There were some strange sights around Marco Simone on Friday, the strangest of the lot the 50-man marching band of the Guardia di Finanza who came trampling across the course at noon. Up, down and around the fairways they went, blasting out Antonio D’Elia’s Armi e Brio while the midday sun bounced around off their brass, buttons, and epaulettes. They were led by a fellow who, judging by the look in his eye and the polished silver sword at his side, wasn’t going to take no for an answer even if Tommy Fleetwood was standing over a birdie putt on the 15th. You don’t get that on the back nine at Muirfield.
It seemed they had gone just a touch early with the triumphals, but then Fleetwood made the putt anyway, and Europe were three holes away from a 4-0 sweep of the morning foursomes. So maybe they had timed it right after all. By the time the band had turned and trooped off back to the barracks there was more blues on the scoreboards around here than in the bars on Beale Street.
