Just because I work in golf doesn't mean that I have to be a great player. In fact, when anyone raises an eyebrow about my handicap, I'll gently inform them that if you're heavily involved in business then you should have a high handicap because it is so difficult to find the time to play. That's my angle on it anyway.

There was this one occasion, though, when I really appreciated what it was like to feel like someone who should be on a course with a club in their hands. I've been fortunate in my capacity as tournament director to the Murphy's Irish Open to witness some of the game's greats accomplish great feats, and the irony is that when I finally achieved something worth talking about as a golfer I didn't actually see the end result.

It happened in Mount Juliet a few years ago. Since assuming the role as tournament director to the Irish Open in 1989, we've adopted the policy of bringing the event around the country. So, in my time, the championship has been played in Portmarnock, Killarney, Mount Juliet and Druids Glen. Everywhere has been unique in its own way, and each course has produced great champions.

One of the perks of the job, I suppose, is that you get to play the course in a "scouting" capacity, and so it was that on this particular day I was out on the Thomastown course with the professional Peter Townsend, a player well known to Irish golfing enthusiasts for his commentaries with RTE, Mike Stewart, the senior tournament director with the PGA European Tour, and the agronomist Richard Stillwell, who is the green-keeping consultant to the European Tour.

The three guys were all playing off the back stakes but, off my 24 handicap, it was agreed that I could play off slightly forward markers. To say that I was "playing" may be a bit of an exaggeration; that is until I reached the 14th hole, a lovely par three played off an elevated tee-box to the green, surrounded by bunkers and trees, below us.

I remember Richard untypically failed to find the green and Peter and Mike were comfortably on. Then, it was my turn. I'm not one for bravado, so although the others had all used irons I had no problem reaching into my bag and pulling out the 3-wood to play the shot. After what had gone before, I'd no great expectations to be honest.

However, this was to be the shot; the one that would finally enable me to call myself a golfer. It may not have been as sweet as any Nick Faldo hit on his way to winning three Irish Opens in a row - two at Killarney and one at Mount Juliet, when he had spectators scampering from all parts of the course to view him - but it brought me my first, and so far only, hole-in-one.

The green was almost 200 yards away and, normally, I don't even drive that far. But this shot took off to the left like an exocet missile and, to be honest, I initially thought it was destined to plough into the trees. It started to turn, though, touched the collar of rough around the green and ran on towards the flag which was positioned back left.

I remember reaching down to pick up my tee and, at the same time, saying to Mike Stewart that I'd actually managed to get my ball inside of his. "You certainly are," came his reply, "you're in the bloody hole."

And I'd missed it.

I didn't see the ball dropping into the hole, so I had to ask Peter how I'd describe it to my friends and anyone else who would care to listen to me talking about how I'd managed a hole-in-one on a championship course. He told me to tell them that I'd played the shot with a power fade (which really means that I sliced it).

It doesn't matter how it got there, however, it did - and, for me, it was a great personal memory to go along with some of the memories I take from viewing some of the world's best players trying to win our national championship.