How could twice Austrian Open winner Mark Davis plummet from 51st down to 145th place in the Order of Merit and Andrew Coltart slip from seventh to 46th? And how could Seve Ballesteros suffer the indignity of crashing from third down to 136th in only three seasons? These are the sort of questions from 1997 that eat into players' minds at the beginning of a new tournament year.

No matter how bright the talent, January brings special pressures. Even before a competitive shot is hit, there is the irrational fear of never winning again. And as if to support such negativity, players will remind themselves that Mark Brooks, the 1996 USPGA champion, slipped from third to 106th in the US money list during 1997, while the 1995 US Open champion, Corey Pavin, disappeared right out of the top 150.

Nor can they banish from their minds the swing problems that have crushed the spirit of "major" winners Ian Baker-Finch and Sandy Lyle, nor the way a balky blade has dulled the edge of Nick Faldo's putting. These potentially crippling fears, are an inescapable part of a notoriously demanding craft.

Philip Walton has experienced them. Only 18 months after scaling the heights of Ryder Cup success at Oak Hill, he found himself having to draw heavily on survival instincts last season, while carving out a moderately successful 64th position in the final table for a reward of £102,624. Walton well understands how Baker-Finch could pull-hook a drive so badly as to be out of bounds left from the first tee at St Andrews. He also understands the vagaries of form that have left Curtis Strange without an American win since capturing back-to-back US Opens in 1988 and 1989. And he has known the sort of blows to confidence which have effectively destroyed Spain's greatest player.

"We hear a lot of talk about the rewards of tournament golf, but it can also be a very cruel game," said the 35-year-old, who is set to embark on his 15th European season. "I got to the stage last season where I was afraid even to mention a wedgeshot, for fear of what I might do next."

Without warning, he was struck with a crippling fear of hitting 50 to 70-yard pitches - the so-called bread and putter shots of his craft. "I couldn't explain it," he recalled. "I became so convinced of duffing them that I began to freeze over the ball."

Walton went on: "My poor caddie used to close his eyes for fear of what he might see. I remember shanking on the practice ground and it got to the stage where I began to plan my way around a course to try and avoid those particular shots."

It meant playing seven or eightiron pitch and run shots from 70 or 80 yards. This would be quite acceptable if the objective were simply to get the ball on the green. Any selfrespecting tournament professional, however, would try to play these shots with spin to get them within the desired 10-foot-range of the target.

"Water hazards were really scary," he went on. "I remember at a certain par-five during the Scandinavian Masters I hit two drivers as hard as I could, so that I could chip from the side of a water hazard rather than have to pitch over it."

The fear eventually began to leave him towards the end of last season and it disappeared completely during his winter break. Which explains why Walton changed his early-season schedule. Instead of starting the 1998 season in Dubai on February 26th, he was determined to get into action as quickly as possible.

So he leaves for Thailand today and the opening event of the season, the Johnnie Walker Classic starting at Phuket next Thursday. "I decided to travel a few days early so as to be properly acclimatised," he explained. "After a very difficult year, I'm not afraid to throw himself in at the deep end. My confidence is back."

Walton has become something of an enigmatic figure in Irish golf. While enthusiasts here expressed delight in recent months at the achievements of Darren Clarke, Padraig Harrington and Paul McGinley, they would quickly add: "And what about Walton? Any word of a comeback from Philip?"

The player himself would argue that he has never been away, but deep down he must be conscious of underachieving, particularly in the last two seasons. It seemed decidedly curious in 1996 that he should have shown no desire to build on an international profile acquired in the Ryder Cup.

By his own admission, this was due to a deep-seated mistrust of Ballesteros as skipper of the 1997 European team. Then came the problem with his wedges, leading to a shattering loss of confidence. The truth is that even if he had been favourably disposed to the idea of retaining his Ryder Cup place at Valderrama, his game wouldn't have been up to it.

But now everything has changed. "I don't know who the next Ryder Cup captain will be - probably Mark James or Sam Torrance," he said. "I'd be happy to play under either of them and when the battle for 1999 places begins later this year, I'll certainly be in the hunt."

He went on: "I'm also back using the short putter, though I'm taking the broomhandle to Thailand as a back-up. There tends to be a lot of grain on the Phuket greens and if I don't like the way I'm stroking the three-footers in practice, I won't hesitate to turn to the broomhandle."

Among Walton's Christmas presents was one from his good friend John Grant, a category-one member of The Island. It was a framed photograph from the 1995 English Open at the Forest of Arden, where the Malahide man beat Colin Montgomerie in a play-off for the title.

It captured the climactic moment as he was being congratulated by his caddie, Brian McLauchlan, while in the background Monty was suitably grim-faced. Walton remembers that victory with understandable pride, not least because of the stature of the runner-up.

"I've always had great time for Monty and I've no doubt he will continue to be the key man in Europe this season," he said. "His consistency is unbelievable. He seems to be able to maintain the exact same rhythm from week to week, wherever he happens to be.

"This must be due in no small part to the way he handles all the travelling. I couldn't believe it at the end of last season when he played in Morocco and in the World Cup at Kiawah and then in Sun City, all before Christmas. And he was soon off again to Arizona to win the Andersen Consulting. His ability to cope with such a demanding schedule is obviously one of the keys to his success. Good luck to him."

Unlike the other leading Irish professionals, Walton will not be competing in the US this year, but he has no doubt about the ability of Clarke, Harrington and McGinley to make an impact. "Padraig and Paul work very hard and I would expect them to build on their very impressive World Cup win," he said. "As for Darren, I have always considered him to be different class from the rest of us."

Meanwhile, Walton consistently commands the respect of his peers, whatever about fluctuations in form. They know that given the right circumstances, he won't back away from a challenge. The fearsome, competitive instincts that carried him to a play-off victory over Montgomerie and a crucial Ryder Cup singles win over Jay Haas are there waiting to be reawakened.

But the seductive nature of golf can play cruel tricks on its most ardent disciples. Like the scene we witnessed in the wake of the Ryder Cup at Valderrama last September when Ballesteros, not content with the plaudits for a team triumph, couldn't resist talking about his own game.

"Sooner or later the momentum will switch and my game will come good again," he said. "In fact I think I can win before the end of the year."

There was to be no win during the three months that remained of 1997 for the once feared conquistador. But his poignantly fanciful words reflected another great truth about golf and its practitioners at the approach to a fresh season.

It is the ability to ignore the horror of those celebrated failures. This acts as a spur, driving players onwards against all the odds in the unshakeable belief that the elusive breakthrough has to be just around the corner.