|
Kildare, Ireland There must be a reason why certain songs stick in your mind like repetitive little gremlins, gnawing away. The more you try to expunge them, the clearer they become. About this time every other fall, one particularly-obnoxious dirge returns, like an overdue groundhog, to drive me certifiable. Worse, I only know one of the words. "Olé." Over and over, like some kind of sick one-worded Rocky Top, it bounces through my mind until I run babbling into the street. "Olé, olé, olé, olé." Repeat. I heard it first in the sickening moments of the memorable American collapse at Oak Hill in the 1995 Ryder Cup. It was trying to rain, but the skies over Rochester were competing with the champagne tumbling from the European clubhouse windows. As the foreign contingent stood below like some sort of collective Romeo, the European players, led by Seve Ballasteros, sang at the top of their well-worn lungs as they sprayed the cheap stuff back and forth across the loyal. "Olé, olé, olé, olé." Repeat.  US team didn't make beautiful music in Ireland. It begins, if you haven't heard it (and if you haven't, you are blessed) with them shouting the first "olé" and then letting the rest furiously catch up until it almost becomes one word again. It is, I am assured, the official European victory chant. I recall standing there, mesmerized by the scene in the growing darkness of that humbling Sunday night, listening for the next line of the song, which never came. An easy ditty, then, to be sure. But flat irritating if you have just become the punch line. American players, shoulders rounded, heads hanging, peeked out of their own clubhouse door to listen and watch. Most times they could take only a few "olé's" before slamming the door on them. I heard it again at the Belfry and again at Oakland Hills and now just the other afternoon at the K-Club in Ireland. The "olés" like a stab in the heart of the American dreamers. A strange and prideful anthem, for sure, one that's chanted across Europe at every sporting event – and perhaps a revolution or two, as well. I don't know its origin. I only know it has grown to hurt more than one word repeated over and over and over again seems possible. Odd, isn't it? We didn't care about the America's Cup while the Americans were winning every time. Same thing with the Ryder Cup. But now, both on the waters and manicured lawns, we grow offended at having our heads handed to us every other year. Maybe that is where the chant originated. Perfect music for a guillotining. Author, producer and writer Jim Huber spent 16 award-winning years at CNN. His accolades include an Emmy for his writing during the 1996 Olympic Park bombing in Atlanta and the Edward R. Murrow award for excellence in writing. |
Newswire 
