I Don't Think Anyone Had Rory McIlroy Calling America 'the Greatest Country in the World' on Their Ryder Cup BINGO Card

ERIK S LESSER. Shutterstock Images.

There are a few things I can't abide before a major sporting event. And that goes quadruple for a major sporting event involving many different nations with a history of rivalries, personal feuds, resentment, and unruly fans. And that is one of the main competitors taking the dreaded high road. Turning what should be the creeks and water hazards running red with bad blood into an example of spirit-of-cooperation, "Hands Across the Water," healthy competition among allies love fest.

And yet that's exactly what Rory McIlroy is attempting to do:

Boy, oh boy. You think you know an event. You can't count on anything any more.

C'mon, guys. This is not what this is supposed to be about. Where's the hatred? Where's the disdain? The shit talk? The righteous indignation toward all those great unwashed Americans, drunk on $16 low carb, low alcohol beverages us Colonial rustics call beer? Fat, unruly slobs gorged on bacon and pizza, listening to our Kid Rock music as we drive out oversized pickups back to our double-wides with the Dreamcatchers in the window so we can watch Dukes of Hazard reruns.

Instead, we've got Team Europe's best talking like every GIF you and your friends send each other from the 4th of July cookout:

To be clear, I agree with everything McIlroy said. But I'm biased. I'm born and bred here. Everytime I raise a glass in a toast, it's the Big Trouble in Little China one:

 "Here's to Army and Navy, and the battles they have won. Here's to America's colors, the colors that never run."

"May the wings of liberty never lose a feather."

But I'm a shameless, jingoistic buffoon, not Europe's best hope. The Ryder Cup is supposed to be about establishing dominance. Of demonstrating your culture is the superior one. It's not supposed to be about flattery. 

I miss the days when poor hapless Colin Montgomerie was fuming because he couldn't approach his shot without hearing 50 Mrs. Doubtfire references from the gallery.

Ashley Western. Shutterstock Images.

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Or the British tabloids trying to bury the real story of Team Europe's historic collapse in 1999 under an avalanche of stories about the Massholes at The Country Club in Brookline, like there was a Soviet-era bread riot going on under all those expensive corporate tents. 

That I could tolerate, because it's what we've come to expect from this event. Instead we're getting a guy from Northern Ireland who's talking about these United States of America in more flattering terms than most American athletes. As decidedly non-golfer European John Lennon put it, "Strange days, indeed. Most peculiar, mama." 

Maybe there's hope for NATO after all. I just hope none of this takes the edge off the tournament.