Liew in today’s DT on the opening ceremony (sic):
To a public that had come from far and wide to watch golf, it instead offered irrefutable proof that America thinks it invented crying. So we were treated to a cloying mix of the mundane and the misguided. Army guys playing ridiculous-looking brass instruments. Fat men making speeches.
Nauseous musical Polyfilla. The pop star Justin Timberlake reading a poem called “Golf” set to strings. And, of course, the now ubiquitous sight of the players’ wives and girlfriends being wheeled out like perfumed chattel.
In fact, about the only thing missing was the sight of Paul McCartney croaking out a tuneless Hey Jude in front of a swiftly emptying crowd…
…Just imagine. A bright Friday morning at Gleneagles. The two captains come out and announce their pairings. A golfer sticks his tee in the ground and belts a ball down the fairway, and the 2014 Ryder Cup is under way. Simple as that. For players and fans alike, it will be the only opening ceremony any of us need.
I share his sympathies re the opening nonsense, but the rest of the ridiculous hyperbole is a love/hate thing. Truly ridiculous (Brookline shirts, targetting golfer, war on the shore, Faldo as captain) combined with epic sporting moments (Nicklaus’ conceded put, Sam Torrence salute, Seve, Craig Stadler’s missed put, Christy O’Conner).
The only time I really regret not having Sky!