MacIntyre turns the Ryder Cup tables on Spieth to burst the US bubble | Jonathan Liew

TThe ball splashes out of the bunker and flies towards the green. Jordan Spieth raises his hand and orders him to stop. The ball stops. Spieth nods happily, takes his putter from caddy Michael Greller and begins to compose himself for the four-foot putt that will halve the 9th hole.

Moments like these make you realize that Spieth is not like other golfers. Most players bark at their ball in flight, urging it to ‘sit down’ or ‘get up’ as if it were an errant dog. Spieth, on the other hand, whispers to it softly, cajoles and encourages it, as if to say, “Come on, buddy, you can do this.” And in his most sublime moments, it can feel as if Spieth and the ball are almost like dancing partners, master and student, one leading and the other faithfully following.

The heat on this Saturday afternoon is slow and persistent. The home crowd loudly serenades Tommy Fleetwood in the group at the front and Rory McIlroy in the group behind, but this match somehow feels more subdued and intimate. Like Spieth and his partner, Justin Thomas, Justin Rose and Robert MacIntyre are measured players, methodical players, players who try to enclose themselves in a bubble. At one point, Rose crouches over a putt and has to ask Spieth, who is contemplating his own putt in a Zen-like state of concentration, to move out of his eye line.

And to a small extent, the United States is on the rise. Sam Burns and Collin Morikawa have a firm grip on the opening rubber, with Max Homa and Brian Harman romping up front in the second. As the scoreboards begin to glow an unfamiliar red, this match begins to feel like the centerpiece of the afternoon, America’s last stand. If this match turns red too, the comeback will actually happen, and honestly, it’s anyone’s guess what happens next.

In short, this is a time for great deeds and great personalities. Spieth, Thomas and Rose have won six majors between them and all spent time as world No. 1. MacIntyre, meanwhile, is the lowest-ranked player in the league and not a freaky Swedish genius. He got into this Ryder Cup thanks to a 55th place, a 45th place and a missed cut. He has little match play experience and has never won on the PGA Tour. On Friday, he and Rose got a little lucky to scrape the half after Homa and Wyndham Clark imploded down the stretch. And so pretty much the last thing anyone expects to happen at this point is what actually happens. The man who will save Europe’s day is world number 55, who still lives near his mother in Oban.

MacIntyre resembles a player who is afraid he could lose his balance at any moment. He greets the ball with a long and elaborate routine, dangling the club in front of his eyes for several seconds. He addresses putts with a funny little front-on shuffle. The audience seems to adore him, but he never acknowledges them. Anyone who bursts their concentration bubble runs the risk of receiving a short word. “It’s all possible today, sir,” he snapped at a photographer who was lingering in position as he lined up a chip.

But the steady pace of the match also played to his strengths. And after struggling on the front nine, MacIntyre started to look more comfortable after the turn. On the third 13th he sent a lovely iron to six feet. It was a tricky downhill putt, ebbing from left to right, and as the ball fell, MacIntyre clenched his fists at his sides, let out a howl and reveled in the relief and jubilation of a man who, 31 holes in his Ryder Cup career, has finally left its mark.

Spieth, for his part, whispered against the dying of the light. These have been a painful few days for him, a reminder of how far he has fallen from that idyllic peak of 2015-2017, and as he weaved his way around Marco Simone in the sweltering heat, it became clear that whatever he tried to do, tell the ball he stopped listening. His driving has been terrible all week. He no longer seems to trust himself to get out of trouble. And while Thomas has been able to save him on occasion, a single half-point from three games feels like a fairly fair reflection of his contribution.

Here was the beauty of the Ryder Cup in one snapshot: a competition that makes heroes of the meek and vice versa. Spieth is one of the greatest players of his generation, one of the game’s true stars, a man feared and revered in equal measure. MacIntyre is nobody’s idea of ​​a household name, the least heralded player on his team, and may never play another Ryder Cup. But here, on the biggest stage of his life, he’s built something that will last.