Ole, ole, ole……….oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!  Europe were well and truly thumped at the Ryder Cup in Whistling Straits last weekend.  Outplayed, out-performed, outclassed and out of sorts.  Their resistance to the steamrolling juggernaut that turned up alongside Steve Stricker, the American captain, was paltry and the harder the Europeans tried the more elusive became the laser-like approach shots and clutch putts they required.

There has been a triumphant fanfare from the American press that this is the dawning of a new era, that this is an American side that will dominate for decades to come.  Just a second – let’s not get too carried away here.  All sport is cyclical and ebbing and flowing is all part and parcel of the game.  And just because the Europeans were in the ebbing part of the cycle this year doesn’t mean they’ll still be ebbing come 2023 and Rome.  In fact, I bet you they aren’t.  There are a number of young players waiting in the wings and many more we’ve never heard of harbouring fierce ambitions to be in the team in two years’ time.

Apart from the result (for the Europeans, that is) there was plenty to enjoy about this Ryder Cup.  Whistling Straits is a wonderful, scenic test of golf although I would have preferred it if the players had not had a 9-iron or wedge in their hand for quite SO many second shots into the green.  I enjoyed seeing Jordan Spieth back near the top of his game and his match with Koepka on Saturday against Rahm and Garcia in the fourballs was a matchplay delight.  Sergio may have been the grizzled veteran in that European combo but he was like a wee boy in his eagerness to hit the next shot.  At times he wasn’t a million miles removed from that effervescent 19-year old who famously went skipping and jumping up the fairway after a stellar shot from the roots of a tree in the 1999 PGA Championship.

How could you not love Shane Lowry?  A great big bear of a man who made no secret of the fact that this was what he was born for.  The outpouring of emotion the second after holing the winning putt on the final green of his Saturday fourball with Tyrrell Hatton will live long in the memory.  We hadn’t  witnessed that at Portrush in his fairytale winning of the Open a couple of years ago.  The Ryder Cup inspires many players to more than they could fathom.

Every American player contributed to the points tally.  Dustin Johnson looks back to his best and in winning five points out of five he joins Larry Nelson and Francesco Molinari in producing a full house in what could be called the modern era.  The only other player to tee it up all five times was Jon Rahm, world No 1 and undoubted on-course leader of the European side.  He succumbed in the singles to Scottie Scheffler which just goes to show what a monumental task it is for any player to deal emotionally, physically and mentally with five outings.

The players say every single shot, right from the off, is like a shot when you’re in contention on the back nine of a major on Sunday.  Right there that puts it more in perspective for those of us who will never know what it’s like to step into that sort of exacting arena.

I enjoyed watching the hatless (definitely not hapless) Patrick Cantlay fashion three wins and a half from his four matches, even if he did beat Shane in the singles.  Cantlay came to the Walker Cup at Royal Aberdeen in 2011 as the No 1 amateur in the world and great things were predicted, and expected, of him.  A few years later he had the crushing and life-changing experience of witnessing his best friend and caddy being killed in a traffic accident.  Dark days followed and, coupled with injury, those days turned into years.  His quiet demeanour, which has often led to him being mistaken for being taciturn, has kept him largely in the background as far as the fans are concerned.  This is definitely his time, however – winner of the Fed-Ex Cup and a $15 million bonus and now unbeaten in his maiden Ryder Cup.  Hats off indeed, Mr Cantlay!

Much as there was to enjoy there was quite a lot to abhor.  Never, ever, have I heard the opposition in golf being booed when introduced on the first tee.  Thankfully, that seemed to be sorted out by the Sunday but that behaviour must not be tolerated and must be stamped out once and for all.  It’s not acceptable at any level and what is the point in having the digital screens flashing up messages saying abusive behaviour will lead to eviction from the course when nothing happens?  Cheer like mad for your own team, yes.  Greet the opposition with polite applause or even silence, yes.  But we can do without the “get in the water” and “miss it” cries.  It is so important the powers-that-be do not let the game descend into the gutter.

As usual, an honours degree in mental agility and memory was required to follow the leapfrogging nature of the television coverage.  Sky did their valiant best to deal with the peripatetic feed from the US broadcasters who frequently missed out key shots or putts, or worse still, played the shots out of turn.  Too often the commentators were hung out to dry and scrabbling to remember who was playing whom and what the score was.  A few more graphics would have helped but they weren’t forthcoming from the host broadcasters and then in an instant we were off to another match.  You couldn’t leave the room for a second and expect to return knowing what was going on.

Nevertheless, it’s been a feast of golf this year and huge congratulations must go to the US for winning the Walker, Curtis and Ryder Cups.  Congrats, too, to a wonderful European Solheim Cup team.  Like Rory, I can’t wait to do it all again!

It’s more or less back to business as usual now, with players back to strokeplay – even though the Dunhill Links is not just some same old same old event, given the stellar cast of amateurs from sport, stage and screen, not forgetting assorted family and friends of varying degrees of skill and some of the best courses in the world.

Don’t laugh but many years ago, in the dim, distant days when I worked for The Times, I got an invitation to play (and write about the experience).  I said yes of course but my back, which was even dodgier then than it is now (thank you Clare in Bristol, Esther in California and the life-enhancing Gokhale Method), gave out and I had to withdraw long before I got anywhere near St Andrews and environs.  I was never invited again.

On reflection, years later, I wondered if it had been psychosomatic in some way, caused by nerves, fear, stage fright, panic, whatever.  The back was definitely bad – I could barely walk let alone swing – but I do remember worrying, not just about the golf but also about making my deadlines and writing readable stuff.  There was also the certain knowledge that I wouldn’t recognise a single, solitary mega famous pop or film star, renowned all over the globe except chez Davies.

I’m not sure if it was during the Tandy period, when the computer screens were so small that you could only see four or five lines at a time and connections were as dodgy as my back.  All that would have added to the anxiety, so perhaps I was just giving myself a bit of a pass, suffering from a physical ailment to relieve the pressure of being expected to perform.  It’s not uncommon, so who knows?

For whatever reason, Europe’s Ryder Cup team were not at their best at Whistling Straits (did I tell you that I’ve played there, without distinction, a story for another day?) but they poured their heart and soul in to the match and on this occasion came up well short, beaten by a better team over the three days.  Gutting but hardly the end of the world.

There’s a whole lot of guff spouted about strategy, pods, pairings, players too young, too old, to rest or not to rest, singles line-ups and so on.  We all do it, pontificating and speculating, mostly badly but apparently one punter won a million dollars for an $8 stake by getting all twelve singles results right!!!  How he must have cheered when Paul Casey’s putt at the last, to halve his match with Dustin Johnson, slipped agonisingly by – it looked in to me for most of the way; or when Harris English hoicked his approach to the 18th into a ditch/stream to lose to Lee Westwood; or when Matt Fitzpatrick gifted Daniel Berger the bottom match with a woeful duff at the same hole.  Two matches finished all square, so could have gone either way and must have shredded a few more nerves.

If I were captain (suspend disbelief for the moment) of the Ryder or Solheim Cup or the Curtis or Walker Cup or any team for that matter, I’d  want only two things:  all my players playing well on the days of the competition and putting the lights out.  See Leona Maguire for details.

Roll on Rome for the Ryder and Spain for the Solheim.  And, please, please NO booing of the Americans on the first tee.  They are our guests:  we welcome them, then we MANGLE them, smiling politely as we do so.

Being involved as I still am, always will be, in the never-ending search for the perfect bag, I was delighted to receive a press release from a company called Meg & Bee, after its founders Meg Tudball and Bee Paul. They, it turns out, make bags and their “Classic Kit Bag” was at the Ryder Cup, doing duty with the European wives and girlfriends as they tramped the fairways putting a brave face on a pretty dire situation.

That might just do me for my treks to watch the not-so-mighty Spurs – room for tissues (to mop up the tears), lippy, glasses, purse, hand gel, mobile, pencil, notebook (old habits die hard), car keys, all those awkward but necessary things that tend to make bulges in bags that are too small.

Of course the perfect bag doesn’t exist; it’s the search that’s the fun.

Not sure if there’s such a thing as a perfect jean but I just have to mention that the US Ryder Cup team had official jeans – no idea when they wore them and I think they retailed at about $500 but the great thing is that they had them and, even better, they were made in Tupelo, Mississippi.

Doesn’t ring any bells?  That just means that you’re not an Elvis fan.  I wasn’t particularly but my mate Kate is fanatical, so I absorbed plenty of Presley tidbits and I know for a fact that he was born in Tupelo, in a tiny shack that is now a museum.  I went there once – the US Women’s Open was not that far away – and bought Kate some souvenirs, served by two women sporting the most amazing, jaw-droppingly perfect beehives and well-nigh impenetrable southern drawls.  Perfect.

Finally, I couldn’t resist sharing this photo from Golf Ireland, of Tuam’s GolfSixes team.  They’ve got to the national finals at Portmarnock on October 24th, along with Co. Louth, Millicent, Kilkenny, Doneraile, Tipperary, Lurgan and PORTSTEWART (sorry for the bias, home club!).  Imagine the excitement.  Good luck to everybody.