September is my favorite time of year. Temperatures are cooling down, which in any year-but especially this one-means golf courses will be less stressed by heat and we can start preparing for next season.But I also love fall because I’m almost as crazy about hockey as I am about golf.

The pre-season has already begun (yes, I’ve already been to a game!), and now starts the wild, wonderful ride to the awarding of Lord Stanley’s Cup in June. I’m in hockey heaven.
Speaking of Cups, there’s another one about to be contested for in a tournament that generates the same sort of excitement and passion that I love about hockey (no, not the FedEx

Cup). Of course I mean the Ryder Cup, which in my mind is a close second to the Open Championship as golf’s greatest event. The Ryder Cup is all about passion, patriotism, and partnership, just like hockey.

For most of the golf season we’re forced to watch the pros-wrapped in cellophane and behaving like spoiled children-playing at best as individuals and at worst like corporations. If we’re lucky we see a little honest emotion flare up during the majors, but it’s nothing like Ballesteros vs. Azinger, Nicklaus conceding to Jacklin, or Ben Crenshaw’s choking up to the media at The Country Club.
Just thinking about that “I’ve got a feeling” speech makes me want to lace up my spikes.

I love to see the gloves come off, to see the plastic pros actually get pumped up about doing what they do so well. Whether for the USA or Europe, it’s amazing to hear the chanting, see the waving flags, feel the electricity in the air-even through the television set. It’s the one golf event in which everybody cuts loose.

Which is exactly how I want to feel as I’m walking to the first tee about to take on some guy mano a mano or my team against your team. A little tension, some friendly gamesmanship, giving the needle, not only do the competitive juices flow but it makes it more fun in the end, win or lose. We play match play most of the time, and seeing the pros do the same lets us both understand and appreciate what they’re going through. (I’d like to see more match play for the pros. The event in Tucson has become one of the year’s better shows and I don’t care who makes the final match, it’s always good theater.)

Every two years, the Ryder Cup spotlight falls on a couple of guys who raise spirit to a new level. Often times, someone we don’t expect becomes the leader. Remember the 40-year-old Hal Sutton at The Country Club? He won 3-1/2 out of 5 possible points and Captain Crenshaw called him “the backbone of the team.”

And the Captains do matter, whether it’s Seve (who was just as compelling leading the team as playing on it) or Mark Messier. I’d certainly play better if caught in their glare or hearing their motivational speeches.

The one thing that doesn’t matter very much is the course. It’s not a knock on Celtic Manor or The K Club or Valhalla or anywhere else, but the Ryder Cup would be heart-pounding on a pitch and putt.

That said, there are things the home team Captain can do that will add to the excitement. I hope Monty sets up the course to reward gambling and risk-taking. Make the fairways rock-hard, let the rough grow. Try to minimize your opponents’ advantage (the USA is a team of bombers, they say, so tighten those fairways), play to your team’s strengths. But if one guy hits a great shot, the other guy has to have the chance to do the same.

Let the boys have a go, the greater the risk the greater the reward. That’s why I’d rather play Kiawah than the K Club. And why I’d rather they played there, too. Give me more outside agencies, more things to think about, more challenges: They make victory that much sweeter.

Just like when skating for the Stanley Cup, in the Ryder Cup everybody has a role to play. Do it right and your Cup-either Cup-runneth over.

So here we go. Drop the puck, tee up a ball, swing away. I’m hoping for a good, clean, fair fight. As I see it, the only things that might get in the way are the weird uniforms, overly excited wives and girlfriends (is Tiger bringing someone along?), and the monotonous staccato of Johnny Miller’s nonsense.

More on Johnny later. Right now, I’m settling in for three days of fun.