The New York I Know and Love

Let’s hit the elephant in the room off the top: it wasn’t a great week for Long Island. I get it. The Black course at the People’s Country Club was battered, bruised, and neutered to the point where it couldn’t defend itself against the world’s best players. The world’s best players couldn’t (or wouldn’t, in most cases) defend themselves against the masses of liquored-up fans, armed with personal barbs and squeaky ducks provided by the bartenders hawking the PGA of America’s exclusive cocktail. All of that, paired with the embarrassing score entering Sunday singles, wasn’t how anyone wanted this to go. It certainly wasn’t what I wanted.

Bethpage State Park is a place that means a lot to a lot of people. You don’t need me to tell you that – you heard all about the "inspirational" Nassau Players Club from Keegan Bradley last week. I will tell you, though, what Bethpage means to me. It was the first place where I watched golf up close, pulled out of school early to attend a practice round of the 2009 U.S. Open. All I wanted to do was meet Padraig Harrington, an Irish guy I had seen win two majors on TV the year prior. That didn’t happen – “he’s across the street,” my dad said – but I spent the afternoon walking the inner loop with my dad and his dad. I don’t remember a lot outside of meeting Scott Van Pelt on the range and missing out on Padraig, but the pictures from that day are something I’ll cherish forever.

Let’s fast forward to 2019. I’m a full-blown golf sicko at this point and rush home from my sophomore year of college to attend the PGA Championship. That PGA was the first since the tournament moved from August to May, making the all-important major championship Sunday my 20th birthday. That day also marked one year since my grandfather, Peter, passed away. My dad and I went to Bethpage again, with his brother and my brother, to spend the day together in celebration and distraction. I remember far more about this trip – basically every detail – but the selfie of the four of us behind the 14th green on Sunday has been marked on my phone since the moment it was taken. Did it hurt that Brooks Koepka (yes, my favorite player) landed the plane? It sure didn’t. It was about as good a birthday present as I could’ve asked for.

Six years later, my dad and I again went to Bethpage, stopping by on the Saturday before the Ryder Cup to hit the merch tent early. We shopped, buying things to remind us of a week that hadn’t even happened yet, and managed to walk around the buildout before it was even complete. We walked to the top of the mega-grandstand at the first tee, taking in the views and imagining what it would be like if matches made it to 18. It was the perfect way to start the week, soaking in the moment with nobody around, a second to pause before the content machine began churning. We took a picture there, too, with me decked out in Syracuse gear before a big win at Clemson. Watching that first touchdown drive and a surprise onside kick on a Ryder Cup jumbotron with my dad was an unforeseen memory I’ll never forget.

Ten-year-old me in 2009 would’ve never believed being inside the ropes for anything. The 20-year-old me in 2019 wouldn’t have bought it either, even knowing that the biggest event in golf was coming to this same place in what was supposed to be just five years. Current-day me still wasn’t sure I belonged, but I tried to be present and intentional in every step of the week. Working at a Ryder Cup being played a half-hour from your childhood home isn’t something that happens every day – it’s pretty freaking cool. It’s even cooler when you’re surrounded by friends and family on Friday morning, all watching the world No. 1 get his doors blown off by Ludvig Åberg and Matt Fitzpatrick. Alright, that last part may or may not be cool depending on who you ask. It was certainly something, though!

{{inline-article}}

The general public will remember the Bethpage Ryder Cup as a disastrous event marred by infrastructure issues, shuttles that didn’t work, fans that crossed the line, and the PGA of America president who let them. An all-time “fake comeback” by the Americans might’ve softened the blow a bit, but the damage was done before Sunday. That’s all fine – I’ll keep my 16 years of Bethpage memories for myself. Somehow, a generational pessimist like me has decided to see the good where everyone else is loving the bad. Strange times.

By the way, I promise the most “New York sports” thing of the week wasn’t the booing or the expletives hurled at the opposing team’s best player. It was the people, those who waited over a decade for a Ryder Cup Sunday on Long Island and spent thousands of dollars on tickets to be there, deciding they were better off spending the day on the couch because Team USA stunk it up on Friday and Saturday. Skipping out on a big game in protest of an embarrassing home team? Yeah, that’s the New York I know and love.