CADDIE'S ROLE:Club members were deprived of their weekly round but got closer to a great golfing tradition, writes Colin Byrne.

WEDNESDAY IS midweek competition day in my club on Dublin's Bull Island. On the rare occasions I am back home I try to maintain some family tradition by playing with my father in the competition.

And so it was with mixed emotions I learned that the regional pre-qualifying event for the British Open Championship would be held in Royal Dublin last Wednesday.

Selfishly I thought here I am on my summer holidays far away from pedantic tour professionals and here they are on my doorstep interrupting what little chance I have of living an occasionally normal life.

Of course last Wednesday was an ugly, horrible, pathetic excuse for a summer's day no matter what part of the world you were from. With a south-east wind beating over the Bull Island and bringing with it intermittent deluges, it was the type of day you would have quite happily opted to stay for the full afternoon in the office instead of taking the traditional half day off - as is the custom of so many of the club members - to play in the competition.

The recently-revamped Royal Dublin links were originally designed by the renowned course architect Harry Colt and wonderfully redesigned by Martin Hawtree with one eye respecting the original layout and the other catering for the advances of technology for the modern golfer.

So despite being deprived of the opportunity to compete, I was quite happy to observe how the provincial pre-qualifiers were coping with the new-old links.

Buffeted by the squalls as I drove over the recently refurbished wooden bridge that provides a unique entrance to the links dating from 1885, I concluded I was after all extremely happy that the aspiring Open contenders had taken over my course on that particularly inclement day.

They were saving me from beating my head against the ferocious wind, the summer fescue rough in which you could lose your golf bag if you were not paying attention and the showers that descended relentlessly every 15 minutes upon the course, leaving its denizens shaking themselves down like drowned dogs.

It also gave me time to abandon the romantic idea of spending the last of my summer holidays back home and book my flight south for a week of real summer weather.

The qualifiers are part of a rich and lengthy tradition of the Open Championship, their inclusiveness offering a glimmer of hope to aspiring pros and inquisitive amateurs to qualify via an arduous and expensive journey to the prestigious major.

For some the process can be an indicator of where they actually rate compared to the world's elite - "Perhaps I will realise my potential and get to play in Birkdale maybe with one of the world's greatest golfers."

What a wonderful thing that the Open still allows the average golfer to dream of being great, even if only for a wet, miserable day on a windswept links three miles from the centre of Dublin.

I beat my way across the car-park to meet the leading qualifier from Waterville, the ebullient Mark Murphy, who had shot a respectable 73 to guarantee his place in one of the final qualifying courses in the Southport region next weekend. From neck to toe he resembled Rocco Mediate; Mark has a close relationship with Mediate and spends a lot of time with him in Florida.

I had last met him caddying for Rocco in a tournament in the States. This time he was on the competitive side of the bag and the car was loaded in true, old-fashioned touring style ready for the long trip back to Kerry.

He hollered that the car looked "like Wanderly Wagon", packed to the gills with bags and passengers and bravado no doubt as the leading qualifier made his way over land back home.

There were six players tied on 75 disputing the remaining four places available in the total of nine qualifiers from this particular provincial pre-qualifier. (There were about 10 courses in all hosting the same events throughout these islands.)

The six took off down the 15th at Royal Dublin for the play-off in two groups of three in yet another squall. I joined the handfuls of spectators made up mainly of unsuspecting club members who had arrived for their weekly game unaware the qualifying was taking place instead.

I was a little tentative about getting in the space of these players as they embarked upon their play-off missions. I was soon reassured, however, by the relaxed attitude of a couple of amateurs from Castletroy, Co Limerick, one failed qualifier kindly toting for his mate in his quest for a final spot.

"We're only here for the craic," the cheerful competitor from Castletroy reassured me as I shuffled awkwardly on the fairway trying to get out of the players' eye-line.

I realised that these guys don't worry too much about such detail; indeed the R and A officials were leading by example up on the green, prancing about as the players readied themselves for their putts.

The sun broke through as we all trudged our way back to the clubhouse with the final four thinking about the Lancashire coast, and the two amateurs from Limerick getting ready to clock back into reality and work the next day.

The Wanderly Wagon was crawling its way through Dublin, Mark Murphy's dreams intact as he headed south west in preparation for a final assault on the Open Championship in Birkdale.