The new epicentre of golf

A year ago when Graeme McDowell, clad in the warrior colour of salmon pink, held his putter aloft I did not realise it was a rallying cry to his countrymen. But the leader from Portrush was signalling a revolution and the men of Norn Iron flocked to the cause. Rory McIlroy's meteoric rise was to a degree expected, Darren Clarke's arrival on golf's top table less so. Though headlines were euphoric about young Rory's performance at Congressional, I hope the praise of Clarke will be as lavish.

As the stellar field was dismantled by the elements and the brutal Kent course, there were a host of high profile casualties as Donald, Westwood, McDowell and Poulter all missed the cut. But while our attention was drawn to those who had fallen, I failed to observe fully the exploits of a smiling Irishman who had navigated each of the opening three rounds under par.

Whilst some battled bravely for two or even three rounds, Royal St George eventually claimed victim after victim. Poor Miguel Angel Jimenez suffering severely on the final day, with an outside chance of supplanting Old Tom Morris in the history books within his grasp. But amid the howling wind and lashing rain the broad smile on Darren Clarke's face never wavered, his form never faltered and lady luck played its part saving him from the sand whilst simultaneously halting big Phil Mickelson's charge in its tracks.

I found the four days compelling, enthralling and mesmerising. The only downside is that it reawakened my fear of links courses: when the elements bare their teeth it can be a brutal affair. Darren Clarke well played sir. I do not partake very often but last night I was compelled to toast your success with a pint (or two) of the black stuff.