2025 Platinum
An early rise in the Lower East Side of Manhattan brought with it more excitement than dread glimpsing the alarm clock at such an ungodly hour. It was a necessary departure from the usual Thursday routine; and for good reason. Eden Athletic were off to Bethpage Black for the final practice round before the commencement of the 45th Ryder Cup the following morning. Our partnership with Glenmuir started on the British Isles, with the aim of collaborating to bring a line of hand-picked tops and knitwear to our links-loving friends. It was now sending (one of us) across the pond for the long-heralded event of the golfing season, the biennial clash between giants and underdogs. Eden Athletic are grateful to have had a small part to play in sharing the story of this year’s Ryder Cup.
Out the door and a quick strike mission past the corner deli for a black coffee and a sustaining Bacon, Egg and Cheese Bagel led us to Grand Street station. Travelling light with just a couple of cameras, a water bottle and a backpack, we hopped on the subway heading uptown to Grand Central. We wove our way through a sea of commuters, important looking folk and senior executives, many of whom were wearing golf attire in what I imagine was a subtle tip of the cap. Adorned in our g.MUIRHEAD polos and shielded by our g.JOHNSTONE vests, the envious look from passers-by was palpable and evident.
Running through the maze of marbled halls at Grand Central, we barely made it to the carriage before the train pulled out of the station bound for Farmingdale, NY. The energy was high, as adoring US fans loudly debated potential outcomes for the week and hot picks for the weekend ahead. As European fans, we kept rather quiet and turned on some vintage Ryder Cup highlights from the Miracle at Medinah. Might there just be a way to repeat a similar magic, in the vein of an upset on foreign soil, in the following few days, we thought. We had no idea what we were about to witness.
 |
 |
We pulled into the platform on time and with little delay. The shuttle bus from the quaint Long Island town station to the course was short and organised, unlike reports from the first day of play. Through the security detail, past the vast cathedral of official Ryder Cup merchandise, we arrived at the range promptly for the practice round warm up. With McIlroy front and centre, we joined a large crowd gathered behind him to get a glimpse of what a ball flight should actually look like. Towering long iron shots barely left the down-range flag stick he was firing at. Tight draw after tight draw, the balls landed dead clustering around the target. He looked calm and poised, and an intuitive confidence was clear as he switched back to a short iron to finish up his session. Adjacent, Åberg was chipping balls from the juicy rough surrounding the short game area. His downhill splash shots all stopped within tap-in range. It was clear as he spoke to his coach for a moment that they were discussing a feel he was presently working on. Whatever he said must’ve worked wonders as we watched his final chip edge its way at perfect speed down the hill and fall into the cup. The American fans didn’t know whether to cheer or heckle.
We cruised through the swarm of people toward the end of the practice tee to find fan favourite Viktor ‘The Hov’ Hovland warming up with a rather odd Velcro belt contraption, similar to a weightlifting support. The belt had a foam cube on his trail side, forcing him to get his hands in front of his body and square the club face in sync with his trunk rotation. A strange looking device, but the result was non-debatable. A stable ball flight appeared in shot after shot, and the big right miss with the driver was nowhere to be found. Given all the mechanical tinkering forcing his body into unnatural positions, it's little surprise he sustained a neck injury later in the weekend. We’ll let the golfing jury continue to deliberate this keystone issue. For us, it just added to the script-less cinema that the Ryder Cup always produces.
It was time to follow the European boys in their final attempt to decrypt Bethpage Black before the opening bell the next day. We walked down the first fairway into the media hospitality tent adjacent to the dog leg. The tent was sleek and well stocked, with a grand buffet of food offerings available for lunch and a well curated Ryder Cup themed cocktail list. Naturally, we grabbed a Transfusion as we entered and posted up on the balcony for an aerial vantage of the European approach shots. Swing after swing, we heard the Continental cannons fire piercingly off the first tee and ball after ball landed in the middle of the fairway, if not green side. Strong and certain, the away team made their way into battle. Birdies flowed while jaunts from the crowd rang audibly as the bad guys on American soil tore up the first hole with ease. In the fairway, they shared advice and talked through the differing options they faced, be it regarding spin control or landing spots. It was abundantly clear to everyone on the grounds that Thursday morning: this European team was united by a single mission—to win, and win big, an away Ryder Cup, not by a hairs length or a roll of the dice but by a country mile. Realising what we had in store, we quickly finished up a plate of freshly made sliders from the chef at the buffet table and headed out, across the road, to follow the defending champions play out their round.
 |
 |
The second hole posed no major challenges or chinks in the armour, save for the severely hard to judge uphill approach shot. Iron shots away on the third hole comfortably finding the short stuff, the first real meat of the course lay closely ahead.
We caught up with the headline act on the 6th tee box as the rain grew heavier, the clouds grew darker and the pleasantries of early Autumn weather in New York were nowhere to be found. On the previous hole, approach shots were played as they lay. Hojgaard missed the fairway left and was surrounded by a wave of onlookers as he sized up the challenge left by his errant drive. The wet conditions had softened up the rough and the soil beneath, so much so that a large, stubborn clump of mud clung to the back of his ball unmoving. Expecting a lift clean and place to mimic normal tournament conditions and the conditions likely to be in place over the weekend, the chances of seeing him play up at an arm’s length seemed slim. However, whether it was a locker room talk or just part of the focussed game plan given by Luke Donald that morning, all the players treated these shots as if they were faced with them on Sunday afternoon. With ease and a remarkable amount of control given the circumstances, Hojgaard hit a towering short iron over the left trees and safely onto the putting surface. Naturally, Rahm, Åberg and Straka all followed suit.
Their tee shots on 6 took flight into the barrage of rain up the left side cutting back into the blind landing area over the hill. We saw little playfulness from the boys in blue and yellow out there. For them, it was serious business and their attitudes toward the practice round were unmoving. As they gained territory into the course, the more focussed they appeared. I turned to Charlie and joked that this year’s Ryder Cup result looked signed, sealed and delivered. As we went back and forth on this, a lone Patrick Cantlay appeared on the 12th green behind us without a teammate in sight. It rather summed up our estimations quite nicely.
 |
 |
Given the developing weather situation, we ventured back toward the first paddock of holes to seek refuge in Glenmuir’s hospitality tent. Cracking open a well-deserved Michelob Ultra and oriented ourselves to catch sight of groups playing up the 18th hole. Nearby, we spotted two other keen onlookers in matching Glenmuir vests and quarter-zips. Noticing this, we sparked conversation with them about their attire and their reasoning for being there. Coincidentally, it was the same as ours. We fixed drinks for our newly found friends and made camp on our table. The clouds parted, gave way to some eagerly anticipated sunlight and basked the closing hole of the Black Course at Bethpage State Park in a radiance that could only be interpreted as pathetic fallacy. Whatever was going to happen in the ensuing three days of gladiatorial face-off was going to be a showstopper. We discussed this and more at length until the bar staff kindly ushered us out at closing time. For now, it was back to Manhattan to edit our photos with the affirmed belief that the Ryder Cup might just be the greatest sporting spectacle on earth.
