Monty gives it his all

This was destiny at work. Either that, or the concept of German efficiency elevated to new heights. For if we didn't know better, we could have sworn that captain Langer was able to engineer every facet of this historic 181/2 to 91/2 points mauling with such precision that he even fixed it for Monty to win it.

This may have been golf 's ultimate team performance, what with every European contributing at least one win to the hiding, but that team still knew who to defer to. "Monty. He's the number one," said an already tipsy Clarke, throwing an arm around him. "He's a giver in a world of takers."

Yet again, Monty was his glorious, eccentric mix of puffed up pride and welling emotion. After his personal traumas of the last few months, topped by his divorce from Eimear going through on the eve of the departure to the US, he chose this moment to thank his team-mates. "Your support enabled me to get back to what I do best in life - and that's play golf," he told them.

In return, one by one, they rose to give him a standing ovation and the chin - not the chins of old - wobbled a bit. Then, bearing his soul as only Monty can, he revealed: "I'm delighted how things went in a playing sense because it wasn't easy this week for me. I'm not looking for sympathy but I've been out here on my own. It's the first Ryder Cup when I've gone to bed on my own at night."

Others had their wives and girlfriends; Monty joked that he was stuck with Westwood, whose partner was at home holding the baby. "Which is why he's just written me this note saying 'I love you'," grinned Monty.

When he holed his putt, he didn't feel as emotional as that night when Langer had told him he'd chosen him as a captain's pick for the event. "It's why Bernhard was the first person I went to find after holing the putt. I felt I owed him so much because he'd shown faith in me".

Yet Monty wasn't just thriving on the support of his team. Out there, the galleries which five years ago had spat abuse at him at Brookline were now saluting him. This was a development which made Langer insist the best thing about the whole week was not the victory but the return of sportsmanship and civility to this grandest of events.

"That was massive to hear my name chanted like that," confessed Monty. "I've got a lot of respect and admiration from the American public this week and it's been a real blessing. Self-esteem is huge when you're doing a job in public."

It's a job his team-mates want to see him do at the K Club in Dublin two years hence. When asked if he fancied being captain there, the incumbent Langer interrupted his answer with the cry: "He will play. He's too young to be captain. You agree Monty? Come on, say the truth."

Yet he won't be railroaded just yet.

"I just want to take stock of what I'm doing, where I'm going and what the hell's going on in my life," he said. "And then I'll come out and try and start winning again."

The most fantastic aspect of a fantastic triumph here, though, was the vision of life beyond Monty. Here, we saw Garcia, with his four-and-a-half point tally and the decisive comefrom-behind triumph over Phil Mickelson, seamlessly becoming Monty mark II. At just 24.

Yet there was so much more. "Five rookies . . . in America! On a course supposed to suit the home team," mused Montgomerie. "This really is staggering and it bodes so well for the future." The hosts didn't think so. The inquest was going to be long and painful. Tiger Woods, admitting he felt he'd contributed to the defeat by winning just two points from five, was among the senior players asking us not to blame Sutton. Poor old Hal, having been completely outgeneralled by Langer, there wasn't much chance of that but he really was badly let down by under-performing stars.

"We're bleeding but we're not dead. We'll get back up and fight," was all he could offer. The glum faces of the team alongside him told a different tale, though, especially as the home press corps couldn't resist comparing them with the other fun loving, jokey crew up at the top table, the bunch who Monty reckoned "must be one of the closest teams in international sport".

A daft Frenchman, Thomas Levet, had them in stitches, hijacking the mike at the victory press conference to introduce his team-mates. Padraig "The Irish monkey" Harrington, Paul "The Midget" McGinley, Paul "Schwarzenegger" Casey, Ian "Mr Trousers" Poulter, etc . . .

Then he came to Monty, who had just been musing about how he wouldn't be remembered for any Major wins. "On your left," boomed Levet, "we have Mister Ryder Cup!" Monty beamed like a big kid. If that nickname represented his golfing legacy, he wasn't going to complain.