Back in October 1988, I was in the Jersey Open at La Moye, fighting for my future on the European Tour. The end of the road was beckoning, but at 35 and after 14 years as a pro, I didn't really want to face it just yet.

My career had been fairly average. I suppose the highpoint was winning the Sao Paulo International Classic in 1985, and I prefer not to dwell on the low points.

But I can vividly recall that afternoon in Jersey, with Des Smyth on his way to winning the title and me battling to keep my card. Though I played pretty well, I just couldn't get a score together, and instead of the £800 I needed to qualify for the 1989 season, the best I could manage was £500 for a share of 51st place.

Now, when I look back on that failure, I can smile and see it as a Godsend. Within two years, I had embarked on a career in management and signed Darren Clarke as one of my first clients. Then came Paul McGinley, Andrew Coltart, Lee Westwood, David Howell and other promising young players. And for me, things have never been better.

There was the thrill of watching Darren and Paul challenge for the Portuguese Open in 1995. And the unbelievable excitement of Darren and Lee walking out there in their blazers for the Ryder Cup opening ceremony at Valderrama.

I'm pretty easygoing by nature, but I've had to face a few rather tricky balancing acts, like in the Volvo Masters at Montecastillo last October.

In many ways, it was a strange sort of week. There was the Clarke camp, with Heather (Darren's wife) and the baby. And there was the Westwood camp, involving Lee and his mum and dad. And I found myself ducking and diving between the two; eating a meal with one group and sharing coffee with the other.

The only time I actually relaxed was on the Tuesday of tournament week, before Heather had arrived. Lee, Darren and I got absolutely smashed and everything was put on Lee's bill because he had won in Belgium early that month.

The closeness of the two lads throughout that week really impressed me. It was the sort of situation that could have put any friendship under stress, given that they were both playing for really big stakes, hoping to top the money list. But through it all, they remained the best of pals.

For instance, on the Thursday morning, just before the tournament started, they wished each other luck on the driving range, saying "have a great week", that sort of thing. Then there was the Sunday morning, when they were in the last few groups.

Darren was off before Lee, and as he headed for the first tee, they hugged each other and said: "Let the best man win." It was quite a emotional moment, not just for them, but for those of us who were watching. Then they were out there, trying to knock each other's head off.

It was a very different situation at Augusta last month, when one of the British newspaper guys approached me as Lee was joint leader, going down the 10th. "You must be so excited; you must be in bits," he said. But I remember telling him that I couldn't afford to become excited. I had to be ready to face the biggest three or four hours' work I ever had, if Lee went on to win the Masters.

Flights would have to be changed. I wondered if there would be an official dinner. Would we have to give a press conference on the Monday morning? And could Lee get to Macao in time to honour a commitment to a tournament there later that week.

Unconsciously, I became emotionally detached from what was happening on the course, even though one of my lads was in line for one of golf's greatest prizes. And as a manager, I realised that while I could have only one winner in any given field, I would always have three or four losers who, like Darren at Augusta, hadn't done as well as they had hoped.

Sure, I no longer have the worries of keeping my card, like in Jersey back in 1988. But that doesn't necessarily make the game of golf any easier for me.