A Major Month

Twice unsuccessful as captain of Europe, Bernard Gallacher was given a third outing in charge at Oak Hill in 1995. The first morning was a seriously soggy affair, and back then the team only had one set of clothes per day. At lunchtime the cashmere sweaters were wet through. It meant a frenetic and often hilarious hour for the backroom staff that had all hands on deck with hairdryers, trying to restore the precious wool to its former glory.

I was once again commentating for BBC Radio, and was joined that year by Helen Alfredsson, who much later was to captain Europe's women in the Solheim Cup. She is irrepressible and uncontrollable at the best of times. At Oak Hill she was in awe of the whole Ryder Cup experience and was just brilliant fun to have around. Our team dinners were certainly much more lively affairs thanks to her.

By then Seve Ballesteros was arguably past his sell-by date, but the Ryder Cup was in the great man's DNA. He simply couldn't contemplate failure. Helen and I were sent out with him for the first singles match against Tom Lehman. Seve's opening drive missed the fairway by fifty yards, but with a series of brilliant, almost miraculous saves he kept the match alive for long enough to inspire those following behind. When he finally succumbed, we were re-deployed to follow a struggling Nick Faldo who was battling an equally out of form Curtis Strange.

It was a dour encounter, but fascinating to watch nonetheless, with Faldo emerging slightly the less awful. George Bailey (he of the flat cap and obdurate hairpiece) and Alan Green (primarily a football commentator) were our two radio "stars", and they were constantly trying to outdo each other. Both had an eye for the archives, and when the contest was nearing its climax they'd be waxing lyrical in case that putt, or this chip might turn out to be the winning shot. As early as the 14th I remember George going into full "mark this moment, 2.20pm on Sunday 24th September 1995, the minute when Bernard Gallacher's band of heroes brought the old golden chalice back to Blighty". (Or words to that effect!)

The putt missed and eventually, of course, it went all the way to the end with Philip Walton's nerveless 5-wood to the raised 18th green providing the decisive thrust of the dagger. Mayhem broke out on the green. Grown men, who in other circumstances struggled to converse, threw themselves into each other’s arms. Seve hugged Faldo. Faldo smiled. There was even a tear or two. It was all almost too much to comprehend. Times like that though are a real buzz for the radio reporter. I was right there in amongst it, shouting on talkback to the producer; "Come to me, I've got Seve.

"Get Alan to hand to me, I'm with Mickelson" etc etc.

It's funny though how inconsequentialities can stick in the mind in amongst all the adrenalin and excitement. There were dozens of photographers in the melee and back then they still used film. They'd be whipping through roll after roll of the stuff, carelessly discarding the little plastic containers that were no longer needed. I felt so sorry for the head green-keeper as said detritus got trampled into the once pristine surface. Europe had just regained the Ryder Cup on American soil for heaven’s sake, concentrate man!

Seve's Ryder Cup playing days were over, but two years later he had the great honour of leading the European Team against Tom Kite's Americans on his native soil at Valderrama.

Now that was special …