The Telegraph’s Kevin Garside sums up the schadenfreude from across the pond:
Faldo’s gamble on the big finish, loading the European tail with alpha muscle, left Ian Poulter, Lee Westwood and Padraig Hamilton at 10, 11 and 12 thrashing at thin air, their legs amputated by a hopelessly incontinent ego.
Witches were given a fairer hearing in medieval Europe than that coming Faldo’s way in the Valhalla postmortem. He is about to pay the price of a lifetime of self serving, of devotion to the cult of the individual. “Everybody hates Faldo,” claimed an incendiary headline allegedly summarising the position of Captain America, Paul Azinger, before the teams teed up. The sentiment was not without support.