There's no 'I' in twelvesome

STRAFFAN, Ireland -- They were together as one, loud and clear, as if to rattle the critics who have claimed for so long that they could not play as a team.

``Fore," yelled not just one American Ryder Cup player yesterday, but many. Six, seven, maybe eight of them. Heck, all 12 of them may have screamed the warning, for that is how many of them were standing in the fourth fairway of the K Club. Wind was whipping, rain was coming down, and the last of 12 shots from about 250 yards was on its way when the warning and the hand signals appeared in unison.

``Fore."

Chad Campbell's approach with a fairway metal had drifted well left, but the American teamwork had worked. Its warning heeded, no one was hurt, and again in unison, the men in red, white, and blue laughed.

Whether or not the Americans' message was made loud and clear is open for debate, but no one could argue with the novelty of it. Try to play a twelvesome at The Patterson Club in posh Fairfield, Conn., ``and you'd get a note from the board," said J.J. Henry, laughing, but do it on a practice day in preparation of the 36th Ryder Cup and people simply take note.

It's just that no one knew what to call it.

``This is, `Make your own fun,' " said Mike ``Fluff" Cowan, Jim Furyk's caddie.

``Team playing. Staying loose," suggested Scott Verplank.

Tom Lehman -- the United States captain who as far back as February had hinted at a practice round involving all 12 US Ryder Cuppers -- offered his name for the nine-hole trek.

``That's called `Whiskey Run,' " said Lehman.

Here in Ireland, where Stableford is a format of choice, it is doubtful ``Whiskey Run" will catch on with the golfing public, but surely it attracted a lot of attention as the large gallery braved miserable, wet, windy weather to bear witness. If the desired effect was to show their critics -- and European fans -- that the Americans can indeed play as a team, then it got off to a lousy start. That's because part of the game was to not hit tee shots from the par 4s and par 5s, but instead drop balls from where it was agreed that most of the drives would land.

The awkward choice of format drew a round of boos from people who had been sitting in the grandstands behind the first tee. It brought more boos from the folks who gathered at the fifth tee box, too.

``We're just the ugly Americans, I guess," said Furyk, who was in on the group decision, but tried his singular best to remedy the decision. When a patron near the fifth tee box remarked, ``You don't give a damn about the Irish public," Furyk shook his head, took a few steps, and gladly stopped to pose for a photo alongside a woman in the gallery.

Behind Furyk, David Toms signed autographs, as did Chris DiMarco, Stewart Cink, Verplank, Zach Johnson, Brett Wetterich, Vaughn Taylor, Campbell, and Henry. Phil Mickelson exchanged words with some youngsters, Tiger Woods acknowledged those who screamed his name, and onward pushed Team USA right through the tee box and down the fifth fairway until they reached an agreed upon point.

And then . . .

Twelve approach shots to set in motion a game devised by Lehman. It involved six two-man teams. Once you determined whose approach shot you liked best, it became alternate-shot, low score wins. In case of a tie, and virtually every hole ended in a tie, there was a chip-off.

It was skins.

It was $100 a man.

It was a good day for the team of Verplank and Toms, winners of four skins.

It was intended to be fun and for the most part, it succeeded. But of course, as is their style in recent Ryder Cups, the Americans got off to a bad start, for the lack of tee shots angered some patrons.

``That was a mistake," conceded Lehman. ``You know, we should have hit a tee shot at least on the first hole to all of those fans left waiting. I apologize, that was my mistake."

The captain took the bullet, but insisting that they're all in this together, his players came to his defense, knowing that their every move is scrutinized. That's what happens when you've lost two straight, four of five, and seven of the past 10.

``I think we took a day that could have been not a whole lot of fun out there . . . and had a good time," Toms said. ``I thought we did some things where the fans seemed to be enjoying it. We got to spend that whole time all together, instead of in three or four different groups."

Together. It was the purpose of the day, so they marched as 12 players and 12 caddies, not to mention a roster of vice captains that is mind-boggling -- Loren Roberts, Corey Pavin, Duffy Waldorf, David Ogrin, and, for all we know, Walter Hagen.

The large group was unified right down to matching rain suits, matching hats, matching golf bags, and matching bottles of water.

A team effort, you see, and Furyk wanted to keep it that way. When asked if he wanted the umbrella, he said no. ``That's why we've got the rainsuit," he said, and besides, no one else had an umbrella up.

Henry was the first off with the rain jacket while standing over a long approach into the green at the par-4 sixth. Johnson had pulled his shot into water left. DiMarco and Verplank nearly did the same. Only Furyk, Wetterich, and Woods landed on the green, so Henry felt the pressure. But as a sturdy New Englander, Henry ripped a 5-iron pure and its soft landing left him an 18-inch tap-in. Surely, it would be a skin, but no. Verplank pitched in to force a playoff that he and Toms won.

``I won some money, so it was good," said Toms, but most of his compatriots saw it as good, even if they had lost money. They had, after all, been together.

Like at the par-4 seventh, a hole that is fronted by a large pond. Borrowing a page from the famous practice-round routine at the Masters's 16th hole, the players tried to skip their approach shots across the water and onto the green. Woods screamed a shot that skipped, but never slowed down, and it raced through the green and up against the TV camera stand. Johnson chunked one in the water. So did Henry. Mickelson's shot skipped across the water, hit the rocks, but bounced back in. No one had it any closer than Verplank's 25 feet until Campbell hit a shot similar to Mickelson's that bounded forward and got within a few feet of the hole.

The crowd loved it, and all the while Lehman was signing autographs, more concerned at the moment with the fans than his players. It is a page out the European playbook, this trick to acknowledge the patrons, especially on foreign soil, so Cowan took up the baton as he headed to the tee at the par-3 eighth. Spotting a young man wearing a New York Yankees hat, the Maine native asked, ``Name me one guy who plays for the Yankees. Just one." The kid shook his head no, people laughed, and a man standing next to the young boy joined the fun.

``Can you name me a Kerry footballer?" he asked.

``Ian Coughlin," shot back Cowan, and it drew great laughs because the name is a safe bet here, like saying there's a man named Bill Johnson or Tom Smith involved in pro sports back in the states.

Jammed into the tight tee box at the par-3 eighth, the Americans were, by now, very much into the competition, the barbs flying, the laughs rolling out. Lehman approved of everything he saw, too.

``We decided to make it fun," he said. ``We wanted to let them see the American team."

Together. As one.