt, McIlroy felt like one of golf’s admittedly quirky but also clear lines of etiquette had been crossed. You don’t interfere with a player when he’s lining up a putt in a match, and you sure as hell don't do it if you’re a caddie. McIlroy and Matt Fitzpatrick still had a pair of putts left and a chance to tie the hole. LaCava continued a heated exchange with Shane Lowry even as McIlroy crouched down to read his line.

“We talked about it as a team last night,” McIlroy said. “We felt like it was disrespectful, and it wasn't just disrespectful to Fitz and I. It was disrespectful to the whole team.”


He couldn’t let it go, especially after losing the match. “I felt like I played the match in the right spirit, and I don’t feel like that spirit was reciprocated to me,” McIlroy said.


When he saw Bones on his way to the car an hour later, his anger returned.

“It’s a fucking disgrace!” McIlroy shouted as his wife, Erica, and also Lowry, managed to stuff him into the back of a courtesy car. “It can’t fucking happen!” When he got to the team hotel, Lowry dragged him down to the cold tubs and told him to cool down, literally and figuratively. By the time he climbed into bed, he was exhausted, but still buzzing.

“Erica and I put on the Calm App and listened to a sleep story, and that actually helped me fall asleep,” he said.

When he woke, he was rested but still wasn’t sure he was ready to let the incident go. He reached for a copy of Marcus Aurelius’ “Meditations,” which he’d brought with him to Rome.

“I've studied Stoicism for a while and read a lot of those sort of books,” McIlroy said. “I just thought as a former emperor of Rome and seeing that we are in Rome, I thought it would be a good time to revisit some of his thoughts, and I revisited them on the way to the course.”


“Humility and gentleness,” McIlroy said. “Those are better virtues than being frustrated and angry.”


If you wanted to be reminded why the Ryder Cup is so much better than other events staged within the universe of professional golf — why it’s the only tournament that could enrage a 4-time major winner over a small grievance and then send him running to Marcus Aurelius for wisdom — then this week was a delight.

You’ll be able to visit Wikipedia in the near and distant future and remind yourself that Europe won the 2023 Ryder Cup by a score of 16 ½ to 11 ½, and that it held serve for the seventh straight time at home. But the score and the match results won’t properly tell the tale of what happened. Somehow, it was both closer than the point totals will suggest, and yet also ultimately a blowout very few saw coming. A surreal controversy over a hat, and whether or not it represented a fashion choice or a principled protest, became a major storyline. A new Ryder Cup stalwart (Max Homa) emerged for the U.S., as well as one for the Europeans (Viktor Hovland) and an old European lion (Justin Rose) inched his way toward the sunset with one last signature moment.

In the middle of it all was McIlroy, who delivered the best Ryder Cup performance of his career, going 4-1. No other player earned as many points. He may not be the best golfer in the world at age 34. He may have gone a full decade without winning a major. But he remains the game’s central figure, whether you admire him or you’re exhausted by him. He puts it all out there, his heart on the sleeve of his quarter zip, even in times when he knows he ought to dial it back.


Two years ago, he wept openly at Whistling Straits, both in the arms of his wife and during a pair of television interviews, convinced he had let his team down. That moment was on his mind prior to this week.


“I don’t know that I’d ever felt so low, not just in a Ryder Cup but in my career,” McIlroy said. “And the fact that the team had the confidence in me to send me No. 1 that Sunday and for me to go and get a point, you can trace my form back for the last couple of years back to that Sunday in Whistling Straits. It meant the world to me that these guys believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself. To have a group around you like that, it means the world to me.”

No one can say whether there will be more majors in his future. But there will certainly be more Ryder Cups. The next two — at Bethpage Black in New York in 2025 and Adare Manor in Limerick, Ireland in 2027 — could be a big piece of McIlroy’s legacy.


“I've said this for the last probably six or seven years to anyone that will listen: I think one of the biggest accomplishments in golf right now is winning an away Ryder Cup,” McIlroy said in the European press conference. “And that's what we're going to do at Bethpage.”

He slapped the table in front of him as he said it. His teammates roared in approval.

If nothing else, you had to admire the audacity.

Patrick Cantlay is not someone who cares much about whether or not he is admired. He cares about hitting good golf shots and about getting compensated financially for it. He has expressed to numerous people in the ecosystem of golf that he believes players should be compensated for playing in the Ryder Cup. He declined the opportunity to discuss it this week, but his beliefs are hardly a secret. Stefan Schauffele, Xander Schauffle’s father, was happy to confirm as much with reporters, admitting in an interview near the putting green Sunday morning that he has been advising both his son and Cantlay on such matters.

“If the PGA of America is a for-profit organization, they need to have the players share in that profit instead of being so damned intransparent about it with intent,” Stefan Schauffele said. “They should reveal the numbers, and then we should go to the table and talk. Alternatively, they can donate all proceeds after opening the books to a charity of our joint choice, and then we will happily play for free. Please print that.”

Both Ryder Cup captains, Luke Donald and Zach Johnson, gave forceful answers when asked to weigh in on whether players deserve to get paid for the competition.


“Absolutely not,” Donald said. “What the Ryder Cup represents. It represents true sport. You saw it with some of the passion at the end there [with McIlroy.] It's a passionate event. It's about pride. It's about representing your country. It's about coming together as a team. It's the purest form of competition we have, and I think because of that, the fans love it. There's no extrinsic motivation involved. It's purely, purely sport. That's what makes it so special.”

“When it comes to the dollar sign, I don't mean to sound cliché, but the Ryder Cup is about more than any of that,” Johnson said. “It's about standing with a band of guys to represent your nation, to represent more than you in the game of golf. It's a sport for one week. And you know what, I would say if there's anything that deals with money, there's guys that would pay to play in this.”

Whether or not Cantlay’s stance on the matter was connected to his decision this week to play golf without a hat remains a matter of dispute. He denied a Sky Sports report that framed his decision as a silent protest, saying only that he couldn’t find a hat that fit, but other outlets — including No Laying Up — have been told similar information from multiple sources. Whether it was an actual protest or an anecdote shared and then re-shared via a messy game of telephone will probably take weeks to sort out, but at the moment, the story spread rapidly through the galleries on Saturday, and it clearly galvanized both Cantlay and the Americans.

Cantlay, typically not someone who displays any emotion on the course, grinned often at the crowd as they sang songs about his hat and his bank account, and then he kept making birdies to keep any chance of an American comeback alive. It was reminiscent, in some ways, of Patrick Reed’s best Ryder Cup performances, rounds when he channeled the crowd’s negative energy into something spectacular.

“I just try to use it as fuel,” Cantlay said. “You know, you can take all that energy and turn it into focus and turn it into good adrenaline. That's what I tried to do this week. I think it’s great. The fans are invested. You have to embrace it.”


If any part of Cantlay was trying to make the case that players should get paid for playing in the Ryder Cup, his shotmaking and his putting put together a more effective case than his hat. Without his gritty performance on Saturday against McIlroy and Fitzpatrick, then again on Sunday when he dusted Justin Rose, the Ryder Cup would have been something of a snooze.

If nothing else, Stefan Schauffele said, it’s time to have a conversation about Ryder Cup compensation that doesn’t result in questioning someone’s patriotism.

“I think it’s absolutely non-controversial,” Schauffele said. “Imagine if the winners got $2 million and the losers get nothing. How good of a competition would we have now? I think it could be made so much better because of that. I don’t see a negative there. I think we need to talk about it without bringing up the issue of patriotism, which I think is a really, really cheap shot. Because they’re so wrong, especially these [PGA of America members] are not owning any mirrors in their houses because they’re the ones that are not patriotic. Hopefully the conversation, in seriousness, leads to talks about it that make sense. And then everyone can be happy.”

Stefan Schauffele had plenty of other things to say on a number of matters, including that McIlroy was a “soft egg” for getting so worked up about LaCava, and that ”If Jay Monahan had a spine, he’d resign!” He even revealed that Cantlay was getting married in Rome the day after the Ryder Cup, which forced Cantlay to address it in the press conference after the trophy ceremony.

“I am getting married tomorrow, yes,” Cantlay confirmed. “I’m very excited about that.”

The American Ryder Cup team, still simmering over allegations that they hadn’t gotten along, erupted in unanimous applause.

Max Homa was not panicking. But only because of his caddie, Joe Greiner.

Late on Sunday, Homa was just right of the 18th green, staring down at his lie, which was horrendous. In truth, it was worse than horrendous. It was ghastly.

He’d just hammered a 3 wood from 290 yards away, going for the green in two, but his ball had drifted right and taken an unfortunate bounce, then nested down in the deep, gnarly rough growing all around the greenside bunker.


Homa was clinging to a 1 up lead against Matt Fitzpatrick, but the entire Ryder Cup literally hung in the balance. Europe had clawed its way to 14 points. If Fitzpatrick could squeeze out a half point from this match, the American comeback effort was finished. Not only that, but Homa would have to own the weight of knowing he failed to serve as a firewall. He had to find a way to make par, but he wasn’t even sure he could lash his ball into the bunker. If he tried, it might go into the water on the other side of the green.

“We’re going to take an unplayable,” Greiner said.

They had already executed this strategy once during the round, on the third hole, when Homa was faced with a similar lie. But the Ryder Cup wasn’t on the line at that moment. Whatever happened next, Homa and Greiner, two California kids who grew up together playing on a 4300-yard golf course, would remember this moment for the rest of their lives.


Homa took his drop and the one-stroke penalty that came with it.

“Watch out for the water, Maxy!” a European fan heckled.

Homa gathered himself and took a few practice swings. He took a deep breath. Then nipped a beautiful pitch off a downhill, downgrain lie and watched it land on the green and trickle over the crest of a hill. It started tracking toward the hole. Fans didn’t know whether to hold their breath or scream.


The ball came to rest 7 feet behind the pin.


“Joe Greiner is the brains; I just swing it,” Homa said. “It was an awful break. I don't know how it didn't get into the bunker. And I was frustrated. My head was spinning. He said ‘We're going to take an unplayable here, chip it down to ten feet and you're going to make it.”


When Fitzpatrick missed a lengthy birdie putt, the stage was set. Homa had a do-or-die putt to keep Europe from winning the Ryder Cup.


“I don't know, that was an out-of-body experience,” Homa said. “I will say, two nights ago I wanted that opportunity. I missed it against Rosey, and I wanted the chance again. So I just told myself this is what you asked for, so here's an opportunity.”

For a few seconds, it was so quiet at Marco Simone that you could almost hear the click of the ball against Homa’s putter.

And then — bedlam. He poured the putt in.

“C’mon!” Homa screamed, his right fist punching the air.

The United States comeback eventually ran out of gas. Rickie Fowler ended up being the end of the firewall when he conceded a short putt to Tommy Fleetwood on the 16th hole. But for another 40 minutes, Homa made a miracle seem possible. In his first Ryder Cup, he was the only American to finish the week with a winning record at 3-1-1.

“You watch this your whole life on TV and you get to experience it, it's amazing,” Homa said. “It's a bummer to lose, clearly, but it was cool. I really love these guys, and it was a true pleasure to be with all of them. It's always amazing to be around greatness, and we get to do it week-in and week-out, but to actually be in a team room with everybody, it's a pleasure.”


Every two years, when the Ryder Cup ends, an interesting question emerges:


Is team golf about execution, or is it about chemistry?


Sunday Scenes from the 2023 Ryder Cup

ROME — The 2023 Ryder Cup at Marco de Simone isn’t (technically) over yet, but I have no problem making a broad statement about American golfers over the last decade in this competition.

They are tremendous front-runners. When things start to fall in their favor, they are the kind of sporting bullies you can’t help but admire. They drive greens and dunk wedges. They exchange terrible but bombastic chest bumps and clumsy high-fives. They play like they’re running downhill and do it with a sneer on their faces. You saw it at Hazeltine and you saw it at Whistling Straits. American team golf is at its best when they are comfortable and cocky, chugging beers or sipping champagne and laughing in the press conferences about how they can’t wait to down a few more.


They are also uncomfortably soft when faced with adversity, far more likely to fold than fight back when they fall behind. They sit greenside when their matches are over and fiddle with their phones, their heads down, their faces sullen, looking like a collection of sulky teenagers whose parents dragged them to Europe on a week-long vacation and forced them to order something other than chicken fingers of the menu.


It’s not that they don’t care. I reject that dumb narrative, and so should anyone who watched Scottie Scheffler tear up next to his wife Meredith on Saturday after he and Brooks Koepka were on the wrong side of a stunning 9&7 loss to Viktor Hovland and Ludvig Aberg, the worst defeat in Ryder Cup history. Match play tends to strip even the best players of their suit of armor. The majority of American golfers desperately want to be good at this, and truly do want to snap this 30-year streak of misery in Europe. But for the most part, their personalities are not built for it.

The United States will likely rebound in two years when the event returns to a more comfortable venue. They will get to have things exactly the way they want again, whether it’s format or course set up. Fan support will likely give them an early lead, and they may get out and run with it. We have reached an era where home field advantage in the Ryder Cup can seem daunting. But don’t assume going to Bethpage in 2025 — where the crowd will be vicious and the fairways wide — is going to be a panacea for everything. Europe might be underdogs, but they’ve also shown they can be competitive away from home, that they can thread a needle or catch a Hail Mary. The U.S. hasn’t shown they’re capable of a road comeback in more than a decade.


The easy (and frankly moronic) defense of the Americans' sulky behavior this week should go something like this, so prepare yourselves for it:

Of course they were sullen; they weren’t playing well! Do you expect them to pound their chests and high-five each other when they’re getting their asses kicked?

That rebuttal blatantly muddles the timeline of how Marco de Simone unfolded.

The Americans were already deep into a collective mope late Friday, all while the day’s most crucial matches were still in doubt. Sometimes it’s hard to pinpoint which Ryder Cup session was the most important in a blowout, but it isn’t hard to do in this one. Even though the Americans got punched in the mouth in foursomes Friday morning, they actually had a little momentum in the afternoon, a chance to recover from a historic sweep. They had a slim lead in three matches, and a 3-1 bounceback would have given them momentum and energy as they headed to bed.

Shot by shot, and hole by hole, the Europeans pulled the Americans’ hearts right out of their chests. You could feel the energy in the air, particularly on the 18th green, as the European players whose matches were already finished gathered in a group to send waves of emotional fuel toward the crowd and then back toward their teammates. It was never more apparent than during the birdie that Viktor Hovland made to secure a halve for Europe after he and Tyrell Hatton had trailed Justin Thomas and Jordan Spieth for much of the back nine. As the ball dripped into the cup, you could see Shane Lowry dancing along the ropeline, imploring the crowd to erupt.

Several minutes later, when Justin Rose made a birdie on 18 to steal half a point from Max Homa and Wyndham Clark (who had been 2-up with two holes left) the 43-year-old Englishman turned to the throng of teammates and screamed “You! You! You!” as he pointed to each of them. Even though Rose has been a member of six Ryder Cup teams, he said after his match he felt like he’d never been part of a truly special moment. He’d never made a putt on the last green or stuffed an iron to close out a match. And when he finally did, all he could think about was the men (all 10 players, all 10 caddies, and all the vice captains) behind him.

“I think it was you and you and you and you; that's what I was saying,” Rose said. “For all the boys. You know, just because everyone is in it together. Made the putt because I had ten people willing it in behind me. It's for them, as well.”

That was the hour that decided the 2023 Ryder Cup. Going down 5-3 would have been tough but manageable for the United States, nothing to panic over. Going down 6 ½ to 1 ½ essentially slammed the door. It was all over, but  there was some inevitable finger-pointing, which Koepka did when he grumbled unprompted about Jon Rahm’s behavior late in the match, saying he acted like a child when he punched the wall surrounding the tee box after a bad shot.


"If Brooks thinks that's childish, it is what it is,” Rahm said. “He's entitled to think what he thinks. I'm very comfortable with who I am and what I do. I've done much worse than that on the golf course. I needed to do that to blow off some steam.”

Say whatever you want about Rahm, at least he cares. On the very next hole, he made an eagle to halve the match. Was it a lucky putt? Rahm conceded as much, but you also make your own luck. It essentially broke Koepka and Scheffler’s spirits.

You could see it in their faces the following morning on the first tee. Scheffler and Koepka played like zombies, making two doubles in the first three holes.


I know this sounds like one of those grouchy columns that old men sometimes write when they want to bury a team for not playing the game properly, but I assure you I don’t give a shit about any of that stuff. One of the reasons I argued Justin Thomas should still make this team, despite being mired in the worst slump of his career, is I admire people who understand that the Ryder Cup is as much about passion as it is about strokes gained.

Yes, you need to play good golf. Yes, you need to make putts and hit fairways. But that alone is not enough, and understanding how closely the two are connected in this event is the reason why Europe has a real shot in two years at Bethpage and America has zero chance at Adare Manor in Ireland in 2027 — unless they can figure out how to trust and embrace each other. It doesn’t matter if it’s via Friendship Task Force or group therapy.


I’m convinced the Americans thought they had this stuff figured out after Whistling when they gave us that hilarious press conference where everyone had a drink in their hand; Dustin Johnson had the room in stitches, and Koepka and Bryson DeChambeau even hugged it out for a laugh. But all they really proved is they’re great when they’re the favorites – when they can exploit Europe’s weaknesses. Give them a captain they don’t love (Tom Watson, Hal Sutton), a course they don’t love (Le Golf National) a teammate they don’t love (Bryson; Patrick Reed) or pairings they don’t love (Patrick Reed, again) and the knives come out. The one constant through the years of the American Ryder Cup team is how they handle adversity.

For most of them, the answer is obvious: Poorly.

On Saturday, Rahm and Tyrell Hatton dropped in for a press conference between sessions, fresh off another win in foursomes. I decided to ask Rahm about the scene behind the 18th green, and why Europeans consider passion such an essential part of match play.

“We seem to have an ability to come together as teammates very, very well and feel how close we are,” Rahm said. “And I think in moments like that when we are there, a player feels the support, whether it's myself, Tyrrell out there, anybody, you feel support of the 12 plus the vice captains. Maybe that's why you see some of the things that happened so far and the reactions that come with it.”

Another reporter asked Hatton for his thoughts, but Hatton had to admit he wasn’t listening.


“Sorry, what was the question?” Hatton said.

He had been busy looking over at a television in the corner of the room. On the screen was Tommy Fleetwood and Rory McIlroy’s match against Thomas and Spieth. It was close, but Europe would soon prevail. Hatton kept fidgeting in his seat, like he was living and dying with every shot.

You could tell he was desperate to get back out on the course. Not to play, though. He was done for the day. He and Rahm wanted to cheer them on in person.

Kevin Van Valkenburg is the Editorial Director of No Laying Up.

The Adversity Gap

It is not something I am particularly proud of. I grasp (and appreciate) the sentiment of therapy-speak that has become important in recent years, that suppressing your emotions is far more dangerous than letting them bubble over. But it can be embarrassing when you find yourself welling up in public, when your voice catches in the back of your throat and your vision blurs.

None of my friends, when I was growing up, were as quick to cry as I was. They were tough and I was soft. For years, this was a source of shame. I did not want to feel so vulnerable, and yet I did not know how to suppress it, how to change my DNA.


It was particularly embarrassing when those tears were connected to sports.

To cry at a funeral, or because I had my heart broken, was one thing. Listening to sad songs was another. You could do those things in private. But spilling tears in disappointment over a loss, over having let others down, felt like the personification of weakness. No one, I suspected, wanted that in a teammate. I gravitated toward football for numerous reasons, but part of its appeal — I realize in retrospect — must have been that I could better hide my emotions inside a helmet, or at least claim it was sweat that was smearing my eye black, not my own tender heart.

I do not remember when I started watching the Ryder Cup. I’d love to pretend it was the War on The Shore in 1991. I am, after all, the appropriate age. I was 13 that September, heavily invested in sports. A month later, I would uncontrollably sob in my kitchen when Magic Johnson announced he was retiring from professional basketball after testing positive for HIV, but to pretend that I cared about golf back then would be an invention of the mind, a rewriting of history, the way you look at a picture of yourself as a kid enough times that your brain makes a copy, tricking you into believing it’s a memory.

I remember scenes from Brookline in 1999, but only vaguely. The obvious stuff. Ben Crenshaw wagging his finger. Justin Leonard with his arms raised, his mouth open, a herd of American players, caddies and wives dressed in ridiculous shirts spilling onto the green in rapture. I jumped off my couch and let loose an emphatic roar. But I quickly turned my attention back to football.

Golf was a curiosity, and my investment in the Ryder Cup was incidental. It happened to be on television that morning. I had nearly missed it, and would not have given it a second thought if I had. I have no memory of the 2002 Ryder Cup. I doubt I watched a shot.

Whatever flame Brookline lit did not take long to flicker out.


In 2009, a friend called me with an unexpected inquiry: Did I want to join him and some of his friends on a golf trip to the Homestead Resort in Hot Springs, Virginia? We would divide into two teams and face each other in match play, much like the Ryder Cup. With some trepidation, I accepted. I was 31 years old. I played golf infrequently, leisurely, and rarely broke 100 when I did tee it up. I had never played a single round of match play in my life. It seemed like an excuse to drink beer and meet new people.

I did not expect to be nervous. It was, after all, a meaningless competition played in front of no fans. The stakes could scarcely have been lower. We didn’t even have a trophy. But on the first tee, I could feel my chest pounding. Over the course of three days, the club felt like a rattlesnake in my hands. I barely knew my teammates, but each bad swing I made (and there were many), I was convinced I was letting them down, and would never be invited back. My partner and I got blown out in our first two matches, and I was so embarrassed, that I wanted to walk into the Virginia woods — alone — and have a good cry. The desire to do so only intensified my embarrassment.

When my teammates staged a comeback in singles on the final day to capture the cup (with no help from me; I lost yet again) I felt an overwhelming sense of relief. I struggled to explain it to my wife when I returned home. Why did I care so much about such a meaningless competition?

It wasn’t until a year later that I saw something that helped me make sense of it. In 2010, the United States and Europe were battling on the final day of the Ryder Cup at Celtic Manor in Wales, and the margin between the two teams was razor-thin. A half point in either direction would ultimately decide the cup. Twice Rickie Fowler stared down lengthy putts where a miss would have given Europe the Ryder Cup, and both times, he made them. Stewart Cink had a putt that could have beaten Rory McIlroy and it missed by a few inches. Jim Furyk had a sand wedge into the 18th green for his third shot in his singles match against Luke Donald, knowing a birdie would likely halve his match, and he dumped it into the bunker. The final hour was madness.

Our collective memory has not been kind to Hunter Mahan over what happened next, and re-watching it more than a decade later, that’s a shame. His opponent, Graeme McDowell, won the Ryder Cup more than Mahan lost it, but because of how the math shook out, the Americans' final hopes rested on Mahan’s shoulders. After a ridiculous birdie by McDowell on the 16th hole, Mahan was 2-down with two holes to play. If he could somehow win the final two holes, he would halve the match and the United States (the defending champion) would retain the cup. All McDowell needed was a tie, and it would go back to Europe.


When Mahan’s tee shot came up several yards short of the 17th green, and McDowell’s much worse approach took a fortuitous bounce in the rough and found the putting surface, Mahan’s task grew even more difficult. He now faced a delicate uphill chip off a tight, soggy lie that he needed to hole. Anything less and the match (and the cup) was Europe’s.

You almost certainly recall what happened next. Mahan flubbed it.

America’s best chance to win in Europe since 1993 slipped painfully away.


In the press conference after the event, Mahan was understandably shaken. He struggled to string together sentences, pausing several times to suppress the tears that were desperate to spill over. His hand shook when he drank from a glass of water. In a memorable moment of grace and kindness, Phil Mickelson — who was seated next to Mahan — leaned into the microphone in front of his teammate and helped fill the painful silence.


“We are all proud to be part of this team,” Mickelson said, as Mahan brushed away a tear. “We came out today and we all played with a lot of heart.” When Mahan again struggled to answer a question about his match, Zach Johnson put a hand on Mahan’s shoulder.

It’s patently absurd to compare my own meaningless golf matches to something as grand and meaningful as the Ryder Cup. (I know this, but you are welcome to point it out anyway.) I still tear up, however, when I watch Mahan in that press conference. I cannot relate to the level of golf, but I can relate to the sentiment, the longing for connection and brotherhood.

Next week, after the Ryder Cup ends, I’ll fly from Rome to Michigan to go on my 14th golf trip with that same group of friends. We have stuck together through job changes and divorces, through the death of several parents and the birth of many children. Once strangers, we’re now a loving dysfunctional pseudo-family. We have found something we care deeply about, and though we are the only ones to care about it (as our wives often remind us), the bond is what matters above all. In our lowest moments, it remains a lantern in the swamp, something to light the way forward until we can gather again.

No writer has ever grasped this sentiment better than Roger Angell, who penned the following paragraph in the pages of The New Yorker in 1975. He was writing about Carlton Fisk’s famous home run off the left field foul pole in Game 6 of the World Series, but he was also writing in defense of sports. It is a paragraph I return to often, usually for reassurance, when I question why I chose sports to be such an essential part of my life, both personally and professionally.


"It is foolish and childish, on the face of it, to affiliate ourselves with anything so insignificant and patently contrived and commercially exploitive as a professional sports team, and the amused superiority and icy scorn that the non-fan directs at the sports nut (I know this look -- I know it by heart) is understandable and almost unanswerable. Almost. What is left out of this calculation, it seems to me, is the business of caring -- caring deeply and passionately, really caring -- which is a capacity or an emotion that has almost gone out of our lives. And so it seems possible that we have come to a time when it no longer matters so much what the caring is about, how frail or foolish is the object of that concern, as long as the feeling itself can be saved. Naivete -- the infantile and ignoble joy that sends a grown man or woman to dancing and shouting with joy in the middle of the night over the haphazardous flight of a distant ball -- seems a small price to pay for such a gift."

The Ryder Cup has become a ridiculous commercial behemoth in the last three decades. Its participants are wealthier, and more famous, than the golfers who started this tradition in 1927 could have possibly fathomed. But some sentiments endure.

When Rory McIlroy beat Xander Schauffele in singles at Whistling Straits two years ago, he surprised much of the golfing world when he teared up twice — much like Mahan had done — in his post-round interviews. McIlroy had won his match, but he knew he had not done enough the previous two days for Europe to retain the Ryder Cup.

“I don’t think there’s any greater privilege than to be part of one of these teams,” McIlroy said. “It’s an absolute privilege. They’ve always been the greatest experiences of my career. I’ve never really cried or gotten emotional over what I’ve done as an individual. I couldn’t give a shit. But this team and what it feels like to be a part of … it’s phenomenal. And I’m so happy to be a part of it.”

Different people are moved by different things, and if cinema or literature or music or politics is what moves you, consider yourself equally blessed. Sports can be selfish and soulless, and we are right to examine and debate them with skeptical — even cynical — eyes.


But every two years, I am reminded of Mahan, and then of Mickelson’s gesture. I am reminded of Jose Maria Olazabal at Medinah weeping to the sky as he spoke to Seve Ballesteros. I’m reminded of Darren Clarke at the K Club, having recently lost his wife, sobbing in caddie Billy Foster’s arms at the end of his singles match. I’m reminded of Rory at Whistling Straits, and what it means to row for a cause bigger than your bank account.

Driving and Crying

Welcome back to the NLU Mailbag. In this space, we’ll address topics big and small, smart and dumb, irreverent and serious.

Normally you need to be a member of The Nest to submit a question to the mailbag, but we’re opening up submissions to the public this month. There are many benefits to joining The Nest: access to our message board, early access to NLU events, a 15 percent discount in the pro shop, an annual gift, plus a members’ only podcast and written work. You should absolutely join!

 about the Nest and how to join. In the meantime, let’s dive into some questions…

From mcriblet: It seems like (at least some) sports fans and sports writers have evolved their thinking to become considerably more pro-labor/pro-player than they were in the 80s and 90s - support for player safety initiatives, paying college athletes, not crushing guys for requesting trades and leaving in free agency, etc. So is it time for the players to revisit the idea of getting paid for the Ryder Cup, after Duval and Tiger were pilloried for raising it back in 99? I know it is already financially advantageous to be on the team for other reasons, and that they receive some donation for charity, but I have to think they are entitled to a greater share of the pie than they are getting.

I feel torn on this issue, even though I am extremely pro-labor and don’t make any apologies for holding that position. The Ryder Cup has become obscenely lucrative for the PGA of America and the DP World Tour, to the point where the Euro Tour likely could not stay afloat without the Ryder Cup refilling its coffers every four years. Why shouldn’t the players be fairly compensated when they’re the reason the event has become so compelling? This is what Woods, Mickelson and Duval were pointing out prior to Brookline, and I think it’s a fair argument. Someone is profiting off of this. Why are we okay with those profits going to organizations — where there is very little transparency over how that money is being spent — and not the people responsible for the product? Why should Tiger Woods work for charity but not John Lindert, the president of the PGA of America?


The flip side of me believes while professional golfers attempting to squeeze every last dollar out of their marketability might 

 make sense, it also feels a little gross to the people footing the bill (the fans watching).


Golfers participated in the Ryder Cup long before it was a lucrative event. The only reason Wyndham Clark and Max Homa would, in theory, be entitled to a large piece of the financial pie in 2023 is that people like Ben Hogan and Sam Snead laid the groundwork for it more than 60 years ago when the event almost didn’t return after the Second World War. If those men hadn’t played for free, traveling across the ocean, there wouldn’t be a Ryder Cup to profit from. I like the idea of honoring that tradition with a charitable donation in a player's name, not having their agents stick their hand out.

You are the 2023 US Ryder Cup Captain. You are making your duo selections for alt shot. Which pairings would you choose, not based on their golf skill of chemistry, but SOLELY based on how legit-sounding their law firm name would be if they were to represent you in a high profile court case (for example, is the law firm of Spieth & Thomas good enough to represent you if a LIVbot attempts to sue you).

I love the alliteration of Schauffele, Scheffler and Spieth, which would definitely have billboards all around town. My assumption would be that Xander would handle tax law, Scottie would be a calm civil attorney and Jordan would be an excellent criminal lawyer, his emotions and courtroom antics appealing to a jury. But Rahm, Straka and Rose would be a very intimidating law firm as well. Rahm would be a menace in the courtroom, frequently being threatened with contempt of court for his outbursts, but ultimately saved by his analytical co-counsel Justin Rose.

’s aggression against Sheboygan/Wisconsin of all places on Sunday’s pod, what would be the worst place in America to host a Ryder Cup and why is it Cleveland?

I want no part of this Wisconsin/Ohio blood feud, but I do think a Ryder Cup in Ohio wouldn’t be even close to the worst place you could hold it. I think a Ryder Cup held at Shadow Creek in Las Vegas would get my vote as the worst possible venue, just soulless and hot — too many full of fake waterfalls, fake smiles and fake breasts. No, thank you.

I do wish the Ryder Cup could travel to more venues, and places with an actual soul. But I also worry that the crowd at Bethpage in 2025 is going to behave so poorly, it’s going to make Brookline look like tea party at Buckingham Palace.

From: Clint Novak. If you could create 2 Ryder Cup teams for USA and Europe, using players from past 30 years only, who is going on each side?

Okay, 30 years is more limiting than I realized and perhaps more limiting than you realized. It’s 1993-2023, so I’m just barely able to sneak in Seve for the Euros, and Raymond Floyd for the US. After much deliberation, here are my squads:

For the United States: Raymond Floyd, Lanny Watkins, Corey Pavin, Justin Thomas, Patrick Reed, Dustin Johnson, Jordan Spieth, Phil Mickelson, Anthony Kim, Colin Morikawa, Xander Schauffele.

For Europe: Seve Ballesteros, Bernard Langer, Nick Faldo, Jose Maria Olazabal, Sergio Garcia, Ian Poulter, Lee Westwood, Colin Montgomerie, Justin Rose, Rory McIlroy, Tommy Fleetwood, Francesco Molinari.

Are there some glaring oversights? Absolutely. Tiger Woods getting left off the American side is difficult, but it’s hard to wrap your brain around the harsh truth. He won one Ryder Cup, in 1999, as a player. He was a headache in terms of pairings. He can be the captain. Phil Mickelson making my squad may seem like a curious decision, but he had two great Ryder Cups (1995, 2012) and two good ones (2016, 2014), even if he also had several stinkers. Anthony Kim makes this squad even though Brooks Koepka is likely more deserving simply because I loved his vibes in 2008 as much as any American player ever. Pavin’s inclusion might feel like a surprise, but he had a 8-5 record and won two cups as a player. In an era where U.S. wins were hard to come by, that’s pretty impressive. Xander gets the nod despite playing in only one cup over some other guys because of his ability to hit it straight, which we’ll need in Europe.

It gets more difficult on the European side, where Graeme McDowell gets left off, Henrik Stenson gets left off, Padraig Harrington gets left off and so does Darren Clarke. Faldo wasn’t great in this era, but he’s one of the best of all time, so if I’m going to put Seve and Lanny Wadkins on the squad based on past performance, it feels like Faldo should get the nod as well. Fleetwood and Molinari were as good a pairing as Seve and JMO, so I want them both on this squad. Honestly, Rory came closest on the European side to getting bumped, but some of his record doesn’t reflect how well he played at Celtic Manor and Hazeltine.

Turns out Soly and DJ were right, the course is an absolute joke and the players are throwing a fit through the first 4 sessions. A tied event on Saturday night and with a horrible weather forecast for Sunday, the teams decide to forego singles and instead they’ll compete in twelve, one round boxing matches, each “round” ending with a KO.

Having never been in a fight in his entire life, ZJ turns to the lone journalist on site who has actually thrown hands (who knows, I’m clearly making a lot of stuff up at this point). KVV, how do you structure the US team and who are their opponents? How do you see the boxing matches turning out, and who takes home the Ryder Cup?

Before we proceed here, I have to admit, I have only been in fights on the football field, while in full pads, and so I can’t claim much pugilist expertise. But I do enjoy this game, in part because so many golfers would look ridiculous in a boxing ring. We’re going to stipulate these are actual boxing matches, with 10-ounce gloves, not bare-knuckle brawls. If I’m advising Zach Johnson, I’m hoping these are my match-ups, because we are in serious trouble when I look over my line-up:

The Europeans always send one of their best out first, and it’s often Rory. I’m not sure what kind of stamina Brooks is going to have, considering he went to LIV to play less golf, but he’s got a size advantage on Rory and might be able to wear him down. 

A couple of featherweights locking horns. Having grown up in Southport, I give Tommy Lad the edge here, but Colin might be able to pull off an upset by sticking to a game plan. 

 Neither man is going to strike fear into an opponent with their physical prowess, but Harman could send a message to all the people in England who were appalled by his bow hunting that he isn’t afraid of hand-to-hand combat either. Plus, the fact that he’s a lefty is going to be hard to strategize for on short notice, even for a professorial mind like Fitzpatrick. 

 Ever been to Shreveport, Louisiana? Burns isn’t that far removed from it, while Rose has been living in the Bahamas for many years. I think we’ve seen enough here. 

In every Ryder Cup, you have to look up and down your lineup and offer a few sacrificial lambs just to give you a better shot in other areas of the board. This is a roundabout way of saying Patrick Cantlay would get absolutely thumped by Lowry, and his only chance would be to pull a Floyd Mayweather and dance around long enough for Lowry to get tired. I still think this one is over early. 

See above. We’re basically punting in another match, hoping that two of Europe’s best brawlers don’t get the crowd too riled up as they make short work of two of our most annoying players. 

Remember in Rocky 2 when Mickey taught Rocky to fight right-handed for the rematch against Creed? Then in the middle of the match, Rocky switched things up and went back to his natural southpaw? I feel like Spieth (who is naturally lefthanded but plays golf right-handed) could use this technique to pull off a surprise win. This might, on the surface, seem like a pillow fight between two nerds, but I think both Hovland and Spieth have a bit more grit in them than people realize. It could be one of the day’s best bouts. 

In order for the Americans to pull this off, they have to string together some upsets. I think Max could take down Nicolai, even though Nicolai is 6-2 and weighs about 190 lbs, figures that give him about an inch and 10 points on Homa. The reason? Max has wanted to be part of the Ryder Cup more than anyone not named Keegan Bradley the last two years. I think you might have to kill him if you’re going to defeat him in this match. Hojgaard isn’t ready to go full gladiator in this match, which is why Homa wins in an emotional bloodbath. 

We need a little gamesmanship because the board is getting tougher for the U.S., so right before this match, Fowler withdraws with an injury, filling Rahm with a crushing disappointment as he’s been jogging around the Roman Colosseum for an hour screaming Fowler’s name in anticipation of the fight. Furious he’s not able to join the fray, Rahm insists he be allowed to fight Fred Couples, or Steve Stricker, or even a U.S. fan. When he refuses to calm down, he is locked inside the Pantheon, where he spends the next four hours trying to scale the ceiling and climb out the oculus, to no avail. 

I want to believe that Xander’s father Stefan, who was nicknamed The Ogre in Germany, could help his son make this competitive, but have you ever stood next to Sepp Straka? That man is a unit, as they say in Georgia by way of Austria. We got no chance here, and Sepp is gonna be watching the final matches play out with a dip in his lower lip and without a scratch on his face fairly quickly. 

Everyone thinks the Euros would be favored in this bout, because one is a greenskeeper’s kid from a small town in Scotland and the other is a lawyer’s kid who grew up in a country club in Dallas. But the tape and the talent don’t lie. Scheffler is a better athlete with a bigger frame, and that’s going to make a big difference. McIntyre has shown this year that he struggles when he wants it too much, which means the technically proficient Scheffler is going to drop him when he can’t control his emotions. With the U.S. hopes hanging by a thread, Scheffler silences the Italian crowd. 

Clark has become a target for European fans this week, particularly after he said he needed to believe he was as good as Rory McIlroy, otherwise why compete? He also suggested the Euros might run out of gas on Sunday since they’ve played a lot more golf recently than the U.S. team. What a delightful twist of fate it would be to have the entire cup come down to him? But I’ve walked Luke Donald and Captain Tron Carter into a trap here. They decided to send precocious young Ludvig out as their anchor, knowing if it came down to him, they’d at least have someone extremely talented in the last spot, someone who would likely be a Ryder Cup stalwart for a generation. What they didn’t realize is I’d save Wyndham for this final spot, and Wyndham has already shown this season that he doesn’t scare. That club twirl in the third round of the U.S. Open? That’s a man who doesn’t mind flying close to the sun. Ludvig is game, but he’s too young and green to win this bout, which Clark has been dreaming about his entire life. He ends 30 years of frustration with a TKO, leaving Europe stunned and Rahm weeping inside the Pantheon.

KVV Mailbag: 2023 Ryder Cup Edition

The 18th Solheim Cup is done and dusted, and for the first time in its history, both teams finished on 14 points. But the cup, owing to Europe’s victory in Ohio at Inverness Club two years ago, will remain on European soil. Tron, Randy and Neil ventured over to Finca Cortesin Golf Club along Spain’s Costa del Sol to take in the spectacle, their first time attending a European Solheim (after being in Ohio for the last one). What follows is a hodgepodge of thoughts, musings, and takeaways they’ve brought back across the pond with them…


In an era when golf is being optimized, every statistic sliced and diced, youth and power emphasized, and probabilities quantified and requantified over the course of a round, a performance like the one we witnessed from Caroline Hedwall on Sunday afternoon was both miraculous and fleeting. The 34-year-old veteran was a surprise captain’s pick and a question mark in the eyes of many coming into the week. After a lean year in 2021 on the Ladies European Tour, Hedwall captured the season-ending Andalucia Open de Espana (played just up the road from Finca Cortesin) for her first victory since 2018, and then played solid, if unspectacular golf into 2023.

Fast forward to Finca Cortesin - consider that Hedwall arrived having carded just three rounds in the 60s in her previous 18 tournament rounds. Then consider that Hedwall sat the first three sessions. The pick from Pettersen felt curious when it was announced, and even more so through midday Saturday. Hedwall partnered with fellow Swede Anna Nordqvist in the fourball session on Saturday afternoon. After some good play from Hedwall on the front nine, they frittered away a 2 up lead through 10 holes and lost 2 down to the American duo of Cheyenne Knight and Angel Yin. Fast forwarding to Sunday, through the first twelve holes of Hedwall’s match against Ally Ewing on Sunday, it appeared to be more of the same. Going out in the middle of the session, Hedwall trailed early in the match and arrived to the 13th tee 3 down with 6 holes to play. Then the improbable happened.


Birdie on 13. Birdie on 14. Draining long birdie putts and doing so with emphatic reactions that catalyzed the crowd. Both Ewing and Hedwall parred the difficult 15th hole, though Hedwall nearly scared a birdie putt in there. 1 down with three to play and Randy and I turned to each other with that look that said “what if???” Then ‘what if’ happened on 16, in the midst of Georgia Hall and Gemma Dryburgh both coughing up leads and notching only half points. Hedwall drained a 15-foot birdie putt to pull that match to all square and catalyze the crowd in front of one of the biggest grandstands on the course. All around her things kept deteriorating, with Ciganda showing signs of crumbling after a shank on 15 and Angel Yin shutting the door on Celine Boutier to take the US to a 13-11 lead. Randy and I were struggling to contain ourselves, and not even as Euro fans, but rather as fans of golf and competition. What we were witnessing was breaking the probability models and a sign that crazy shit still happens.


Moving onward to the tucked pin on 17, Hedwall managed to stuff one to ten feet and then buried the putt. 1 up going into 18! “My gosh, this can’t possibly continue,” we thought. Both players hit great drives on the par five 18th, avoiding the bunker up the left and earning a look at the green in two. Ally Ewing put her second shot in the green-side bunker - not a bad place to be to the back pin. Hedwall, who’d put a charge into her drive and was significantly closer than Ewing, ripped a high draw over the huge swales short right of the green, landed on the front edge and rolled to the middle of the green, setting up an easy two-putt for birdie. Ewing, knowing she likely needed to hole the bunker shot to win the hole, caught a lot of ball and hit it over the green and it was over and Europe was squarely back in it, with 12 points on the board and Carlota and Maja Stark’s matches trending positively to get to at least 14.

For anyone to do what Hedwall did - going from 3 down to a 2 up victory in a six-hole stretch - would be improbable. For Caroline Hedwall to do so and the way she did it, without Ally Ewing completely collapsing, made it all the more remarkable. It was among the most improbable things I’ve ever seen in golf. It’s why they hit the shots, instead of the #databoys just simulating these things, as I sometimes feel they’d rather do. It all felt exceedingly rare, that in 2023 a captain would pick someone without the statistical profile, and then in the face of injuries on the team and surprises stuck to your guns and didn’t play her until Saturday afternoon to ensure she was rested for Sunday. Then, Hedwall went out and did what she did to pay off all that belief and trust.

There was something unquantifiable that Suzann saw inside her pick, that the models weren’t picking up, and often those hunches don’t work out and the eye test and emphasis on heart don’t pan out. But when it does, it’s magical.

The Aura of Suzann Pettersen (written by Randy)

Sunday night, during the euphoric Team Europe press conference, I donned my big-J journalist hat and asked Maja Stark if she could speak about the emotions of her week and the experience in general. Note: this was Maja’s first Solheim Cup. She’d gone 2-1-1 across four sessions and capped it by taking down current US Open champion Allisen Corpuz in a crucial singles match late Sunday to set the stage for Carlota Ciganda’s theatrics. She answered, saying:

“I've never had so much fun in my life, and I'm so happy to be able to win this for Suzann. I don't think there's anyone really in the world that I get that star struck over, but I'm still star struck, even after a week of hanging out. I can't believe it.

Then I just felt like -- I hoped the whole way that the pressure would make me better, and I think it did. It's such a nice feeling to actually hit those crucial shots at the end. And yeah, I'm just so happy, and I've had so much fun with the team. It's probably the best experience of my life.

I love this answer. I mean, how can you not? What an incredible Solheim experience! But it was what she said specifically about her captain, Suzann Pettersen, that struck a chord in me.

All week I had marveled at Pettersen’s aura, for lack of a better word. Of any player, captain, vice captain, it was Pettersen, in my opinion, whose simple presence commanded my attention the most. Whose energy most consistently exerted a gravitational pull on my interest. She has that elusive, intangible ‘It’ factor in spades. A classic alpha personality, in the way psychologists define the term–e.g. strong sense of self, determination, a conviction in beliefs, ambition and desire to work hard, etc.

But it’s not simply possessing those attributes that results in the aura around Pettersen. Because let’s face it, every member of Team Europe and Team USA has ample amounts of determination, ambition, sense of self and hard work – or they wouldn’t be in Spain. It’s something in the mysterious alchemy of Pettersen’s blend of characteristics that sets her apart from everybody else, at least in my eyes. I don’t know what it is, I don’t know if we even have the words or the ability to figure it out—but I’m certain it’s an aura. Maja Stark felt it this week, and it was exciting for me to be in the midst of it as well.

I spent much of my time during the three days on-site following Linn Grant’s matches. Beyond the world-class swing and clear-cut physical strength, LG possesses a simmering, yet calm, intensity that you don’t often see in the sport. While this week was a mixed bag - not quite rising to the moment in the opening match with Maja and losing to the best golf of Megan Khang’s career, I’ll mostly remember the Saturday afternoon partnership with Carlota Ciganda in which Linn birdied the first five holes and looked like a boxer in total control of a bout, locked in, to the point of not hearing the closing bell. Carlota played beautifully and complemented Linn’s aggressiveness with brilliant iron play, and the two looked comfortable in each other’s company. More striking was the fact that I think Linn was speaking Spanish with Carlota. Instead of the two of them speaking English, Linn relied upon one of her secondary languages to speak her partner’s native tongue in the biggest event of her career to this point. A small gesture, but an alpha signal nonetheless.


The singles loss is going to burn Linn, to the point where I think it’ll be a massive source of fuel over the next 6-12 months in the lead-up to next year’s Solheim Cup in DC. And to be able to run it back with Suzann as her captain and as a mentor whom she wants to show growth and impress (see: Randy’s bit about Suzann’s unrelenting competitiveness and aura above.) I’m buying all the stock - she’s built different. The very things we so desperately want to see in Nelly, I see in spades in Linn.

The Yin and Yang of Wanting (written by Randy)

On Saturday afternoon, after Day 2’s fourball session came to a close, Angel Yin and her partner, Cheyenne Knight, stepped into the press center to discuss their 2up victory over the European side of Anna Nordqvist and Caroline Hedwall. It was an important point, the lone point the United States put on the board that afternoon, in a weekend full of important points considering where the contest would end.

There was Angel, always a character, up on the podium sporting big black sunglasses she had received moments earlier from, of all people, LPGA commissioner Mollie Marcoux Samaan. And continuing with the homage to Colorado football coach Deion Sanders, she enthusiastically proclaimed, “We keep receipts!”


Let’s take a quick step back here and discuss a couple of things. This was not a combative Angel Yin in any sense of the imagination. This was one of the larger personalities in women’s golf putting on display her charisma, humor, and authenticity for everybody to see. It’s just who Angel is, never shying away from being herself. Wherever she goes, a whirlwind of energy, emotion and sound follows.


So back to the aforementioned Saturday afternoon press conference and the Deion Sanders hater-blockers. This was Angel in her element. Playful, funny, boisterous. Exuding humor, good energy, and laughs for all those in her vicinity. Her partner, Knight, was asked what it’s been like to foster team chemistry with Yin. To which Cheyenne said:

“It's been so much fun. Angel has such an infectious personality. I haven't spent a ton of time with her, but honestly, on the media day, we just had so much fun and we've been saying sayings, like, to each other and quoting Deion Sanders from Colorado football.”

On Sunday afternoon, Solheim Cup veteran, Danielle Kang, went out of her way to single out the impact Angel Yin had behind the scenes for Team USA this week, “Listen, when I'm old and gray one day and look back, I'm going to remember our team rooms where Megan and Angel and all these girls were hyping us up, and I wish you guys had a camera. I wish people could experience what I experienced last night and this week because it was unbelievable.”

Angel Yin belongs in events like the Solheim Cup. She’s great for her teammates. She’s great for the media, always looking for a quote. She’s great for the fans. Oh, and the 24-year-old has been pretty damn good for scoring points too, collecting five-and-a-half of them from nine career matches across three appearances in 2017, 2019 and 2023. Notice the gap in 2021 however. What happened two years ago? Well, as Angel related on 

 she wanted the Solheim spot so badly that it ended up taking a toll on her body and overall well-being. Listen to it for yourself, or read, in her own words:


“Only people close to me in my life know this, but I can say it: It’s really important, but it’s not life-or-death for me, where it was like that before. I put so much importance on being able to wear red, white and blue and represent our country. I really got so sick afterward, I couldn’t even get out of bed. And then the experience afterward and what I heard afterwards – I think it was just too much for me to handle. My reality collapsed a little bit.”


Fast forward to the beginning of 2023 and Angel had done the hard work to get to a place where she could care a bit less. Or better put, care in a way that is more sustainable for her physical and mental well-being.

“This year, my mindset [was] more peaceful going in. It’s like, if I make it, I make it. If not, I have other goals I need to do.”

For Angel Yin, or hell, for anybody, to accomplish anything of significance begins with wanting something very badly. What her story, her candor can teach us though, is there’s a risk with going too far in that desire. She found that less can be more, and by learning that valuable lesson, ironically, the US team is poised to keep reaping more and more from her in years to come.


I spent the majority of Sunday afternoon posted up above the front right bunker on number 15 at Finca Cortesin, a difficult par 4 that brought matches back from the hinterlands of the golf course. This spot allowed me to watch players strike a distant tee shot over a massive ravine and then hit long irons into an elevated green with trouble left and bunkers right.

I picked this spot thinking it would be the earliest hole the tournament could potentially end based on where things stood when I left the media center. The 15th also gave me the best chance to catch each match as they were either decided or developing into the final act of each drama. As I watched groups come through and constantly updated the leaderboard on my phone, I began to feel some FOMO with big moments happening on 16-18 that I was unable to see.

The 15th was difficult, so there weren’t many fireworks with nothing better than par winning the hole through the 6 matches I watched. Regardless, I stuck to my plan to wait on the penultimate match of Korda vs. Ciganda and follow this match to its conclusion. My patience paid off as I witnessed a shot that will stick with me for years to come: Carlota Ciganda’s shank from the middle of the fairway up into a tree about 40 yards short right of the green.

It was jarring to watch the golf ball streak off the club face from about 175 out. It looked like a poorly thrown frisbee that was way too low and veering right while also refusing to hit the ground. It elicited gasps and fore calls from the packed crowd lining the hill overlooking the 15th green. Ciganda went on to dump her 3rd shot in the front bunker, blasted it out to 20 feet but conceded the hole with Korda in for par after a classy up and down from just off the back of the green. This tied a match that Ciganda led all day and put Korda in the driver’s seat heading into the final three holes with the cup up for grabs.

Seeing this shank made the Ciganda’s next two irons the best golf shots I’ve seen in person. With both players splitting the 16th fairway, Ciganda answered Korda’s excellent approach to 10 feet into 16 with an iron to 3 feet. After Korda missed her putt, Ciganda converted her birdie to win the hole and go back up by 1 in the match.

By the time this match arrived at 17 tee, the arena like par 3 was packed and buzzing with energy. You couldn’t script the final act any better: The lone Spaniard had the honor and the advantage. She could win it right here at the par 3 in front of king and country. As I watched her tee it up, I wondered to myself, was she concerned about that swing she made on 15?

While the course left a lot to be desired, let’s focus on the positive:

The first hole offered an opening litmus test all week, and the setup committee did a great job of mixing up hole locations to make the hole distinctly different each session. Would be keen to know if the first hole was more volatile than the historical average for openers in the Solheim Cup.

The selection of an American-style course with grainy Bermuda grass definitely had an effect on the European team and played right into the hands of the Americans. That said, it appeared that California native Rose Zhang struggled on the tight Bermuda. Whether this was simply inexperience or a larger issue with Bermuda, we shall see.

Walking the course, it’s a shame that the coverage was so poor/non-existent on many of the holes, particularly the second through fourth, which were among the strongest on the course and offered some cool vistas out to the Mediterranean. The 2nd is a par five with a fairway that bottles awkwardly in the landing area, the 3rd a strong uphill par 3 that was a good litmus test for who was striking it well, and then the 4th is sweeping par five with water up the left short of the green and a steep slope along the right side of the green. Juxtaposed with the par fives on the back, these two were much more dynamic.

A view of a tree in play on the second hole.

Spanish national treasure Pau Gasol spectates on the No. 4 fairway.

Not-quite-centerline trees were prevalent on many holes and Randy’s eyes lit up every time he saw them. Weirdly, I really like these vertical hazards - not too tall, not right in the middle of the fairway - they made the players think a bit more, but without being suffocating as trees typically are.

On the setup front, I really appreciated what they did on Sunday for singles: moving the tee up on 14 to create a dynamic short 4 (for what was otherwise a bizarre hole as a short two-shooter), which contrasted nicely with the beastly par four 15th. These two holes proved pivotal in deciding the outcome of the most competitive matches. The short 17th provided incredible drama with a tucked left pin on Sunday.

The 9th hole was another high point, both literally and figuratively. Finca Cortesin is unabashedly a resort and real estate development, with the main hotel complex and priciest lots occupying a ridgeline that segregates the two valleys that contain each nine. The 9th (which plays as the 18th for resort play) is really the only hole that uses this ridgeline, and it does so nicely, with a big fall-off down the left and a demanding second shot to a green with short-grass fall-offs up the left.

A view of the approach shot into the 9th green.

2023 Solheim Cup Takeaways

Things will be different this time for the United States Ryder Cup team when they tee it up in Europe this week.

Don’t misunderstand me, or send a note to Jon Rahm or Rory McIlroy that they can use as bulletin board material. I do not mean to say that the result is going to necessarily be different. That’s something that I go back and forth on daily. I’ll probably flip another 50 times before the first shots are hit on Friday.

What will be different, without any shadow of a doubt, is the makeup of the team the United States is bringing to Italy, and their process for trying to win the Ryder Cup. This American squad has learned from past mistakes and has a plan that wasn’t sketched on the back of a napkin the week of the event. It doesn’t mean the United States is going to win, but for the first time in forever, it feels like the two teams will be on equal footing in terms of strategy.


That, in and of itself, gives me hope America can end its Ryder Cup road drought.

He was a captain’s pick on the last U.S. Ryder Cup team to win on European soil. Floyd went 3-1 en route to a 15-13 victory at The Belfry.

An entire generation of American players has come and gone since then, with 

 of them able to do what that 1993 team was able to do: bring the cup back to America.

The turmoil began in 1997, as the team welcomed 21-year-old Ryder Cup rookie Tiger Woods to the team. Jim Furyk was also a first-timer. 27-year-old Phil Mickelson, who had played on the 1995 team at Oak Hill, was playing in his first European Ryder Cup. Together, those three men seemed poised to buoy American golf for a generation.


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