Lincicome: The rising temperature of golf’s Ryder Cup

Since no trophy is awarded for being the “hottest” country in the world, as the USA was recently proclaimed in front of royalty, the Ryder Cup will have to do.

We have the word of the American golf team captain, Keegan Bradley, that the coming event will “transcend the golf world.”

So we then can agree that this thing is a big deal, biannually speaking.

When last we looked in on Ryder doings, the Europeans were celebrating with wine and song amid Roman cheers while the gloomy Yanks were changing into street clothes to avoid being identified.

Mindful that losing again (the U.S. is 3-8 this century) might provoke the Yanks to do something unpleasant at the next meeting, to be held ominously near New York City, the Europeans have prepared for the worst.

Each team member was issued a virtual reality headset anticipating disruptions such as — what? Fuhgeddaboudit! at the top of the backswing. General crudity is foreseen, and the visitors have desensitized themselves, ready for whatever.

Having covered a U.S. Open at Bethpage Black, I can testify to a general restlessness among the patrons, but I credited that to poorly placed portable toilets, and it was no more so than at most tournaments, except for the measured Masters, so European fears may be overanxious.

One old American Ryder Cupper, Lanny Wadkins, summed up the visitors as being “wusses,” a word not regularly heard around the clubhouse, but more common than “febrile,” an assessment of the expected atmosphere by former Scottish cupper Andrew Coltart.

European fears are justified by the oddsmakers, favoring the U.S. to win, and nothing less should be expected of the “hottest” country in the world.

Defending our honor and our febrile-ness, as well as our global hotness, are 12 folks who can walk through most supermarkets without turning heads, this the result of the public passing of Tiger Woods, our last link to golf distinction.

We are now in the Age of Scheffler, not to be confused with the Time of Schauffele, although the ability to tell them apart is a course for credit at PGA school.

The Americans, as losers have come to be called instead of “us” and “we,” and the “Euros” — not a nationality at all but a currency — are obligated to define each culture.

You know that golf is punching above its weight when it comes to represent all the character flaws of America. Selfishness, going it alone, arrogance, aloofness, vanity, like that.

I mean, that’s basketball’s job.

By actual count, not including the saucers, all those recent lost Cups amount to a complete place setting and if anyone wants to see them, a good place to start looking is in Rory McIlroy’s cupboard.

I mean if we have lost control of the vice-presidential sports, the apocalypse is peeking out of the nearest bunker.

For this we only get confirmation of our defects, lately a very popular activity around the world.

When we are asked to believe we cannot beat Europe at golf because they like each other and we don’t, we are reminded that Europeans have been disliking each other a lot longer than we have, and more than once we have had to help sort things out for them.

We have become tribal Europe and they have become the great melting pot of common effort.

That’s the other great theory, Americans are great individuals, but bad couples, and I suppose there are divorce statistics to back that up. Most marriages are about 6-5 or pick’em, about the same as the Ryder Cup.

Back when the Ryder Cup did not matter, back when the U.S. was winning it every other year, no one accused Jack Nicklaus of self-interest, or Arnold Palmer of apathy.

And not then did an American team that would win 23½ to 8½, still the greatest rout in any Ryder Cup, represent anything other than, as captain Ben Hogan claimed, the greatest golfers in the world.

The measure of the Ryder Cup is that all of this seems to matter when, after all, there are only two things that matter in golf, a working cart and a cup holder for your beer.