Being within touching distance of the Ryder Cup action is a rare and precious experience – one unlikely to last much longer
You get a fluorescent green bib from the front desk, and it makes you look a bit like you’re about to do community service, but you don’t really mind, because what you’ve just been given is actually a golden key. One of the most precious items in the whole of sportswriting – right up there with your thesaurus, your dog-eared envelope full of expense receipts, and Wikipedia. You’re about to enter a magical portal into a sunlit universe of big swings and perfumed shoulders, cigar smoke and mild swearing.
There are times in this job when you feel the need to explain to people that actually, it’s not as opulent and idyllic as it all seems. That there are deadlines and demands, brutally early starts and late nights, interminable hours spent in windowless rooms waiting for a man in a tracksuit to shower you in banalities, long train journeys with Jonathan Wilson. Then, of course, there are the moments that just need to be savoured and shared. Lean into the smugness. Come with me. We’re going behind the ropes at the Ryder Cup.
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