Stars and Stripes fades before Black Country humour

Heckler-Koch sounds like one of the American pairings in today's Ryder Cup foursomes. It's not hard to picture a Butch Heckler and a Scott Koch losing 3 & 2 to Colin Montgomerie and Bernhard Langer. But in fact a Heckler-Koch MP5, to give it its full name, is a ferocious-looking gun, and at The Belfry yesterday several of them were being cradled by impassive members of the Warwickshire Constabulary firearms support unit.

"The SAS have a version of the Heckler-Koch, which fires three times in five-shot bursts," said a police officer in a SWAT team-style cap, with 10 per cent too much enthusiasm for your correspondent's liking. "But ours just fire one shot at a time." Most reassuring.

Of course, the guns were there not to quell a rowdy crowd but in case of major incidents such as a terrorist attack, or an assassination attempt on Tiger Woods, which made me downright nostalgic for the days when Ryder Cup massacres were of the kind perpetrated by the likes of Jack Nicklaus and Lee Trevino on the likes of Brian Huggett and Neil Coles.

Ryder Cups now are much less predictable and much more partisan. At 8am yesterday, when under a slate-grey Midlands sky Paul Azinger struck the opening blow in the fourballs, it was possible to spot the Americans in the crowd, not just because they were the only ones shivering, but also because they were, seemingly without exception, patriotically bedecked in the Stars 'n' Stripes.

Ken Blalock of Mount Pleasant, Texas, held a flag, waved two handkerchieves and wore a bandana, all emblazoned with the Stars 'n' Stripes. He felt certain that there would be no European resentment lingering from the unseemly events at Brookline in 1999 – when some American spectators abused Colin Mongomerie in a manner more befitting a paedophile on his way to stand trial, and when the American players danced on the 17th green in celebration of Justin Leonard's remarkable putt before Jose-Maria Olazabal had had a chance to respond.

"I guess our guys were a little too exuberant that day," our visitor from Texas said, "and that overshadowed what was probably the greatest moment in American sporting history."

He had, he added, been treated with impeccable politeness since arriving in England. "Although in that time we've seen 400,000 people marching through London, a tube strike, a railroad fatality and an earthquake. This is our first visit here. We'd heard it was a kinda quiet place."

There was nothing very quiet about the Belfry yesterday, as Europe quickly moved ahead in the morning fourballs. The spirit was overwhelmingly pro-European rather than anti-American, although a Yorkshire woman working at a coffee stall summed up the conflict of emotional interest. "Did you hear that Tiger's first shot went in the bunker?" she said, clenching her fist elatedly, then adding, "I got his autograph last night."

As people bustled past her in that opening half-hour, there was also a palpable spirit of anxiety, as there often is at golf tournaments, in the quest for the best vantage point. To lend an ear to snatches of conversation is to hear manouevres being planned with almost military precision.

"Let's get to the fifth green now, then shoot across to the ninth, then get something to eat, then try to squeeze in at the back of the 18th." "No, I think we should stand on this grassy knoll until they've all gone through, then cut over to the 11th, then get something to eat, then climb that small tree by the 17th fairway to see their second shots, and then be the first in to liberate Baghdad." Or words to that effect.

My own strategy was to head for the short par-four 10th long before play had arrived. An inspired move, not least because of the excellent quality of banter there. I squatted by the green beside two middle-aged men who were speaking in an unintelligible language involving a lot of mucus – Norwegian perhaps – yet who then introduced themselves as Bob Simkin and Steve Taylor from Walsall.

Steve had been on Wednesday just to do a vantage point recce, and had worked out that they could watch the second shots on the first, then have a coffee, then get a decent spot at the 10th, which Azinger yesterday described as "the greatest matchplay hole I've ever seen". Certainly there was some thrilling action, with the dashing young blade Sergio Garcia attempting to drive the green, dumping it in the water, then holing a brave putt for a half.

Long before all that, Steve killed the waiting-time by telling Black Country jokes. "What's the difference between Wolves and an arsonist? An arsonist doesn't chuck away his last five matches." He felt sure that the September 11 atrocities and the consequent surge of sympathy for the Americans, compounded by the year-long postponement of this Ryder Cup, would "take a lot of the tension out". If so, nobody told David Duval, who nervously thinned his chip from the rough half-way across the green.

But the crowd at the 10th did not cheer Duval's mistake, nor those of his US team-mates. Back at the tented village, however, there was no such decorum.

American cock-ups were loudly celebrated, causing Sue and Gary Schneider from Erie, Pennsylvania, a little discomfort, although they gamely conceded, "we don't feel threatened, it's all just good fun."

The Schneiders were drinking Diet Coke. Not so Dean Maspers, Andy Cole and Rich Gibbs, from Coventry, who, watching events unfolding on a huge screen, danced a riotous jig when Lee Westwood holed the putt to secure Europe's first point. "We've had a bet at Victor Chandler," explained a jubilant Andy. "We bet 30 quid, a tenner each, at 16-1, that Europe would win the first three fourballs and America the last one. If it comes up, mate, we'll buy you a dance at Spearmint Rhino [a lap-dancing club in Birmingham] tonight." It did come up, too.