GOLF: The idea to go to the practice ground was a bad one. The previous day, when furiously bashing out a million words on my laptop, someone had asked, "shouldn't you be on the range?" And the reply had been along the lines of, "and break the habit of a lifetime?"

But a sense of guilt set in, that I really should be doing what the professionals do before a big tournament. Smashing balls past target boards on the practice ground, chipping on to greens and lining up a row of balls and diligently setting them on their way to a hole on the putting green.

After all, it's not every day that you get to play in the Dunhill Links Championship, a $5 million tournament on the PGA European Tour. My place had come courtesy of Ernie Els. Yes, that Ernie Els, the British Open champion. At the recent American Express championship in Mount Juliet, Ernie had been asked to draw the names of two golf writers from a hat. Philip Reid, The Irish Times, was one of them.

So it was that, after a restless night's sleep, the practice range beckoned; and that's when it hit home. The enormity of it all. You walk up and down the range, looking for a spot. Apart from golfers like Nick Faldo and Angel Cabrera, other sporting stars are there too. Bobby Charlton and Gareth Edwards and Steve Redgrave. Your heart beats a little faster, the shoulder and neck muscles tighten, and the 9.44 a.m. tee-time on the Old Course at St Andrews - our first round - ticks ominously closer.

While the pros are hitting flawless shot after flawless shot, a couple of hooked drives and duffed chips hammer home the inadequacies of this 16-handicapper, playing off 11 for the event. Going to the range had been a bad idea.

Things are less hectic on the putting green, which lies adjacent to the caddies' hut. I'm 40 minutes early for my tee-time and, upon inquiring at the hut about the caddie I had requested, I'm told he'll meet me on the first tee.

Time to kill, and, another habit broken, I spend half an hour on the putting green.

Some professionals are chatting and I hear that Alex Cejka - my intended professional - has withdrawn. Obviously, he'd received word that I was to partner him, and the prospect had proved too traumatic.

The real reason, apparently, is that he has suffered a back injury. His replacement is Chris Gane, a 28-year-old Englishman in his first season on the European Tour. At the start of the week, Chris had been ninth reserve to get into the tournament.

On Wednesday, he got a phone call telling him he was now first alternate for the Old Course. By the time he reached the airport for the flight up from London, he got another call telling him that he was in.

It's a big break for Chris. At 154th in the Order of Merit, and with time and tournaments running out to retain his card, this is a huge opportunity to bolster his prize money. This will be his 26th tournament of the season and, on 14 previous occasions, he has missed the cut.

But, as ever, the professional outlook is positive. This could be his week, the week that changes everything. He's had a three-week break - "time to get over a little back problem", he says - and his handshake is strong and firm.

"Enjoy this Philip, play well," he says.

"You too!"

We're standing on the first tee. My caddie arrives. "Where were you? I have been looking all around for you, for at least half an hour," he says. "But, then, I didn't know what you looked like."

His name is Richard. He's been a caddie at the Old Course for 18 years. Knows every bump and hollow, every line.

Chris has picked up a local caddie, name of John. He, too, knows every bump and hollow, every line. Which is just as well, because Chris is playing the course blind. The call to play had come too late for him to get in any practice round. But the sense of history gets to him.

"This is great, isn't it? We're walking in some famous footsteps here," he says. My heart beats even faster, and the neck muscles tighten even more.

Also on the tee are the other members of our fourball. Thomas Levet, the French player who was beaten by Els in a play-off for the British Open this year, and Peter Kessler, an American golf historian and once upon a time known as "the golden voice of golf" on The Golf Channel.

That was until last December, when he told Arnold Palmer - on air - that it was "not okay to cheat". This followed Palmer's assertion that the new technology clubs should be legal everywhere. Kessler disagreed. It was a bad move for his employment. Palmer happens to be chairman of the Golf Channel. After 1,400 shows, Kessler got the axe. These days, he is promoting a new club, called "The Perfect Club".

There are few sights as majestic in golf as the view from the first tee on the Old Course. The green is 376 yards away and the fairway is 150 yards wide. It would seem impossible to miss but, as Ivor Robson, the starter, calls us to order, my mind wanders to a Dunhill Cup pro-am here a few years ago ... "On the tee," Robson said at the time, "Colm Smith, of the Irish Independent." To be followed about five seconds later by, "... and still on the tee, Colm Smith." He had knocked his drive so far off course that it had gone out of bounds.

"Please, please, don't let that happen to me," I murmured to myself as Robson called Chris to tee off. Then it was my turn. The drive, into the wind, couldn't have been better and the shiny white ball came to rest in the middle of the fairway, 230 yards away. My caddie is impressed, and so are a few fellow hacks who have trudged out of the media centre. They applaud, and all my apprehension disappears. Maybe it was a good idea to hit the range after all.

There is a spring in my step as we walk down the fairway, but my caddie is quickly made aware of my fallibility.

"You've got 139 yards to the flag but with that wind it'll play more like 160. Punch in a six-iron, that should get you there," he says.

It got me there, alright, but not to the green. The burn that works its way in front of the green acted like a magnet and, pretty soon, we were dipping the ball retriever into the water.

My driving continued to be good - Chris started calling me "Radar" - but my iron play, especially on approach shots, continued to be horrendous. On the fifth, a par five of 568 yards, a good drive and a five-iron lay-up had me perfectly positioned. After my third shot, my caddie turned to me and had a wicked look in his eye.

"Do you know," he said of the fifth green, which also doubles with the 13th, "that's the biggest green in the world. It measures one-and-a-half acres, and you've managed to miss it from 120 yards." He shakes his head, and off he goes in search of the ball.

In this format, it is the best nett score to count and my man Chris is playing superbly. By the time we have worked our way around the loop and on to the homeward run, he is constructing one of his best rounds of the season. He is four under par and, as we walk by the giant scoreboard adjacent to the 17th green, his name is on it.

The Road Hole is one of the most famous in golf and I'm more than happy with a bogey five, nett four. Chris gets his par. On the 18th, though, after nearly driving the green, he gets a bit greedy with his chip over the Valley of Sin. He finishes with a bogey, but I manage a par, my fourth of the day, holing a left-to-right breaking 15-footer.

As I walk off the green, Dai Davies from the Guardian comes up to me.

"Do you realise," he says, "that you have just been applauded on the 18th green on the Old Course at St Andrews?" I know how lucky I am, to be living the dream.

Reality, however, was to bite at Carnoustie the next day. All the way round, Thomas Levet reminds us of how tough the conditions were when the British Open was held here in 1999. "Hay," he says, "the rough was like hay."

This time, the rough is nowhere near as severe but the wind makes it a difficult test. But if you keep battling, you get your reward. Mine came on the 14th, a par five of 515 yards and stroke one index for the amateurs. A drive and five-wood approach lands 20 feet from the flag, and the eagle putt rests an inch from the hole.

"Well done, Radar," says Chris. A tap-in birdie (nett eagle) provides a personal highlight, but Chris has recorded a bogey and I'd love to have been able to swap scores.

He has endured a frustrating day, playing some beautiful golf but getting no rewards on the greens. Playing the course blind hasn't helped either, and, on a number of times when he had been slightly off line from the tee, he found a fairway bunker and horrible lies which left no option other than to play out sideways.

He had grimly held his game together until the 14th, but followed that bogey by going bogey, double bogey, bogey and was to follow his opening round 69 at St Andrews with a 77 at Carnoustie.

Our team score stayed at five-under, 67 and 72.

With only the top 20 teams (from 168) progressing to Sunday's final day's play, we know we need to shoot the lights out at Kingsbarns to survive. For Chris, though, the day is more important. He knows he must shoot a decent round if he is to make the cut (top 60 professionals) and boost his place in the Order of Merit.

He plays well and, from the team point of view, I at least start contributing with two pars and a birdie over three of the last five holes. The team has got to 11-under playing the last and Chris has recovered to be one-under in the individual. On the last, he has a six-footer for birdie. He knows if he makes it, he will make the cut. He misses. My heart goes out to him.

Thomas Levet has been a wonderful and amiable playing partner and, although he, too, has missed the cut, his amateur partner Kessler, a real crowd pleaser, has played extraordinarily good golf - the perfect advertisement for "The Perfect Club" - and made the cut in the team event.

In the locker-room afterwards, Chris finally airs his frustration. He knows that he should be, and deserved to be, six or seven under, instead of going home early again. There are broken shafts in the litter bins in the room, which testifies to how other players have expressed their frustration, but Chris confines himself to a wee roar.

The exasperated shout is followed by a handshake every bit as firm as the one that took place two days previously on the first tee at St Andrews. We've spent 18 hours in total on the golf course - the pain of six-hour rounds - and, despite failing to make the cut, finishing on 11-under in tied-98th place from 168 teams, it was a lifetime's experience.

I never did get to thank Els, the man who plucked my name from obscurity. He made the cut but didn't play in yesterday's final round. His wife, Liezl, went into labour and Ernie took flight early to be at her side.

So I'll say it here. "Thanks, Ernie."