I have to say
something. I can’t be silent or
hold it in any longer. It must
out.
The Ryder Cup is upon us
and the run-up to this contest of the giants of men’s professional golf always
spawns controversy. It goes with
the territory – a territory that is interlaced with pride, nationalism,
patriotism, competition and a heaped-to-the- oxters cartload of fun. There is no prize money but there is a
beautiful cup and a shedload of pride at stake.
And I’m not just talking
about the golfers. It invades the
mentality and thinking of the fans on both side of the Atlantic divide and
those, worldwide, who reside cosily in their armchairs as TV followers. It’s the way it should be as we walk
the course live or ogle the goggle box as twenty-four men play team tactics and
individual games to earn the right to bring home the Ryder Cup. It’s Europe versus America and should be
done in the spirit of golf with dignity and bonhomie - an unwritten rule that
applies whether you are playing, watching or commenting.
Then there’s the
banter. “The banta” is an integral
part of the game. It doesn’t
matter whether it’s “platformed” on social media, scrunched about by leading
sports commentators in the newspapers and on the telly, or dependent on exchanges
between friends. The banta is
meant to excite and illuminate, never devour or intimidate or exorcise. Those are the givens. Bring it on, I say, and let two
landmasses, divided by a common language, have the time of their golfing lives.
So, in this busy
orchestra of Ryder Cup sounds and with everyone playing vigorously in their particular
movement of the symphony, it was all going to plan. As in any symphony orchestra, there is the expected
sonata. That’s the solo. And it came, loud and proud and,
unexpectedly, way out of context.
Not good. But it also came
from a surprising quarter. Pete
Willett, brother to our brilliant green jacket winner at The Masters this year,
struck up the solo chords. This Sheffield steel boy was playing brass band when
he should have been playing orchestra.
Yup, he was playing sonata without a string to his bow. That’s okay when you’re in the colliery
band league but not when the rest of the crowd has elected to play with the
full orchestra.
Peter went hardcore satire
on Team America. Satire is good in
the right place and in the right time with its use of humour, irony and
exaggeration but it is also used to ridicule, expose and criticize and needs a
wise hand to temper it. The
article itself, published by National Club Golfer Magazine, was confrontational
but honestly addressed some negative issues with golf’s American gallery of on-course
followers. It was published in the
week leading up to the Ryder Cup when the media are hungry for stories and will
pounce on the least of notions to produce a mountain of a story. It found it in Peter Willett’s
musings.
And Peter rocketed it
into the stratosphere when he tweeted it out with a tag line that read “ And I
mean every word”. However naïve or
innocent his intent, he crossed the fine line between sarcastic and sardonic
satire and the read became uncomfortable.
Fervent Team Europe supporter that I am, avid follower of Peter Willett
and lover of a bit o’banter, I was far from impressed with an outpouring that
was no longer a funny send-up.
Meanwhile, Danny has done
it all the right way and was busy assimilating himself to Team Europe style. He’s prepared well, spent his time in
team building, and knows that his greatest achievement to date has been on
American soil when he whoop-assed his way along the fairways of Augusta to
clinch the Masters. American
supporters cheered him home. I am
in awe of his dedication and style of play and, all the more so, because his
brother Pete highlighted and illuminated his golfing brother’s life from the
inside track. You got the distinct
impression of a solid family, full of humour and leg-pulling and sibling
rivalry but bound together by the overarching “bromance” that exists within the
bonds of love of a decent family.
Pete took Twitter down with his riffling commentary on his brother Danny
while Danny was all the while taking Augusta down. But this time and with his latest essay, it looks like Peter has pinned a bullseye
target on Danny’s back: it screams “Hit me with Baba Booey and Mashed Potatoes”
for sure and I would be horrified if this turned out to be true.
It smacks of
distraction, poor judgement, lack of sportsmanlike behaviour, draws attention
to an individual when it’s all about team behaviour and, most of all, kills the
joy. We may have won three Ryder
Cup victories on the spin but neither team nor captain need the hassle of
unwarranted media attention and hostile crowds. There’s a lot at stake. And Danny is a rookie who needs not to have the anticipated and
unsolicited burden of dealing with the negative responses of a gallery who may
see him as the available face of the Willett rant and thus use him to retaliate.
With this faux pas on my
mind, I asked myself what lessons I had learnt from this Ryder Cup preamble. The list became almost biblical.
Speak the truth but
speak it in love
Reign in the satire;
loose the laughter
Know the difference
between banter and badmouthing
Focus on the positives
of the task; add whatever you can to the collective whole in a positive manner;
if you can’t, better to do nothing than be negative and disparaging
You don’t win the Ryder
Cup – or anything else - with your mouth (Segio Garcia); or your pen, laptop or
opinion (Anne Foley Smith)
Just because you’re
right, it doesn’t mean you’re right
Be gracious, it’s not
war
Be big enough to
apologise
In life as in golf,
these set the margins for a life well lived. I suspect the late Mr Arnold Palmer knew these lessons
well.
And, finally, if I were a
teacher, I’d mark Peter’s essay with a “Could have done better. See me” tab.
Enough said.
No comments:
Post a Comment