Europe heroes find spot to unwind

Martin Johnson, The Telegraph, 4 October 2002

As an exercise in keeping the players' feet on the ground, the Dunhill Links is the perfect antidote to the Ryder Cup - from raging fever to a runny nose in less than a week. Last Sunday we had Paul McGinley lining up a 10-foot putt for the honour of an entire continent, and this Sunday we could well be watching Jimmy Tarbuck fretting over a tricky left-to-righter for a canteen of cutlery.

There were no thunderous roars echoing around any of the three coastal courses being employed yesterday (apart from the odd guffaw for a 12-handicapper slicing one into the ornamental pond outside the Old Course Hotel), neither did the organisers feel the need to offer Ryder Cup-style radios for sale to enable spectators to keep abreast of events elsewhere. It is, let's face it, one thing to tune into the news that Colin Montgomerie has just gone two up on Scott Hoch at the Belfry, and quite another to twiddle a knob and discover that the Duke of Marlborough has escaped with a double bogey on the fifth at Kingsbarns.

This tournament was unlucky enough to be launched last year in weather so foul that they could have given one of the celebrity spots to the Loch Ness Monster, but despite being blessed with clear skies yesterday, there was little evidence that this pro-am format, involvingprofessionals and a combination of fee-paying and celebrity amateurs, was a winning one.

It evolved from pure enough motives, when Dunhill decided to stop paying exorbitant appearance money for a multi-nation team event, but it has now become a bit of an expensive jolly for Dunhill's chums and customers - like one of those corporate days at Wentworth, where everyone meets at 8am at the coffee urn ("Have you met Algernon from the accounting department?"), takes six hours to get round, and finishes off with a prize-giving dinner.

There was no shortage of interest when Monty was partnering Bernhard Langer last week, but there is probably a limit to how many people are willing to fork out a tenner to watch him playing, as he is here, with Alan Hansen. Especially in St Andrews, where the news that Don Johnson was in town would have been greeted with slightly more enthusiasm had he been appearing at the local Roxy rather than the Old Course. The Scots are serious about their golf, and would probably have preferred to see the golfers playing at film stars for a day rather than the other way round, though, according to the Americans at least, Monty has already won an academy award for his performance in Mrs Doubtfire.

Dunhill's non-celebrity amateur list was liberally studded with international bankers and retired chief executives, most of whom would not have struck much of a chord with the crowd. They might have got more excited had they known that Jonathan Joseph was actually, according to the media guide, "better known as DJ Spooney, part of Dreem Teem on Radio One", but perhaps less so on learning that Prince zu Hohenlohe was not the heir to the throne of some small Mediterranean monarchy, but "four times Olympic downhill racing participant, now a pop musician and producer".

Each group was accompanied by someone carrying a scoreboard, but in most cases, there were no spectators there to show it to. There were plenty of contenders for the most anonymous fourball of the day, but Marshall, Zondler, Golding and Costamagna perhaps shaded it despite a strong challenge from Ferrie, Loughead, Andersson and Engmann.

With its double fairways and greens (the shared fifth and 13th is so large that Thomas Levet had a 290ft putt), St Andrews is a dangerous enough place to play golf without flooding the course with handicappers, and if Phillip Price - a quiet and abstemious sort of chap - was one of the few Ryder Cup players not still nursing a sore head after the Belfry celebrations, he very nearly collected one on the fourth hole from someone hoiking a drive off the adjacent 15th tee.

Price is planning to try his luck in America next year, which should suit his temperament pretty well as there are not many wild nights out to be had with Davis Love and Tom Lehman, though he played well enough yesterday in the company of Ian Woosnam and Ian Botham, neither of whom tend to involve mugs of Horlicks and early nights in their big-match preparation. Botham, looking a bit like Darren Clarke with his sun visor and enormous cigar, claimed he'd gone to bed at half past eight, but would not be drawn on whether this was pm or am.

Clarke was certainly one of those keeping the night porter up at the Belfry, though it was nice to hear also that one or two of the American players had joined in the European celebrations. Hal Sutton was with them for most of Sunday night, and David Duval was last spotted trying to find his room, at 3am, wearing a European team cap on back to front.

Slightly less surprising was the news that Tiger Woods had excused himself very early in the evening, on the grounds that he was feeling a bit under the weather, and had departed by 6am on his private jet - followed, very soon afterwards in another private jet, by Phil Mickelson. While the Europeans were cementing lifelong friendships at the Belfry, Woods and Mickelson were steering (as per usual) well clear of one another.

Even Monty was not in his bed until 3am, and he barely touches a drink. Padraig Harrington was late too, even though he is a teetotaller, and with less to sleep off than the other members of the European team, it was perhaps not surprising that he returned the best round of the nine returning heroes. "At home I'm known as an Irish queer," joked Harrington "cos I prefer women to drink."

Lee Westwood, on the other hand, was, in his own words, "comatose" when he turned in at 5am, though when his next-room neighbour, McGinley, left at 8am, he didn't want to go without saying goodbye. Westwood half-opened one eye, stuck out a hand from beneath the duvet, and croaked: "McGinley. You're a f***ing legend."

Westwood was six over par after nine holes at Kingsbarns yesterday, but as he came home in two under, maybe the hangover is finally starting to wear off.