Loving the Ryder Cup / Bill Elliott / 11 September 2008 /

From economy to Concorde, Bill Elliott reflects on three decades of Ryder Cup golf.

Time flies. Doesn't it just. It's now 29 years since I caught a plane to the United States to witness my first Ryder Cup over there. Two years earlier, in 1977, I had watched my first Ryder Cup on English soil.

This was still Great Britain & Ireland versus America and it was, as ever back then, a lop-sided affair. The American superstars yawned their way into Royal Lytham and were still yawning when they exited victorious a few days later.

It was after this 1977 match that Jack Nicklaus sat down and wrote the letter to the British PGA that was to change everything. Nicklaus, to sum up, wrote that the matches were dying on their feet, that interest in the USA was virtually non-existent and that unless GB& I was expanded to become Europe and to include the new, exciting talents on offer from the Continent then he could see the whole thing imploding.

To their credit, the British bosses took notice so that by the time I flew with the team to West Virginia two years later it was indeed Europe v. America and Seve Ballesteros and Antonio Garrido were sitting beside me. And I do mean sitting beside me because we were all in the Economy section of that BA flight. Incredible really.

The match was played at the monolithic and ritzy Greenbrier, a mountain haven designed to cosset middle-aged, high-income Americans who had yet to discover Florida. Few of these people came out to watch. On the first morning I walked the fairways, chatting to the likes of Brian Barnes and Peter Oosterhuis as they played.

Two men and a dog watched all this and only the dog seemed totally interested. After the excited crowds at Lytham two years earlier I was amazed at the apathy on display. America duly won while the big story we sent back home was about the silly antics of Mark James and Ken Brown who behaved like daft, naughty school kids and upset their hosts with a series of pranks. Each was fined heavily when they got back, each is now an important member of the European golf establishment.

Two years later the greatest American side ever to play in a Ryder Cup came over to play Europe at Walton Heath in Surrey. The British PGA had to borrow £10,000 to stage the match, the money mostly going to the golf club. Now, of course, golf clubs pay many millions of pounds to stage a Ryder Cup. Last time I spoke to someone who would know he valued the Ryder Cup at close to £100million. And rising.

The difference is that the American punters are now interested. For this to happen, the USA had to start losing matches and for this in turn to occur Tony Jacklin had to be appointed skipper.

When Jacko accepted the job for the 1983 match in Florida he did so on condition that he had sole charge, that the players were placed in the centre of everything, that uniforms and bags and hotel accommodations were of the highest standard. Jacklin's team did not fly Economy to America in 1983, they flew by Concorde. I, naturally, was still in Economy.

Tony's determination to upgrade everything changed the way the players thought about themselves. Instead of second-class citizens they started to puff out their chests and to believe that the mighty Americans could be beaten. Jacklin told them they were good all the time off the course while on it Seve proved that a European golfer could be superior.

Between them the skipper and the young Spanish genius changed everything. Between them they created a new and bright future. Europe did not win that '83 match but they came within a point of doing so. "See, " said Jacklin, " we CAN do it." Beside him, a tearful Ballesteros yelled "Next time amigos, next time."

The two men were spot on. Two years later at The Belfry, Europe finally beat the Yanks, the first victory since 1957 at Lindrick. What was it like? You had to be there. You really had.

After the formal end of match ceremonies, the team crawled out of their bedroom windows on to the roof of the Pro Shop at The Belfry. Thousands of fans waited below to acclaim them and were then sprayed with champagne for their trouble.

While this was going on, a military band played Land Of Hope And Glory and as the music reached a crescendo, Concorde swept in low over the scene and dipped her graceful wings in a victory salute. It was too much. I cried. But then it's okay to weep at a birth and what we'd witnessed in 1985 truly was the birth of the modern Ryder Cup.

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