The Omega clock ticks down to 8.15 a.m. "Match 18," announces the starter. "On the tee, Darren Clarke." A moment earlier, Woosie struck his first shot arrow-straight into the teeth of wind and watched it settle smugly in the middle of the fairway. But Clarke's opening stroke of the 1998 Smurfit European Open lurches to the right, evades the trees and nestles in the rough some 20 yards from the short grass.
A month ago, that might have irked him. Not now. Two things have changed Clarke. One happy, one sad. Firstly, the birth of his son Tyrone; secondly, and tragically, the Omagh bombing. Both have combined to leave Clarke a wiser and more relaxed man on the course. "I know there are more important things in life than golf," he remarks. "If I play a bad shot now, it doesn't upset me."
Prior to his round, Clarke affixed a little black ribbon to his MacGregor visor. His caddie Billy Foster did the same. So too did many other players, but the symbolism of Clarke's gesture carried more weight than the rest combined. He's a Tyrone man, born and bred, and Clarke's anxiety to give some moral support was obvious.
"I can't describe how awful it was, a very sad thing," he says. "All the people of Ireland feel the same, it was a terrible act and the least we can do is show our respect to the families who have suffered. As far as I'm concerned, it's an absolute disaster. This tournament is being watched by a worldwide audience and it is a chance to show them just how the Irish people feel."
On course, his demeanour is exemplary. When Ian Woosnam's tee-shot to the short third hole received a vicious, undeserved bounce, the Welshman tossed his iron to the ground in a fit of pique. Clarke delayed, reached down, retrieved the club and handed it to Phil Morbey, known to one and all as "Wobbly," who has had his own family concerns in recent times.
Last month, during the Irish Open, Phil's wife gave birth prematurely to a baby in Dublin which weighed in at just two pounds. Since then, he's made regular flying visits to Holles Street to assess the welfare of mother and child; progress is reportedly good, but at least he's within driving distance this week.
Other times, Clarke retrieves divots left by his playing partners and hands them to their caddies, a lesson in course etiquette for the growing number of spectators who have been sucked into the slipstream of a man with a mission.
When the three-ball of Woosnam, Clarke and Colin Montgomerie teed-off from the 10th - close to the clubhouse where the flags were flying at halfmast - there were only 33 spectators in attendance. They watched Clarke's opening shot veer to the right (the cause of a bogey) and, at the next, he was again 20 yards right of the fairway and, worse, behind a pine tree. No scowls, no whinging. He conjured up a recovery shot to within an inch of the green's righthand side, 40 feet from the flag. Attempting to lag up, the ball rolled obligingly into the hole. The recovery was on.
By the time he reaches the 13th green, Clarke's gallery has swollen to 103 people. It includes a teenager on crutches from Killiney who has followed each and every shot to date. Simon Lewis, a 13year-old who tore ligaments playing football two weeks ago, has manfully struggled over the mounds and through the rough to lend vocal support to Clarke's charge.
The charge is, indeed, on. No more wayward drives, far more accurate iron shots. Nothing deters him. Addressing his ball on the fifth tee (his 14th hole), a bus negotiating the by-road behind the luxury houses blasts its horn. It could be the Nep Stadium. His shot is pure and sweet, even if the sought-after birdie fails to materialise.
On the next hole, it does. And in quite dramatic fashion, Clarke sinking a massive 65 footer across the width of the green to move to three-under-par. The gallery, now numbering over a thousand, roars its approval and Clarke doffs his visor in response. Three further pars take him home to the clubhouse where his name is atop the leaderboard.
It could have been even better (a couple of makable birdie putts refusing to drop) but, after the events of recent weeks, Clarke has learnt not to be too greedy. "My perspective on life has changed," he admits.
Sam Torrance, well known for liking a drink until a year ago, when he stopped drinking all alcohol, said he was delighted to have finished a round at the K Club without the assistance of beer.
"The first time I played we'd just won the Ryder Cup and I was on the Guinness. The same the second time. This is the first time I've played the course sober without the hindrance of Guinness," said the jovial Scot.
