CADDIE'S ROLE:On arriving at Celtic Manor Resort things very soon become apparent why this thing seems bigger than Christmas

IT’S THE Monday morning of the Ryder Cup week and I am finally going to find out what all the fuss is about with the putative “greatest show in golf”. I arrived at Dublin airport, through the futuristic soon-to-be-opened new terminal and into the soon-to-be-under-used old terminal; business as usual.

The security guard at the X-ray machine was particularly chipper which filled me and numerous other passengers with a sense of well-being. That was a pleasant surprise but totally independent of the week that is in it.

A fellow passenger, full of enthusiasm, wished me the best of luck at Celtic Manor. I assumed he was heading over early to get in the mood. He then informed me he was instead bound for Munich and the start of the Oktoberfest. No wonder he was so keen, Munich, Bavaria, evokes a far more exotic image than Newport, south Wales, no matter what major event is taking place there.

I queued for a traditional coffee as I always do in the departures lounge at Dublin airport, the wait was a little longer than normal but the aroma of freshly-ground java whiled away the minor delay for me. The coffee was wonderful even if the croissant was stale.

Down at the departure gate I was suddenly filled with a sense of occasion, there was a clutch of journalists waiting for the same plane to Cardiff. Media are more scarce at tournaments these days than cranes on the capital’s skyline. A fellow caddie was also boarding the same flight and we greeted each other like we would have heading to any other event from Dublin on a Monday morning.

I boarded the plane, a simple turbo prop bound for the Welsh capital in search of the buzz that I was surely going to feel on my arrival in Wales. I expressed surprise to my colleague that I had received so little communication from the army of Ryder Cup personnel that are bound to be entrenched at Celtic Manor regarding arrival and expectations for the week. A silence of trust was what was suggested by one of the journalists. Same as it ever was till now I thought to myself.

I read the golf news in the paper with my Ryder Cup antennae in extra sensitive mode. Jim Furyk won in Atlanta and also wins the Fed Ex Cup which meant over $11 million (€8.2 million) for the American team member. How will the Ryder Cup cash-free event live up to that pay-day I wondered. Yes there is pride and honour but over 11 million greenbacks on a late Sunday in September would give even the most altruistic of golfers a bit of financial awareness.

I also noticed that our own stalwart, Pádraig, answered the many sceptics that were gathering in the Usk Valley with a closing round of 64 in Paris on Sunday. A timely reminder to his critics that, yes, indeed he can still play golf.

So we landed in the rather remote and low-key Cardiff airport yesterday and I only noticed two other planes at the terminal and numerous at the maintenance hangar. I was still waiting for the Ryder Cup charge to surge through my veins. Cardiff Airport didn’t look like the most dynamic of airfields from a global perspective. A passenger at the luggage carousel wished me good luck in a shy and touching way. This cup seems very important to a lot of golf fans.

As I walked through arrivals, I notice a smiling Phil with his Ryder Cup sign who was there to meet me and drive me, all alone, in a very big and new BMW to the Celtic Manor Resort.

We passed legions of high visibility security on our way up the drive to the hotel lobby. There were television cameras and photographers and hotel staff all there to greet whoever got out of a Ryder Cup courtesy car. For the media, unfortunately it was only a lone European caddie arriving at the Manor. For the hotel staff I was treated as a very important guest and whisked straight to my room. It was a very warm and efficient introduction to my first Ryder Cup.

Once inside, I immediately thought I had got the wrong room because the bed was covered with neatly-arranged clothing. I looked in the wardrobe and six days supply of shirts and trousers (both long and short) were hanging in colour co-ordinated order for each day till next Sunday. I was indeed in the right room because all the clothes fit me.

There was an information brochure with instructions to meet in the European team room at 6pm last night. This thing seemed bigger than Christmas and it was only Monday afternoon. I can feel myself warming to this team “nonsense” already. What’s coming over me?