On Saturday morning the only score the U.S. could muster in the foursomes was a half point from Geddes and Meg Mallon. Captain Walker, meanwhile, was stung on the left eyelid by a wasp and for the rest of the day roamed St. Pierre with a white bandage wrapped around her head. The hurt, however, was being put on the Americans, who finished the day two points down at 9-7. The reversal had Rankin wondering if she should have put a damper on her team's high spirits following their early success. "I didn't think after Friday morning that we'd be behind on Saturday night," she confessed later.
With the momentum swinging Europe's way and the huge galleries roaring with every Davies drive and Sorenstam save, the Americans needed more than a team song to keep their heads. (As the home fans chanted behind the ropes on Saturday afternoon, Mallon turned to her four-ball partner, McGann, and said, "Just pretend that they're saying, 'You're up! You're up!' ") But Saturday night's team meeting was unremarkable, with no props, sound tracks or surprise visitors. "We all knew what we had to do to win," McGann said. "Just go out and play our own game."
That game, of course, is singles. In Match 1, Sorenstam—presumably fresher than her teammates because she usually walks a straight line from tee to green—won her fourth point, best of the event, with a 2-and-1 victory over Bradley. Otherwise, the big scoreboards scattered over the former deer park gradually turned red, the color for U.S. leads and victories. McGann's inspiring win over Davies, in Match 3, started the rout, and when Mallon went 4 up on Sweden's Helen Alfredsson with four to play, the U.S. team was guaranteed victory.
Notable among the wins was Pepper's. She clearly had benefited from her afternoon off. "I just thought that Dottie was a key player in the singles," Rankin said. "I wanted to do everything I could to see that her point counted."
Two hours later the U.S. women were whooping it up and scaring the swans down by the 17th tee. Posing for team pictures, they welcomed their late-arriving captain with a spontaneous chorus of "One Judy Rankin," sung to the tune of Guantanamera: "One Judy Rankin," they warbled. "There's only one Judy Rankin...."
It was music to raise the dead, but it made a singular point: In golf, the loneliest of games, teamwork can mean just doing your own thing and sharing the credit.