I wonder if they talk to each other? In fact, I really do wonder at the whole American Team dynamic, and I can’t help feeling that it’s not a patch on the energy, enthusiasm and bonhomie that shone through every European member. That’s a big deal. Yes, the American golfers just don’t seem to be able to get the team thing at all, and a good few looked like they would rather not be there, in truth.
They parallel the classic French wine dictum in that it tastes wonderful at home but loses in the transportation. To dwell a bit on one of my favourite little metaphors, I would say that this finely balanced, oaked and plummy Napa Valley red had decided hints of vinegar when it landed at Charles de Gaulle. Indeed, I would say this vintage en primeur (for it surely was vintage and en primeur) also lost its label once that note went on the team door. Ooh La La. What a faux pas!
But further, what on earth made Jim Furyk choose Phil Mickelson as a wildcard? That was just wild and made as much sense, rationale and clarity as voting Judge Brett Kavanaugh onto the Supreme Court. Not as bad of course, but pretty mad.
