Sunday morning of a tournament and the leaders awake in their hotels ruminating about how to win. It's always hard to say who is going to come out on top, you look at the statistics to see who is hitting the most greens and taking the fewest putts, writes Colin Byrne

There were probably about eight such players in Straffan early last Sunday with those rambling ideas of winning the European Open trophy.

The most vital quality is, of course, the intangible, the immeasurable concept of "bottle" and determination. Who is best prepared to do all the right things, even if their golf is not what they would like it to be?

Golfers spend a long time on the range. They spend hours on the course. They spend increasingly more time in the gym. All these hours of training help prepare them for the big day, pay day.

All these hours are wasted if the mind is not in sync with the finely tuned bodies of the modern pro.

When I looked at Gary Evans swagger to the range for his warm-up session before his final assault on Sunday, I could see no signs of victory on the pouting Englishman's face. The countenance of his playing partner, Andrew Coltart, gave no indication of anything unusual going on in his head that morning. Five shots off the lead, Evans and Coltart were still legitimate contenders.

Darren Clarke presented himself for duty with his arms slowly swinging sideways as he walked along the back of the range. Relaxed. The arm swing is fast and furious when the man himself is. Alastair Forsyth, the tacit Scot, moved onto the range with his customary jaunty walk. No giveaways there.

For Mark McNulty it was going to be a day of black and white. From golf bag, to shoes, clothing and even his black hair with mature gray tresses kept everything colour co-ordinated for the meticulous Zimbabwean.

In contrast, his flamboyant Swedish playing partner, Jarmo Sandelin, looked like he had snatched his final-round attire from the set of The Spy Who Shagged Me. A crimpoline, girlie-looking black blouse coupled with a kaleidoscopic pair of purple and black trousers. His white footwear set the outfit off perfectly.

No signs of success or failure here, but the duo got the most-contrasting-styles award.

The final pairing of the bulky Argentine, Angel Cabrera, and the delicate Welshman, Phillip Price, was a contrast of force with finesse. Three shots separated Cabrera from Price. The Argentine's loping gait would suggest his nick-name, "The Duck", was well chosen as he bustled onto the range. It was hard to spot any signs of what was going on in that shuffle. Price arrived for work with his customary springy stride and aloof look.

I spent the morning on the range observing the potential winners as they headed out for their final rounds. I was in a position to try to figure out if there was something in their look that betrayed a will to succeed.

All of them swing the club in their individual styles. All of them hit the ball similar distances nowadays with the advance in ball and driver technology.

McNulty, with his compact and fluid swing, looked as competent as Sandelin, with his flailing, spine-twisting jolt, to conquer The K Club.

There is, of course, always one who is prepared to stick his neck out a little further at the finish line in order to realise that dream of success. Or perhaps one who is just on the right side of fortune in the crucial final round.

Whether Price was aware, behind him on the 18th as he was negotiating his chip shot to the pin, McNulty could be seen swinging a club. Of course you could read this a couple of ways - one of the leaders "outside" the clubhouse was simply keeping his muscles warm in case Price didn't get up and down for a birdie and a win.

Depending on how you look at these things, the more cynical observer would surmise that he was hoping he would catch Price's eye as he was assessing his chip and thereby make him aware of the importance of his task and somehow distract him.

Price's unflappable guard was dropped as he holed his winning putt on the final hole. He punched the air like a boxer and gritted his teeth in confirmation of his achievement.

It looked like Philip Price woke up last Sunday morning with the notion of success on the North Course of The K Club and nothing was going to distract him from his task.