Cometh the Hour

When he arrived in St Andrews for the following week’s Alfred Dunhill Links Championship, he had found himself thinking, wistfully, of what the atmosphere would have been like in pubs such as the Dunvegan Hotel and the Jigger Inn as people had poured in to watch the denouement. Then the wistfulness had given way to a feeling of warmth. Where better for him to be at that point than at the Home of Golf where everyone understood.

Kaymer will never attract a rush of screaming, shouting fans like a Tiger or a Rory. But, make no mistake, he has his share of admirers.

At last winter’s HSBC Champions, when I had something to hand over to a girl caddie whose name I had not quite caught, I did my best to explain which girl it was by furnishing the caddie master with the following clue: "It’s the one who’s in love with Martin Kaymer."

"But madam," he began, "there are thousands of them and they’re all in love with Martin Kaymer."

The girl in question had been on buggy duty that week and had given me a lift down from the practice ground one evening when Kaymer and his caddie, Craig Connolly, had been the only team still at work on the range.

She had not exactly jumped at the chance to give me a ride but, half-way down the hill, she had put her foot on the brake and explained herself. For years, she had worshipped Kaymer and, that evening, she had finally got herself into a position in the buggy queue where she was certain to have him as a passenger.

That is when I had stepped in and, if unwittingly, ruined everything.