It was almost surreal watching the highlights of Saturday's Ryder Cup action on BBC television that night, the calm, mellifluous tones of Peter Allis soothing as he presided over the action. The programme, which was sixth tenths Steve Ryder's voiceover of the action and four tenths footage from play, threatened one last mild fix for the Ryder Cup television junkie.
For those who had watched events unfold, the raw emotion, the ebb and flow of fortune, heartbreak and delight on TV5 (courtesy of Sky television) over the Friday and Saturday, where virtually every shot was seen, BBC's programme was like watching a different event. It was sanitised emotionally, offering nothing more than the dynamics of golf.
It was akin to watching golf through the eyes of someone who boasts no interest in the sport; a person capable of detaching themselves emotionally from the self perpetuated "greatest contest in sport." It wasn't anything to do with BBC's presentation, which was typically polished, but rather that the sheer scale of the coverage provided by Sky television made it seem anaemic.
Comparing live transmission and highlights is hardly equitable but even had BBC enjoyed live broadcasting rights, it is doubtful whether they could have captured and transmitted this superb spectacle in the epic proportions that Sky managed. Rupert Murdoch's medium boasts a self-destructive tendency for statistical diarrhoea manifest in soccer coverage but through accident or design their coverage of the Ryder Cup was exceptional.
Not that it was without blemish: lingering camera shots of the combatants re-taking missed putts on greens become tiresome and frustrating when the roars of the galleries elsewhere heralded greater deeds. And then there was Andrew Castle, the roving reporter inside the ropes. The former tennis player had an annoying habit of trying to ingratiate himself with his interviewees.
Throwing his arm around them, his questions to combatants fluctuated between banal and sycophantic, climaxing with a particularly nauseating, matey interview with Prince Andrew.
So preoccupied was he with displaying his European boxer shorts that he recounted a story of one hapless American supporter who lamented the lack of bottle in the USA team and contrasted this with the Europeans who fought so hard for their country. Sidesplitting stuff and a tale that demonstrated that the Europeans were not only hacking up in the golf but also enjoyed a sizeable advantage intellectually. Ugh.
Indeed Castle's efforts were in marked contrast to BBC's Dougie Donnelly who did appear to have the respect of the players and who at least occasionally elicited some interesting titbit or aside from the European players. Sky was all about superlatives whether Tony Jacklin, Butch Harmon or Peter Oostherhuis was behind the microphone.
Fortunately that did not extend to the commentary team of Ewen Murray and Bruce Critchley who were excellent, even when periodically tempting fate by declaring that "this match seems won" - on that occasion Ireland's Padraig Harrington and Miguel Angel Jiminez ending up halving their match, losing the 17th as if on cue.
These though were trifling irritations in what was excellent coverage from Sky. Their ability to offer a host of camera angles, identifying key faces among the spectators such as Sergio Garcia's mother, Consuela, respective captain's Mark James and Ben Crenshaw offered a more human insight into ostensibly a golfing spectacle.
Indeed the free spirit that is the 19-year-old wonderkid, Garcia, offered great television. His unaffected reaction decried the pomp and circumstance of his surroundings. Whether hitting a good iron shot, holing a putt or simply exalting in the feats of comrades "El Nino's" features mirrored those on the other side of the ropes: his enjoyment lacked the contrivance of those who look for the photo opportunity.
Howard Clarke and Ireland's Ronan Rafferty offered expert analysis from within touching distance of the play.
Greystones Tennis Club can hardly be described as a hotbed of golfing enthusiasm but it was from there that this writer watched the foursomes unfold on Friday night: family obligations and all that. A group of men and women gathered under the television set in the bar and for the final hour, the bar counter received only periodic visits. Much to the chagrin of partners dancing away downstairs, no one would budge.
