GOLF: Philip Reid recalls the 35th Ryder Cup, staged at Oakland Hills, and the remarkable European victory that had a very Irish feel to it

So, what is it about this trophy crafted from gold, this thing called the Ryder Cup, that is so potent? If you're European - or, more pertinently, Irish - it sucks you into its very being. It infuses you with energy, and it fills you with belief beyond all known logic. And, at Oakland Hills in Detroit on that penultimate Sunday in September, just as it had been for the previous two days of competition, it seemed that a part of Ireland had been transported to this piece of golfing heaven.

Everywhere you looked, it seemed, the Irish were present. In the car park adjacent to the hugely impressive clubhouse, Tony Reynolds, the father of Paul McGinley's caddie, Darren, couldn't be missed. He was wearing an outrageous red wig, had a Tricolour wrapped around his shoulders and was deep in conversation with Donal Bollard, from Allianz, one of McGinley's main sponsors.

"Paul's due here any minute, we just want to wish him good luck before his singles," remarked Donal. As if by magic, McGinley's car swung into the parking lot that moment and, as it had been for much of this Ryder Cup, a broad grin was etched on his face. If Phil Mickelson had remarked early on in the match of how tight he felt, there was a looseness about the Europeans that indicated they were ready to answer destiny's call.

As much as anyone, the Irish trio of McGinley, Padraig Harrington and Darren Clarke - and their legions of supporters, who somehow had managed to wangle tickets to be there in the flesh - epitomised this sense of calling.

On the previous evening, as dusk fell, a quite extraordinary thing had happened. It was late in the evening and most American fans had deserted the arena. Suddenly, The Fields of Athenry wafted across from the hospitality area on the other side of the four-lane highway and could clearly be heard by those who had lingered behind on The South Course, the venue for this 35th staging of the Ryder Cup. It was, to be sure, a spine tingling moment; almost surreal. But so Irish.

Earlier in the day, McGinley and Harrington had teamed up to face Tiger Woods and Davis Love in the final foursomes of the match. That morning, the United States - who trailed overnight by 6 ½ points to 1 ½ - had rallied for a time, only for the English duo of Paul Casey and David Howell to steal their fourballs match with Jim Furyk and Chad Campbell and instil renewed confidence in the Europeans heading out for the foursomes.

Clarke and Lee Westwood were first to take up the baton, having watched on the giant screen by the practice range as the Casey-Howell combination won the 17th and 18th holes for a win that was like a kick in the stomach to the home side.

The initiative was back with Europe as they went into foursomes combat: Clarke and Westwood beat Jay Haas and Chris DiMarco on the 14th, while Sergio Garcia and Luke Donald defeated Furyk and Fred Funk.

But it was that last foursomes that was especially captivating. For McGinley and Harrington, the chance to take on Woods and Love was a dream come true. As they walked from the second green to the third tee, it was developing into a nightmare. It was then McGinley turned to his old pal and said, "Let's play the golf course, let's stop playing the two guys. Let's concentrate on playing our own balls as if it's a US Open."

If not quite a magic trick, the psychology worked.

When McGinley and Harrington shook hands on the 15th green with their opponents, it was a for a 4 and 3 win that prompted the huge army of Irish supporters to serenade the two golfing Dubs with a rendition of Molly Malone. It was a song that had no end, and neither player could escape from the giddy masses assembled by the greenside.

They were there for an eternity, all the time grinning, and by the time the two Irishmen eventually returned to the locker-room their team-mates had long since returned to the team hotel.

But that was just one moment in a match that was filled with so much emotion.

It had all started from the very first match when Colin Montgomerie, a captain's pick, and Harrington were picked to go head-to-head with Woods and Mickelson in the opening fourballs. Much was made of the lack of synergy between the two Americans but, as Woods rightly pointed out, "geez, they made eight birdies in 14 holes and birdied six of the last eight".

In truth, the Europeans just played the better golf over the three days in inflicting a record 18 ½ to 9 ½ defeat on the Americans. It was as simple as that.