Picture the scene. It is September 1999 and the 33rd Ryder Cup is taking place at The Country Club in Brookline, Mass. Along with some friends, a 23-year-old by the name of Ian Poulter is 3,300-miles east inside a hostelry in Leicester Square, London, one of a large crowd sitting in front of a big-screen television.
All is well until a premature parade of American players, caddies and wives stampede across the 17th green in the wake of Justin Leonard holing his (in)famous 40-foot putt to all but clinch the biennial contest for the home side. All of which occurred