Twenty-four years on, I'm still reminded in the States about the day I beat Jack Nicklaus - twice. It happened in the Ryder Cup at Laurel Valley, Pennsylvania, on September 21st, 1975, when, of course, there were three Irish lads in the side, Christy (O'Connor Jnr), John O'Leary and Old Darce (Eamonn Darcy).

Winning those particular matches went down really big over there and was a great help in 1996 when I started making a bit of a name for myself on their Senior Tour. It gave me a sense of identity with the American public which, I have discovered, is very important. The seniors' game over there is very much personality-driven.

Looking back, I could have dined out for years on those matches against Nicklaus. Whenever I attended a company day or dinner, I was introduced as the man who twice beat Jack head to head. Yet to be honest, I never considered it as that fantastic.

I'm not denying that I enjoyed it at the time, but 18 holes of matchplay is not a lot different to sudden-death. And two wins of that nature wouldn't mean as much to a professional as they would to an amateur.

Jack took those defeats really well and warmly congratulated me. But I knew he was bloody mad, even though he never showed it. We talked fishing on the way around when I beat him 4 and 2 in the morning, and, the way things turned out, it was Jack who was responsible for re-matching us in the afternoon.

America had retained the Ryder Cup by then and it was he who suggested to Arnold Palmer, their captain, that the order of play should be fiddled so that the two of us met again. It gave the crowd something to watch and I remember Jack warning me on the first tee: "You've beaten me once but there ain't no way you're going to beat me again." Then I started birdie, birdie, even though I didn't think I would. And this time I beat him 2 and 1.

I'm having a wonderful time in the States, where the Seniors Tour has given me a whole series of magic moments. Unlike here in Europe, we're treated like kings, with courtesy cars every week, free food and free telephones from which you can phone anywhere in the world as many times as you want.

You get free laundry. And you're playing with the sun on your back the whole time. But don't tell me we're spoiled. When you get to be a senior you deserve to be pampered. Don't forget that we old fellas have aches and pains. In fact, I've got rheumatoid arthritis in my left foot which gives me hell when I walk.

People have suggested that maybe the doctors got the diagnosis wrong, like what happened to (Jose-Maria) Olazabal. I wish that were true. Believe me this is the real thing.

All of which makes it particularly welcome for me to have access to a physio caravan with two physiotherapists in attendance seven days a week. I suppose we'll eventually have all these facilities on the European Senior Tour, but I'll be retired by the time that happens.

But there have also been disappointments. Like in last year's US Senior Open, which is really the only major of any note over there. They talk about the Tradition and the PGA and the Ford Players, but the only genuine major in my view is the US Seniors.

Last year at Riviera, I neglected to replace the ball on a green after moving it to one side and I incurred a two-shot penalty while dropping a shot as well. As things turned out, I finished on 288 to be tied fourth. And you know that was only three strokes behind the winner, Hale Irwin.

So, if I hadn't dropped those three strokes . . . Anyway, instead of a win that would have been worth four or five million dollars to me between endorsements and everything else - I had to settle for $64,040.

The real difference, however, was that it would have meant being able to pack up the game completely in another few years, whereas now it looks as if I'll have to continue playing until I'm 60. Quite frankly I can't wait to hang up my the old spikes. Can't wait.

But don't get me wrong, I'm making very nice money and I'm going to miss the camaraderie, especially between those of us who played in the Ryder Cup. But by the time 60 comes around, that will be it. Then I'll just fish and relax. And maybe I'll lend a kind ear to somebody reminding me for the umpteenth time about the day I beat Nicklaus.