Events on the 17th green at Brookline two years ago provoked such a storm of controversy that one would have imagined nothing comparable had ever happened in the history of the Ryder Cup. Not so. A gross breach of etiquette was the worst the Americans could have been accused of on that occasion, whereas charges of flouting the actual rules of the game, had previously been levelled against teams from both sides of the Atlantic.

The fact is controversy and the Ryder Cup have been regular bedfellows through the years. Indeed, the event has also thrown up remarkable happenings, somewhat removed from the playing of the game.

The first of these occurred in 1931 in only the third staging of the biennial tournament. As the British team prepared to defend the trophy at the Scioto CC, Columbus, Ohio, there were three notable absentees from their line-up.

Percy Alliss was not chosen because he was living in Germany at the time and Aubrey Boomer, who was based in Paris, was also missing. As it happened, both players were members of the victorious 1929 team but the PGA decided that only players working and resident in Britain were eligible under the terms of Samuel Ryder's Trust Deed.

This came on the heels of a major rift between the PGA and Henry Cotton, whom the association had always treated with a certain suspicion, because of a public school education which made him a cut above his colleagues. In the event, Cotton declined an invitation to play, on the grounds that he wished to remain on in the US.

For their part, the PGA insisted he would have to return to Britain with the remainder of the team. In justifying his action, which was based on the need for further tournament experience with a view to one day winning the British Open, Cotton contributed a lengthy article to Golf Illustrated. There was rich irony in the fact that Cotton happened to be playing captain of the British team when the next controversy erupted on the eve of the matches in Portland, Oregon, in November 1947. That was when Cotton demanded an inspection of the American clubs.

No official reason was given but the suspicion was the grooves on the Americans' clubs were imparting more than the normal spin and were thereby illegal. Ben Hogan, Cotton's US counterpart, agreed to an inspection and nothing untowards was discovered with the clubs on either team.

But Hogan wasn't about to let Cotton off the hook. So it was that on the eve of the 1949 matches at Ganton, where he was non-playing captain due to horrific injuries sustained in a car crash earlier that year, Hogan demanded an examination of the home team's clubs.

The upshot was that several British players had to file down the grooves, ostensibly with a view to reducing backspin. The Hawk had exacted revenge. And his players rubbed salt in the wound by coming from behind to win the matches 7-5.

Incidentally, the Ganton staging was also notable for the mouth-watering supplies which the Americans took with them to post-war Britain. Aware that foodstuffs were still in somewhat short supply, they travelled with rations of: 600 steaks, 12 sides of rib for roasting, a dozen hams and 12 boxes of bacon.

Some observers felt that they had insulted their hosts by suggesting that British food would be somehow inadequate, but such details would have been of no concern to Hogan.

Such undercurrents were as nothing, however, compared with the open warfare which erupted during the 1957 matches at Lindrick, where a home team which included Christy O'Connor and Harry Bradshaw recorded a memorable triumph. It was perhaps not surprising that the focus of the ill-temper was the match between Scotland's Eric Brown and the notoriously volatile Tommy Bolt, he of club-throwing fame.

As it happened, Brown crushed Bolt by 4 and 3 in the top singles. Later, in the locker-room, Bolt snapped ungraciously: "I guess you won but I didn't enjoy it a bit." There are two versions of Brown's reply. The sanitised one is: "Nor would I have done, after the licking I've just given you."

But the version which includes one of two choice expletives, seems more in character with the abrasive Scot.

Some years later, another defeated player was prompted to remark: "Losing the Ryder Cup did not bother me as much as the behaviour of the galleries. All that cheering when we missed putts. I've never known anything like it before." A European comment after Brookline in 1999? Not so. This was the reaction of America's Peter Jacobsen to the defeat at The Belfry in 1985.

But there have been other, interesting happenings where temper was not a factor. Like in the 1933 matches at Southport and Ainsdale where J H Taylor, the British captain, was determined to impress upon his players that the Ryder Cup was "no picnic." So, he employed the services of a physical training instructor who took the team out on Southport beach at 6.30 a.m. for a pre-breakfast run.

And there was the terrifying experience of what had then become the British and Irish side for the 13th staging at Eldorado CC in Palm Springs, California in 1959. As we outlined in an earlier instalment in this series of articles, their charter flight out of Los Angeles ran into a violent storm while crossing the San Jacinto mountains.

As a consequence, the plane plummeted like a stone from 13,000 feet to 9,000 feet before the pilot regained control. After returning safely to Los Angeles, the players, including Ireland's Christy O'Connor and Norman Drew, formed the "Long Drop Club."

But there have also been wonderful memories for both the players and spectators. Like when Dai Rees complimented Jimmy Demaret on his bunker play during their match at Pinehurst in 1951. Handing his opponent the sand iron, Demaret said: "Keep it, Dai, as a gift. The one you've got has too sharp an edge and you'll never have any finesse with it."

Years later, Rees recalled: "I took the club to Britain and had it copied for my own set. So, although I lost the match, I came away with a profit." Then there was the gesture by Jack Nicklaus at Royal Birkdale in 1969. As his opponent, Tony Jacklin, stood over an 18-inch putt on the 18th, Nicklaus knew that if he missed, the American team would gain overall victory.

At that moment, the Golden Bear stepped forward, picked up Jacklin's marker and said: "I'm sure you would have holed, but I was not prepared to see you miss." The overall result was a tie and the sporting rivalry conceived by Samuel Ryder, received its finest endorsement.