Caddie's Role/Colin Byrne: The US Open came and went like all majors for us non-Americans, a laborious build up with intense preparation, huge expectation and the next thing that most of us knew we were on the plane home.
Unless of course you are Stephen Leaney or Freddie Jacobsson whose second and sixth place finishes respectively made their journeys well worth the jet-lag.
For the Swede, Jacobsson, his Open involved two trips to America - one to qualify - a quick jaunt home to fetch his snazzy summer wardrobe, and back again to compete in the main event. For Leaney it was a reminder to his recently departed bagman (Big Steve, who abandoned him to take up porter position with Colin Montgomerie) that he may well have made the wrong decision.
In fact Leaney has been getting used to a variety of caddies in recent weeks. He went through two in Olympia Fields. His temporary caddie, Justin Hoyle, who normally works for the promising young Australian James McLean in America was available due to McLean not being exempt for the US Open.
He became ill after Thursday's round and was on his way back to Australia as Mathew Goggin's regular bagman took over and steered his temporary employer to a personal best - it was for both parties - in major league America.
My own Open turned out to be a bit of a non-event due to my player's lack of form. Despite thumbing yet another lift in a private jet from Washington to Chicago, our scheduled flight plans had to change due to a delayed finish to the Washington event, and a smooth transfer to my Open accommodation had its usual hitch.
A fellow cad had rented a house for five of us porters in the vicinity of the course. It turned out to be a mere American stones throw away, about a 15 minute walk. Walking is not a cherished past-time in the land of Amazement. You've got highways, freeways, boulevards, interstates and laneways but no pathways.
In fact you are frowned on for hoofing it someplace that you could damn well drive to. How else are they going to keep ahead in their world pollution pole position if people don't drive when walking would be far more convenient and environmentally friendly?
Despite staying round the corner from the players' entrance to the course, no one could walk in through this entrance. It was obligatory to drive through the gate. There were no exceptions and not one of us caddies familiar with the modern American golf event even considered inquiring about a special entrance exemption. It was the highway or no way.
To those of you used to the vicissitudes of travel, the snag is a familiar visitor, thinking of all angles is almost impossible. So anyway, we all got over this problem by having our players meet us in their large gas-guzzling vehicles on the corner of Country Club Drive and Western Avenue. The timing had to be impeccable, as the police were extra vigilant on this crucial piece of road. If the timing was not right, we had to endure the investigation procedure of the over zealous police force at work on this dangerous street corner.
The policeman is definitely a force to be reckoned with in George Bush's America. In a security obsessed land the policeman has found a considerable degree of renewed vigour and undoubted importance.
Despite a photo identification badge flapping around our necks and lengthy explanations about our position, one law enforcer suggested we trespass on a kind old lady's lawn rather than break the no pedestrian rule on the tarmac.
Now having endured a long day on the links with major stressed-out golfers, who in turn get their bagmen on edge, this kind of attitude can be provocative to say the least. But biting our tongues, a vital quality for a caddie, was the more prudent reaction instead of taking the bate of America's post 9/11 security policy.
So what a relief it was to arrive in Scotland's picturesque Perthshire last week and its juxtaposed position of importance. Jet-lagged and unable to sleep, I decided to shuffle onto the Monarchs course at Gleneagles and take advantage of total solitude on the course at 5.30 a.m. Of course I came across nothing but wild-life for a couple of hours until the greens staff started to appear.
I did have a brief tangle with the security system of mother nature. To me it seemed far more logical than the security systems set up by the humans at the US Open the previous week. As I approached the second green early on Tuesday the shrill squawking of two frantic oyster catchers broke the tranquillity of the morning. They swooped ever closer as I approached the green. I gathered by their concern at my presence that they had a nest of young near-by.
A stranger at 5.30 a.m. in their territory was far more of a threat than a pedestrian on Country Club Drive at 9 a.m. But who said that the modern man uses much logic any more?
