The dawn’s early light broke slow and heavy over Bethpage State Park, a pale wash creeping through the trees as if reluctant to reveal the chaos already under way. Fans clad in red, white and blue had been congregating outside since three in the morning, trotting down floodlit paths to the first-tee grandstand when the gates finally swung open at five. By six, thousands were already wedged together in the dark, swaying to chants and clutching cardboard cups of coffee and greasy breakfast cheeseburgers.
When the clock ticked toward the 7.10am start time, the atmosphere boiled over in the 5,000-seat amphitheatre. The chants ricocheted around the stands: “We want Bryson! We want Bryson!” Some wore DeChambeau’s name scrawled across their bare chests while others waved handwritten signs.
Their wish was his command. Bryson DeChambeau, golf’s most polarising showman, emerged with Justin Thomas by his side. They strode through the tunnel shoulder to shoulder, an American flag draped across their backs, DeChambeau pounding his chest as if primed for combat. Across from them waited Jon Rahm and Tyrrell Hatton, the Spanish-English duo clad in Europe’s blue and gold, Rahm already stone-faced, Hatton muttering to himself.
A flyover of military jets rattled the sky. Security helicopters hovered above in anticipation of Donald Trump’s arrival later in the day. Those who hadn’t made plans to arrive hours early were stuck in the residential streets outside the grounds in scenes resembling the film World War Z.
On the grandstand video board, Rory McIlroy appeared warming up on the range, drawing jeers and obscenities. As Keegan Bradley, the rookie US captain, barked into a microphone minutes earlier – “Let’s fucking go, boys!” – this was not golf as country club pastime. This was the bloodsport the masses were promised.
DeChambeau had teased the possibility the day before: the 397-yard opening hole was “definitely drivable” downwind, he said, if you could carry 200mph of ball speed. Rahm promptly missed right into the rough to sarcastic roars. Then DeChambeau turned to face the crowd, took two violent practice swings, and smacked a drive into the New York morning. It bounded down to just 10 yards short of the green. Promises made, promises kept. Thomas pitched to 16 feet. DeChambeau buried the putt. One up after one. A thunderclap of noise, a fist pump from Thomas, a barbaric yawp from DeChambeau. The crowd nearly shook the stands apart.
For a moment, it seemed a tone was set. But the wave never built. Europe absorbed the opening haymaker and struck back with prejudice. Rahm and Hatton steadied and rolled to a 4&3 win. McIlroy and Tommy Fleetwood battered Collin Morikawa and Harris English 5&4. Ludvig Åberg and Matt Fitzpatrick dismantled Scottie Scheffler and Russell Henley 5&3. Only Xander Schauffele and Patrick Cantlay salvaged a point, escaping to win 2 up over Viktor Hovland and Robert MacIntyre to prevent the first European sweep of any session since 1987.
It was into that uneasy hush that Air Force One roared over the course just after 11am. By noon, Trump was on the grounds, fist-pumping in white golf shoes with his granddaughter Kai at his side. He shook hands with Bradley, waved to the crowd, and stepped from his protective glass bubble to deliver a fist bump to DeChambeau. The two are unabashed admirers: DeChambeau celebrated both his US Open titles at Trump’s Westchester club and filmed a round with the president that helped slingshot his YouTube subscriber count into the stratosphere.
The crowd, briefly subdued by Europe’s dominance, rediscovered its voice. “U-S-A! U-S-A!” echoed through Bethpage once more.
DeChambeau carried that energy into the afternoon fourballs alongside Ben Griffin. He traded smiles with Trump, then blasted another drive under the din of YMCA and New York Groove over the loudspeakers.
But the golf didn’t bend to the theatrics. Europe continued to hit fairways and pile up putts; Rahm and Sepp Straka beat Scheffler and JJ Spaun 3&2. The Americans clawed back through Justin Thomas and Cameron Young beating Åberg and Rasmus Højgaard 6&5, but DeChambeau and Griffin fell to Fleetwood and Justin Rose, while McIlroy and Shane Lowry split the final point with Cantlay and Sam Burns.
By sunset, Europe still held the upper hand, bringing a 5½-2½ lead into Saturday. DeChambeau, twice sent out to lead the line, was left to reflect. “Experience was great,” he said. “0-for-2 today, pretty disappointed. I played good golf, just not good enough, and they made everything. Luck is on their side right now.” Asked about what comes next, he was blunt: “Hit my irons better and roll in a couple more putts. I felt like I was clutch when I needed to be, but the putt on 16, putt on 14, there were so many putts that just didn’t go in for us that went in for them.”
At Bethpage, DeChambeau remains the embodiment of America’s fight: brash, flawed, impossible to ignore. And with Trump’s backing, he will wake up still cast as the talisman, even as Europe carry the advantage.
