By Ed Malyon

Copyright independent

In the end, it was probably the only thing the European fans got wrong all day.

“We can see you sneaking out” they sang gleefully at the few remaining American supporters rapidly exiting the golf course, but the reality was that most of them were already long gone, crammed in on the Long Island Railroad or inching incredibly slowly away from Bethpage Black along Long Island’s snarled and gridlocked streets.

As things go, it was a tiny factual blemish on a gargantuan, joyous day for those who had made the trip to New York to take in golf’s finest biennial jamboree.

One of the many truly special features of the Ryder Cup is the atmosphere, which by design is enormously partisan and an indisputable factor in what happens on the course. Saturday at Bethpage Black ended up being a Euro party, with those in the blue and yellow of the EU flag, union jacks, Irish tricolores and the occasional Swedish cross all revelling in a day that sets up the visitors for a barely believable mauling of this highly powered American team.

Golf is, weirdly, the only sport where the spectators appear to have taken a uniform oath to dress like the actual participants.

Look around at any major or golf tournament Stateside and there are men decked out as if they are ready to step in and take the next shot should anything untoward happen. What if Patrick Cantlay twists his ankle walking up the staggering hill to the fifteenth green and needs someone to sub in for him? No need to call one of the others down from the clubhouse, here’s Chad from Idaho and he’s been dressed in full golf gear since 5:15am.

For the Ryder Cup you get a little bit extra, though.

As many vikings and knights of the round table as you see in this glorious competition when it lands on European soil, in America you will find significantly more founding fathers and bald eagles. On Friday there was quite the sight as George Washington strolled down the side of the 13th hole smoking a joint (legal in New York) and, later, Alexander Hamilton chuntering that Justin Rose was actually South African and that Jon Rahm was basically American because he went to university at Arizona State.

Everybody has their own ways of coping.

Americans are more patriotic than most countries. Where else do they sing the national anthem and ripple their flag before every sporting event? (Imagine how odd it would be if every Premier League fixture was preceded by God Save the King.)

That patriotism has traditionally served as a competitive advantage and made these team competitions on US soil into a bearpit, with hollering and hooting and the ubiquitous “YOO ESS AYY” chant a simple but effective battle cry as their elite golfers pummel the opposition.

Only, the on-course product didn’t give them much to cheer about this time, and this is where sporting cultures begin to diverge.

In Europe and Latin America it is football which is the dominant sport and therefore much of the broader sporting culture takes in elements from that. Think of the increase in football-style songs at cricket in England by way of example.

There is also an interesting difference to observe between the American fan and the European supporter. Those words are chosen carefully, because Stateside the tendency is to go to sporting events expecting to be entertained and, most importantly, to win. That is when they will sing the loudest. Paradoxically, it is when your team is struggling that they need you the most. That is obvious to most football fans and traditionally spurs them into action in the stands, yet there was little evidence of that walking the undulations of the Black course throughout this one-sided Ryder Cup.

Separately but linked, European football (and Latin American, to be fair) has a culture of singing and chanting that goes back generations. It is creative, it is inventive. At its worst it can be cruel but at its best it can be witty and an entire sideshow to the game. In the early years of attending matches it was one of the things I remember most, the back-and-forth soundtrack to the game, providing a sort of bonus private narrative for only those who made the effort to attend. In practical terms this means that the average football fans comes hard-wired with dozens of pre-written football songs in their heads. Some that work for this purpose, some that work for short names, some that get the point across very obviously and others that are more subtle.

As the scoreboards got bluer and bluer this weekend, the pockets of European fans who had made the journey rolled out an increasingly broad and impressive range of choral praise. Altered from terrace chants you’d hear up and down the football league, the home support had no response as the Europeans’ audial barrage got more celebratory and more varied.

Rory McIlroy is a lightning rod for abuse from the American fans but also the subject of the most European songs of praise, with the adapted version of Zombie by The Cranberries probably the most heard in New York this week. Tommy Fleetwood can’t be far behind, with at least three chants featuring his name getting a good airing. Justin Rose had one, Jon Rahm a couple and Tyrell Hatton had one too, though he also had a less complimentary one from the home fans trying to light his famously short fuse – “If you’re Hatton and you know it, throw your club.”

Even the non-playing vice-captains were serenaded as the blue team kept putting points on the board on Saturday afternoon and the group of European fans determined to burn out their vocal chords grew and grew. Indeed, “there’s only two Molinaris” for the Italian pair might have brought the biggest smile from anyone on the team as Francesco clocked what was being sung.

By the time the day’s final match was heading up 18 and much of the home support had filed out of the grandstands and viewing galleries, the only voices remaining were European and they were in the mood for a party. Renditions of the usual celebratory classics – “Europe’s on fire, USA is terrified”, “Olé, olé, olé, olé”, “There’s only one Luke Donald” – and some more goading ones too – “Is this a library?”, “Cheerio” and, perhaps 24 hours premature, “you’re getting sacked in the morning” to Keegan Bradley.

Where the latter lies on the joke to abuse spectrum likely depends on who you are and where you come from.

Undoubtedly there were some fans who failed to find the right balance in New York this week. McIlroy particularly was the subject of abuse, which its distributors probably believed to be simply heckling. The Ulsterman was more measured than he needed to be in the face of insults and comments about his personal life.

“Look, you know, when you play an away Ryder Cup, it’s really, really challenging,” he said. “People can be their own judge of whether they took it too far or not. I’m just proud of us for being able to win today with what we had to go through.”

In the same way that there is more than one way to support your team, there is more than one way to win.

In this instance, the best way is that those abusing McIlroy on Saturday will be back on their sofa on Sunday, miserable in defeat, when McIlroy is drenched in champagne after securing another Ryder Cup on American soil.