I’m worried about Fergus. He’s hardly spoken in the 45 minutes that have passed since Jim Furyk holed the winning putt and the only time he did speak was, when looking at the reflection of his sunburned-red face in a mirror, to ironically say, “Oh well. At least I’ve got a tan.”

As Fergus and I are crestfallen so many of the British press tapping away in this vast media centre are adopting an “I told you so” attitude towards Nick Faldo’s tactics. They never trusted our Captian to get it right and I suppose, in the end he didn’t. As for Azinger, he could probably run for President and take it by a landslide.

The final word should really go to the Americans and I don’t mean the players but the fans. They were hugely vociferous but always good-natured. Fergus and I cheered the European boys all the way through the final round and were only ever greeted with smiles and the odd amusing comment. The fact that they are so jubilant offers me (but maybe not Fergus) a small crumb of comfort.

At the start of the week we were all worried about the health of this amazing tournament but in the end it appears the Ryder Cup is stronger than ever. Here’s to Wales in two years time!