Shane Lowry listens to the story of boxers Paddy Barnes and Michael Conlan.

They win their Olympic medals in London 2012 and decide to take a celebration break. New York. Cape Town. Barbados . . . No. Bundoran. His tanned face lights up with approval.

He respects the moxy and ability of the boxers. But he gets it. He understands the choice of a Donegal seaside resort taken by people faithful to what they are, certain about where they come from.

Lowry and the boxers are an unusual fit. There is a similar instinct in the golfer not to wander too far from his moorings of Offaly’s Clara.

There is a part of him, not quite the rebel but aware that straddling his life of jetting to PGA Tour events for 30 weeks a year and pints with his mates watching the Irish Under-20s at Donnybrook, the club finals in Croke Park or Cheltenham is walking an important balancing act, an imperative for mental health.

Living in America then?

“No, I’ll never do that,” he says. “Never say never,” he adds. “I love home too much,” he concludes.

“Because golf is big in this country you could be classed as something of a celebrity. I don’t see myself that way. I like doing normal things. I’m just a young lad from the country.

“But a lot of people also think I just go with the flow, have pints with the lads, have a bit of craic. That’s not it either. I put a lot of time and effort into my golf.”

A t last year’s Irish Open Lowry thumped his putter down. Broke the shaft and finished the round putting with the leading edge of his wedge.

At the recent Honda Classic he dumped his ball into the water on the 15th hole. “Ye F***ing idiot,” he fumed.

A mistake

The microphones picked it up. The commentator apologised to the live audience. The PGA invited him to a meeting.

“I think if I start getting too worried about things like that I’d lose who I am,” he says.

“I’m not going to go around apologising to people for this. That’s who I am. That’s the way it is. I’m sorry I did it. I made a mistake that day. But I can’t promise that I’m going to change.”

He has the intelligence to see flaws in F-bombing every time a ball gets wet and the futility of what the PGA has asked. It was all like a visit to the headmaster’s office.

“It actually was,” he says. “They sat me down and said ‘what do you have to say for yourself’. I didn’t fall out with anyone over it. I said ‘listen I’ll pay the fine’.

“But I was trying to get into the top 20, get a few world ranking points. The last four holes was my goal.

“You’re standing there. High pressure. It happened. Natural reaction. How can you change your natural reaction?”

Mechanically consumed

Lowry does not stay on the driving range until his fingers bleed. He is not putting until dusk.

He goes to the gym but is not obsessed by it. He practises hard but is not mechanically consumed by his swing, or a slavish follower of the forensics of posture. Golfer first, technician second.

The automated response to the game; theories of calculation that reduce errors, imagination and risk makes golf a dull and unadventurous place for him.

He’s neither of the two but more swashbuckler than grind school. It has got him to a ranking of 25th in the world.

“I definitely don’t see myself the same as everybody else,” he says.

“I do things differently. I’m not one that goes and hits balls on the range all day. But I’ll go and play golf on my own.

“That’s the way I practise. I’m not technical. I don’t work on my swing very much with my coach unless I’m really struggling. I just play with what I have.

“Try and do as well as I can with what I have and hit form at certain times of the year. That’s where my good weeks come from.”

A surreal life of privilege and pampering that at 29-years-old has given him almost €400,000 in course earnings since January is, he says, a public preoccupation.

But it’s not why he plays golf. Again there’s contradiction that makes his attitude all the more compelling.

Golf has become a business he loves but maybe he’s no longer in love with the game he gave up all others to play.

It still consumes him but the impulse and drive is never for the money.

“People have a perception because of the money,” he says.

“They can see what I earn every week, if they want. I’ve always said I don’t play golf for the money. Okay it’s my career. I try to do well. Money comes with it.

“I’m not a worrier. If you played golf for money, that would put more pressure on.

“You wouldn’t go for it. If I’ve a chance to win a tournament I’ll go for it and that’s it.

“Other people might want to go for second or third to cement their prize money. I would never do that. I’d rather fail than play like that.

“Do I enjoy playing golf as much as I used to as a kid?” he asks.

“I love the competing but I’m not sure I love the game as much as I used to.

“If I retired tomorrow what would I do? I’d probably go and play a game of golf ha . . . ha . . .”

Hard core

Wearing the pressure lightly does not diminish Lowry’s edge. If he makes the Olympics this year the respect, his real interest in other athletes and the anthems may bring tears.

“I can’t explain how much it would mean to me,” he says.” For some of the athletes THIS is their life. Maybe eight years they are trying.”

The hard core of Lowry is in the middle, unseen. The possibility of a meeting with Rory McIlroy this week, the contours of Augusta, Jordan Spieth, Jason Day, Bubba Watson, bring no fear.

If he eschews blood blisters on the range for feeling right on the day, it’s because his is another path to the same goal. He is not without fighting talk.

“I need to bring my ‘A’ game to win a Major,” he says.” “Rory, Dustin Johnson, Jason Day, Jordan Spieth, their ‘B’ games and some of them their ‘C’ games can get the job done. Rory’s ‘B’ game is as good as anyone in the world’s and as good as most people’s ‘A’ game. It’s just if he turns up on the greens he’ll do well.

“I feel my ‘A’ game is good enough to compete with any of those guys. I’m not saying if I meet Rory or Jordan at the matchplay I won’t beat them. That’s actually what I want, to meet Rory, to meet Jordan. ”

It’s almost like his brand of talent is the one we’d like to have, his attitude to fame and wealth the one we’d like to hold.

Lowry, an unlikely Everyman.