Seriously, what would the “run up” to these Ryder Cup matches be without the ever cheeky, ever snide British press? Quite a contrast from America, where the Sobel’s and Van Sickle’s of the world are trying desperately to concoct columns to get an ever-apathetic sporting public into the spirit of yet another Tiger-less golf exhibition championship. But the Brits genuinely seem into this thing, as evidenced by the Poulter-Clarke-Monty soap opera, and an eternal Queeg like obsession with Faldo. You get the sense that the next story in its endless quest to slice and dice poor ‘ol Nick will be a critique of Thursday night’s team supper. What’s that Nick? No sauce with those pork medallions? Tut tut.
Today, for example, the Guardian’s Lawrence Donegan got his knickers all good and twisted when–gasp–Faldo’s crib sheet of possible Friday morning pairings (see above) was snapped up by an opportunistic photographer. MI-5 defections don’t get this much hoopla. Donegan laments:
By any standard it was not an impressive performance. With one day to go before the first ball is struck, Faldo has the option of rejigging his pairings, which have to be publicly declared this afternoon, but if he does that he will then be forced to go into tomorrow’s foursomes with a line-up that was not his first choice.
Good god man, should we just spot the Americans all of the Friday morning matches? On second thought, would that even make a difference?