Rory's Glory by Justin Doyle

the grass which made Ian Poulter’s next putt even more difficult.
    Again, it was for a half but a half to give Europe a 1-up win. It was a putt of fully 10 of the longest feet Poulter, McIlroy and Europe had ever seen. On the plus side, he was in the zone. His adrenalin was sky high and he was playing brilliantly.
    Make the putt, and Europe would be 10–6 behind overnight going into the last day Singles. Miss it, and America would get a crucial half-point and that five point lead. TV cameras, press cameras and microphones awaited the moment as he stood over the ball.
    All the players and captains from both teams were gathered on the green, standing next to friends, wives and girlfriends. ‘Sweet hair!’ someone yelled as he lined it up. Then just as his putter hit the ball, one last insult echoed out from somewhere, ‘Nice shoes!”
    As the ball travelled you could hear hundreds of motorised zooms from cameras like a swarm of bees. It fell in the hole. There were shrieks, gasps and groans from the hugely partisan crowd and yelps and cheers from the European contingent.
    Poulter turned around and as McIlroy walked swiftly over to offer an outstretched wrist, and then to hug him, the look from Poulter said it all. The mad stare from his eyes went straight through Rory as if saying to him ‘who are you – where did you come from?’
    It was as if he was so totally focussed on sinking the putt that he had no connection whatsoever to his team mate. He was in a different world. His body was drugged with such a toxic mix of adrenalin, euphoria, determination and relief that he was numb.
    By God what a performance from Poulter that day! From Rory as well – and from Garcia and Donald – but everything depended on Poulter sinking that putt. 10-6 down, they still had a chance and the efforts of Poulter would do nothing but inspire Europe.
    A third match for Poulter and a 100% record of three wins. The way he was performing Olazabal would surely have to put him out as the lead man in the Singles the following day – or would he?
    He was so reminiscent of Severiano Ballesteros. A paler version perhaps, but he had similar traits like his gritting of teeth and his dogged single-minded determination to win and get the job done. It was as if Seve had infiltrated his very being.
    Later that evening after the European team had freshened up and eaten, Ollie called all the players into a room for the traditional final team talk. It was the most emotional Ryder Cup team meeting ever held and what came out of there were buckets of tears.
    Olazabal called on his players to follow the spirit of Seve. What Poulter had shown, in that regard, the entire team was asked to follow suit. If each of them gave 100%, it was still possible they could win.
    An Indian war dance; a call to arms; a call to battle – on Sunday, there would be no need for war paint on faces. Every last one of the 12 disciples would be armed with frightening eyes that would scare and stare the bejaysus out of the Yankees and Confederates.
    Their concentrated minds and eyes – using Poulter as the flagship – would beat the Americans into submission. Staring, focussing, concentrating, achieving the victory and then it was meeting over, good night.
    One wonders how Rory slept. As the final day singles teed off, Ollie buzzed around the place. His eyes were darting around looking and observing. Every now and again he would ask a caddy, a golfer or anyone, in his Spanish twang, ‘have you seen Rory?
    Maybe McIlroy was on the range; maybe the putting green or perhaps he was in any number of quiet corners giving a radio or television interview. ‘Ah don’t worry Ollie, he’s around somewhere – how is Luke Donald performing?’
    Luke was first man out at 11.03 am against Bubba Watson and would be followed 11 minutes later by Paul Lawrie and then 11 minutes after that by Rory. But Olazabal knew something was