TWO years ago at Oakland Hills, Chris DiMarco forced himself to go out to the 18th green to watch the European players celebrating. He would store the memory, and use it as motivation when the next Ryder Cup came around. Last Sunday, as champagne, Guinness and golf shoes were scattered in all directions from the K Club balcony, DiMarco was nowhere to be seen.
He didn't need to bear witness this time. He had come to the Ryder Cup as part of the best prepared, most motivated American team in the history of the event. His captain, Tom Lehman, had ticked just about every box that could have been ticked, and still Europe had won with the confident ease of players who never really countenanced losing.
Earlier, DiMarco had engaged in some trademark fist-pumping after winning the 17th hole against Lee Westwood. An hour had passed since Henrik Stenson rolled in the putt that had sealed Europe's overall victory, and DiMarco looked faintly idiotic walking to the last tee box with a chance of a meaningless half a point when America were already beaten to a pulp.
But he would tell you that despite his own underwhelming performance, and despite his team's abject failure on the final day, the defeat wasn't down to a lack of desire on the part of the players.
And his stubborn reaction in the face of the inevitable last Sunday was a reflection of that desire.
So, DiMarco didn't stand and stare as Europe celebrated, because there was no reason to. He couldn't have been any more motivated for an event, stroke play or match play. He couldn't have wanted success any more. With the possible exception of Phil Mickelson, who skipped town before the inquest began, the rest of the USA players felt the same way.
That was why Jim Furyk was as angry as he had ever been in his career later that evening when he was asked by an American journalist whether the Ryder Cup actually mattered to him. "Now, without wanting to reach out and strangle him, or to send a few F-bombs his way, I just said yes that it did matter to me, and then walked away. I found it offensive."
That has been the American insistence since Sunday's rout . . . don't question our commitment. "If someone writes that I had no game, " says Furyk, "that I played awful, you know I can accept anything physical. But when someone questions what's inside me or my teammates, that's the offensive part.
That's when I think guys get upset.
"If you can't get up for the Ryder Cup, you don't have a pulse. I get more jacked up for that than I could ever imagine getting jacked up for an individual event. Maybe to a fault at times. You could not step on the first tee last week, listen to everyone pounding their feet in the stands, with the place going nuts, and not think how cool is this."
Europe's new-found strength in depth, as well as the self-belief generated from that record-breaking win in 2004, are clearly factors in the dramatic shift away from America, but the nature of motivation is at the heart of the current gulf between the two teams.
The will to win, the pressure of expectation, appears to energise Europe's players.
"I live for the event, it drives me, " says Sergio Garcia. "I won't say that I try harder, because I don't, but maybe I'm a bit looser even though you shouldn't be because there's a lot of pressure. I feel very comfortable."
Garcia, who before his singles defeat by Stewart Cink had been unbeaten in nine games, doesn't believe the victory was necessarily any easier than at Oakland Hills.
However, at the start of the week, the players looked around the team room and realised that it was going to be difficult to leave anyone out of the fourballs or foursomes line-ups. "It was hard to choose pairings because everyone was in such good form. That gave us a bit of an edge, " he says.
If you believe Furyk, America had exactly the same motivation, yet that very competitive desire appears to have had a negative effect.
Mickelson's decision not to play in a tournament for four weeks in the leadup to the matches was an insult both to Lehman and to his teammates, and his subsequent performance matched his attitude, but despite disappointing contributions from David Toms, Chad Campbell and DiMarco, they could never be accused of not trying. Whereas Europe's five rookies revelled in the pressure two years ago, and whereas both Henrik Stenson and Robert Karlsson appeared comfortable this time, American newcomers like Brett Wetterich and Vaughn Taylor were clearly fazed by the expectation and the occasion.
"We were pretty relaxed as a team, but obviously we had four guys who'd never been there before, " says Scott Verplank who defeated Padraig Harrington in the singles. "I loved the atmosphere, and when I got to the first tee on Sunday, I knew Padraig was about 25 yards behind me and when he came around the corner, the whole place just erupted, so I started clapping for him as well.
"Why would I fight an atmosphere like that? It was the biggest deal in the world for me. It wasn't hostile at all, but it was very loud, and if you're a little green, that can scare you."
If Mickelson is almost certainly guilty of a charge of disinterest, all his teammates were guilty of was being uptight. As for the notion that Europe routinely possess a superior team ethos, this American side had just as much collective harmony as its opponents.
And anyway, given that one or two players are not exactly enamoured of Colin Montgomerie, it's not as if the Europeans have a monopoly on team spirit.
"Okay, we come together that week and we play as a team, but we're competing against each other for the rest of the year, " says Harrington.
"Take this week at the American Express, there'll be hugs when the European Ryder Cup players greet each other on the range. Next week it'll be high fives, the week after that it'll be handshakes, the week after that we'll be saying hello, and then eventually we'll be blanking each other. That's how it goes."
There is no sociological and cultural mystery as to why the USA are currently being wiped out at the Ryder Cup.
Mickelson flopped, the evercompetitive Tiger Woods only found his game halfway through the contest, and with DiMarco, Toms, Campbell, Taylor and Wetterich struggling for different reasons, Lehman only had a half a team at the K Club, while Ian Woosnam played from a full deck throughout.
"Look, Tiger starts poorly, loses two, and wins three later, " says Verplank, "and then Phil doesn't win a game.
You need your quarterback and your wide receiver to perform, and if they don't, you're probably not going to win."
Betrayed by a qualification system he should have objected to . . . consider the farce of John Rollins winning the decidedly low-rent BC Open in the same week as the British Open and earning more points than DiMarco who finished second at Hoylake . . . Lehman soon realised that Europe were once again energised by the unique tension of the Ryder Cup, and that most of his players were undone by it.
Despite the anti-climax of last Sunday afternoon, and despite the fact that another bloodless triumph has reduced the contest's cutting edge, it is inconceivable that America will give up on the Ryder Cup.
Before the start of the matches at the Belfry in 1993 . . . the last time the USA won away from home . . . Tom Watson offered his players a thought for the day. "Everything they invented, " he said, "we perfected." Lehman probably left the K Club thinking that everything they invented, they perfected.
For now, anyway.
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