My Humble Opinion

As he picks at a delicious meal of Ryder Cup crow, Alan Shipnuck ponders the spectacle of social-media outrage—and finds inspiration in an unlikely place.

- Alan Shipnuck

PERHAPS YOU RECALL that last year, in these pages, I predicted that the young, talented U.S. team was about to embark on an era of sustained dominance in the Ryder Cup. My conviction was expressed with considerable hyperbole, because why not? If you believe in something you might as well push all your chips to the middle of the table. Going totally over-thetop made the column more fun to write, hopefully more fun to read, and it certainly led to endlessly entertaining banter on Twitter in the long run-up to the Cup. All of the grief that I got from European fans— and some players and caddies, too—did put me in an awkward position, though. When it comes to the Ryder Cup, I’m usually a fairly impartial observer traveling on no passport; now, it seemed, I had more at stake than any of the actual participants. There is no cheering in the press box, but this time around I might have said a few silent prayers, not that it helped. To put it mildly, my prediction did not pan out. The over hyped, underperforming U.S. team was so pitiful I was embarrassed—for them and myself.