There is no book entitled “How To Prepare Perfectly For Tournament Golf” for two reasons: a) there are so many ways of doing it and b) it would be dreadfully dull. Captains Nick Faldo and Paul Azinger represent polar opposites on the preparation scale. In interviews at the start of the week the American admitted to regularly loosing his yardage book and taking to the course without a pencil. Faldo on the other hand left no stone unturned, every run off point, lay-up zone and pin position carefully logged should he need the information later in the week.

Azinger’s apparently laissez-faire attitude towards his own preparation was reflected by one of his squad this morning – Boo Weekley. On the eve of the biggest team event on the planet, Boo was out practicing on his own. Now I’m no Arsene Wenger or Brian Clough but this seems an ill-advised tactic. With team spirit in camp America already questionable, it would seem that Boo is hardly doing his bit to foster good vibes.

JB Holmes on the other hand is doing a sterling job for his team. It took him approximately 10 minutes to walk from the clubhouse to the practice putting green as he signed hundreds of autographs. The fans then wildly cheered him as he slotted home a series of simple 3-footers that even I could have holed.

Of course, today is just a practice round but the excitement simmering beneath the surface is impossible to ignore. Many of the locals we’ve seen are dressed in “I love America” t-shirts and wearing stars and stripes hats. While it’s not a look that would make a great impression at the Paris fashion show, it all adds to the partisan atmosphere. So if you were sceptical about how seriously the Americans fans take this competition after consecutive maulings, I suggest you tune in for the opening tee shots tomorrow afternoon.

WE'RE nearly there. It's within sight. I can smell it in the air. I'm
referring of course to the Ryder Cup. By this I mean the bit where all the
waffle stops, the phoney stories get put away and these blokes actually
start to hit balls. Later today we'll find out the pairings and then we can
all retreat to a decent bar to think deeply about what it all means.

To be honest, I am still trying to work out what last night's gala dinner
meant. For a start it was the first serve-yourself-buffet-supper-black-tie
do I've ever attended. Food was good but serving oneself? Please. What,
however, was even weirder was the absence of either captain or the teams
from proceedings.

One thousand very decent local people had coughed up 500 bucks each to
attend only to discover that they were not mingling with the week's stars
but, rather sadly, with each other. I bumped into Sir Michael Bonallack
over pre-dinner drinks - I served him and he served me - and listened while
he told me that the players had demanded this non-attendance because they
had been bothered by so many autograph hunters during the gala dinner in
Dublin two years ago.

Oh, the poor, wee souls. How awful for them. Or to put it another way…what
a bunch of spoiled, up themselves wallies. I responded to Mike's
explanation by telling him about the moment I popped into the hotel bar
immediately before that Dublin supper in 2006. It was crowded but sitting
at one of the tables, drinking a pint of Guinness and talking to half a
dozen Irishmen he'd just met was a tuxedoed Arnie Palmer.

No hiding for Arnie. And he'd just piloted his plane across the Atlantic.
Now that's style. Something not many of today's players possess in
abundance. Eventually the teams did turn up to say hello to us. Or rather
we moved out of the dining area and filed into the theatre next door where
following a ludicrously pompous intro in which an actor pretended to be
Samuel Ryder, the curtains parted and there were the teams, standing on the
sort of curved staircase that Morecambe & Wise used to dance down.

They were each announced, walked down, accepted the applause and walked
off. Last down the stairs were the captains. Faldo & Azinger, official
comedians to golf. Interviewed by some American TV bloke the skippers went
into a well rehearsed routine. Naturally it didn't work. Then they cleared
off and we all got to go back to the dining place for what was officially
billed as Desserts and Dancing. Ever tried to eat a chocolate mousse while
jigging around with what turned out to be an off-duty Kentucky policewoman?

Thought not. My advice is keep it that way. Roll on the golf. Did I mention
my head hurts?

Excitement levels are really building here. There’s an incredible number of people out on the course already and supporters of both sides are giving it their all to display their allegiances. We’ve seen numerous US flags – some being carried others emblazoned across typically tasteless polo-shirts. But, we’ve also spotted a couple sporting Union Jack caps and a group dressed as Leprechauns. We stood for a while around the practice areas and were amazed by the huge throngs of people hovering to catch a glimpse of the players.

There’s a different atmosphere here to any other golf tournament. A sort of nervous, excited tension hanging in the air. Everybody is more pumped up than for an Open or another strokeplay event – people are here to watch the golf but, more importantly, their here to see their side win…. Come on Europe!

Some exciting news for Neil and I is that we are going to find out the pairings for tomorrow morning’s foursomes matches before it’s formally announced to the public. Paul Azinger is scheduled to give a press conference at 2pm and he’ll be followed by Faldo at 2.45pm, they’ll reveal to the press who’s playing and in which groups. But there’ll be a press embargo on that info until 5pm (10pm your time) when the official announcement will be made.

Neil and I woke like children on Christmas morning at about 6.30am today. “Are you awake?” I said nervously. “Yes, for about the last three hours.” Came a reply through the darkness.

We decided we just couldn’t wait any longer so headed straight for the course. As the bus pulled up through the gates of Valhalla the morning sun was poking it’s head above the tree-line and we were given our first glimpse of the turf on which the 37th Ryder Cup will be won and lost.

The first mission of the day was to go out and assess the course. Brits, (I really mean me here), can be a little snobby about American courses and modern American Jack Nicklaus designs in particular. I’ve always pictured sprawling flat bunkers, huge green complexes, massive water hazards and no trees. Well, Valhalla is not like that at all. It has the feel of an old British parkland course – a Wentworth or a Woburn.

The start is a little inauspicious with electricity pylons towering above the first few holes but as the course moves on and into the back nine, the holes become extremely picturesque with greens and fairways framed by huge old trees and bubbling creeks. There are changes in elevation as the fairways sweep through the trees, it means there are a number of great vantage points for spectators that should only add to the atmosphere.

In general, the course looks to be in immaculate condition. Neil said he was reminded of Augusta by the pristine tees and fairways. The greens look to be pretty fast too. We saw Phil Mickelson on the practice green tickling putts down the slope that looked to have no hope of reaching a cup some 30 feet away, but many were rolling three and four feet by.

There’s no real evidence of damage from Hurricane Ike. There are a few twigs in the rough but that’s about it. The organisers have clearly done a sterling clear-up job.

With a long way still to go on our long haul flight to Detroit, I had a long time to consider the best method to deal with spending an exceptionally long time in a big metal tube hurtling through the sky at 500mph, 40,000 feet up.

Neil and I have slightly different techniques. He opts for the sensible way – regularly changing his situation – getting up for a walk, watching a film, reading a few pages of his book etc… I suppose this method should, theoretically, cause time to pass more quickly. I reject that philosophy. I go for stony-silence, sitting absolutely still and staring straight ahead, not getting up at all (not even to go to the toilet.) It’s a sort of gritty Scottish approach to travel relying purely on will power to get you through. I’m sure this is the technique Monty would have been using had he been on a trans-Atlantic flight this week.

But, as Monty’s non-inclusion in this year’s Ryder Cup team proves, inordinate amounts of grit and determination can only get you so far. And, I must confess, six hours through this flight I’m getting a little bored and really need the loo.

The flight from London to Louisville (via Detroit) is five hours old, I’ve watched Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, I’ve read my book, I’ve listened to my ipod, I’ve walked around a bit and I’ve even talked to Fergus – so it’s official; I’m bored. With three more hours to pass until we land I’ve decided to pass the time by penning my first blog of the GM Ryder Cup coverage of 2008. Glad to have you on board, so to speak.

So what can I possibly have to say about a tournament that takes place thousands of miles from my current position over the Atlantic Ocean? Well, at approximately 6 o’clock this morning Fergus and I settled down for a healthy Heathrow airport fry-up when into the restaurant walked Marcus Day, Justin Rose’s manager. He too was travelling to Detroit. After some early pleasantries, I decided to ask him the killer question – does Justin know who he’ll be paired with yet? Rather unsurprisingly Marcus didn’t have the answer but he did mention that Rose and Poulter would be paired to play against the Swedish duo of Karlsson and Stenson in practice today. Rose had also told his manager that yesterday’s practice round had taken a whopping seven hours. Our boys had been instructed by Captain Faldo to sign as many autographs as possible in a bid to winner over the locals – a cunning trick that Bernhard Langer used in 2004.

Talking of Captain’s tricks, Fergus and I have been mulling over possible pairings for both teams on day one. We resisted the temptation of putting Wilson and Hansen together in the opening match and came up with the first day’s fourball and foursomes matches as we see them. Here goes:

Fourballs
Phil Mickelson & Anthony Kim v Lee Westwood & Sergio Garcia
Stewart Cink & Steve Stricker v Paul Casey & Ian Poulter
Kenny Perry & JB Holmes v Henrik Stenson & Robert Karlsson
Jim Furyk & Chad Campbell v Padraig Harrington & Graeme McDowell

Foursomes
Stewart Cink & Steve Stricker v Sergio Garcia & Miguel Angel Jimenez
Jim Furyk & Hunter Mahan v Padraig Harrington & Justin Rose
Boo Weekley & Ben Curtis v Soren Hansen & Robert Karlsson
Justin Leonard & Phil Mickelson v Lee Westwood & Oliver Wilson

USA 1 – Europe 7 (We quite like the look of Leonard and Mickelson in the final match.)

Well, here we are at the Ryder Cup. And the best news is that the power is back on. I’m serious about this. You try living in a hotel without electricity or hot water for two days and see how you feel. More important, see how other people feel about you.

Why was there no power? A bit of Hurricane Ike hit Louisville over the weekend with winds up to 80mph and dumped nearly 10 inches of water on the area, shutting down the electricity supply for 300,000 residents. And me.

This, I felt anyway, was not just a wilful act on the part of someone’s god but an ironic one too because it was in this city that the first electric light bulb was switched on by Thomas Edison in the late 19th century. You really cannot make it up. Well, you can but in this instance I’m not. Honest.

Light was restored at around 10pm last night by which time the core of the British press corps were three hours into a drinking session in the candlelit but unromantic hotel bar. It was, naturally, several minutes before any of us noticed the difference.

No problems to report however out at Valhalla. The teams are now here and the place is beginning to take on some life and shape. It is still two days of course before the action starts but the players are filling in their time practising a bit and then talking to us about how they feel, how they are playing, how they think their respective teams will do and how much money they have all lost on the Stock Exchange this week.

What the Americans won’t tell us is who they intend voting for in the Presidential election. Mind you they don’t need to. The next American golfer I know who isn’t a Republican will be the first. Heck, one team nearly refused to go and have dinner with Bill Clinton when he was in the White House. Right wing doesn’t quite capture it.

Lacklustre does though. The way these shebangs work from a media point of view is that we sit in a big tent and pro golfers are then wheeled in to talk to us. It’s a funny arrangement. Sort of along the lines of a series of freewheeling job interviews. For me the interest is not so much in what these blokes say but how they say it and what their body language tells us.

So far the Europeans are ahead on points. Funnier – well, a bit anyway, and more obviously closer together as a team (again!) they are charming the audience. The Americans by contrast seem quite ill at ease. No-one captured their apparent lack of total interest than Phil Mickelson when he dropped by. Asked if he now saw himself as a ‘team leader’ in the absence of Tiger Woods, the Lolloping One shrugged his shoulders and said that his only job was to “play well”. He may have yawned as he said it.

What I do know is that I yawned as I wrote this. A mixture of jetlag and alcohol is now taking its toll. Plus it is 80+ degrees out here. So forgive me if I must slip away now. I’ve got to get myself into something close to top shape because tonight I am off to the gala dinner, black-tied up and ready to rock. Or at least eat a roll.

These gala things are usually good fun. The best bit is watching the teams as they eat. I know, I know, it’s rude to watch other people eat but it’s the body language thing I’m on about again. Two years ago in Dublin I watched Tiger Woods apparently sleep his way through Van Morrison’s gig. Van The Man’s on stage and you sleep?

Who is on the stage tonight and who falls asleep I’ll let you know tomorrow. Until then have a good time back there in jolly, old Blighty. Oh, and in Scotland too. Or is Scotland in Blighty? I’m never sure about these things. Bye for now.

The European Ryder Cup side has arrived in Valhalla and all the chat is very positive so far. Faldo has said, “I have 12 guys who all want to win, simple as that.” That’s very good Nick. In “Team Captaincy 1001,” lesson one starts with: ensure your team actually wants to win.  He also says he has a couple of ideas up his sleeve. I think that’s a bit worrying, I can just see him sending Oliver Wilson and Ian Poulter out as first pairing on Friday.

Talking about sleeves, I’ve just been looking at a video of the European side arriving in the States. They’re wearing matching outfits that can only be described as brown. I was reminded of the last time I bit into a Milky Way.

I’m just about to leave the house and am finalising my own wardrobe choices. I looked at the weather forecast for Valhalla and was somewhat concerned - it’s going to be 30 degrees centigrade and 75% humidity. My autumn/winter collection is extensive but when it comes to summer attire I’m a touch limited (given the highest temperature recorded in Aberdeenshire this year is 9 deg C, there’s not much call for linen trousers and Hawaiian shirts). I have cords and lambswool v-necks coming out of my ears but anything thinner than about 11 tog is sadly lacking from my shelves.

Aha… I’ve just found a pair of Kickers shorts circa 1994 so I think I’ll be ok. They’re a long way from stylish so I should fit in a treat in Kentucky.

In just under five days Neil and I set off for Kentucky and the 37th Ryder Cup. The last time I was this excited was back in 1986 when I was given a BMX for Christmas – a Raleigh Burner with red flames all over the black frame… a real beauty.

For me, the Ryder Cup eclipses all other golfing events in terms of getting my competitive juices flowing. In individual strokeplay tournaments I don’t have a favourite golfer who I want to win each week. (Obviously, I like to see the Brits doing well, but beyond that I’m not fussed.) But, come the Ryder Cup, I support the Europeans as vociferously as I would Scotland in the rugby or Andy Murray in the tennis. It’s actually quite a strange sensation to have when watching golf and I only get to experience it once every two years. I look forward to it keenly.

Normally I watch the Ryder Cup standing up in, or pacing around my sitting room. This time, however, I’m actually going to be there. I can’t wait to hear the roar of the crowds when the first group stands on the tee; to see if there are boo’s for the Europeans; to see what god-awful strip the Americans are wearing; to see if Faldo picks any controversial pairings; to see if Hunter Mahan can cope with being a “slave” for the week. In short, I can’t wait.

I’m actually hoping for a really partisan crowd like at Brookline so I can feel even more pumped up when a European holes a crucial putt or sticks an approach shot close. I also hope it goes right down to the wire unlike the last two contests. I’d love to see Sergio Garcia hole the putt that wins the Cup for Europe by half a point – just imagine his reaction if that happened…

Time is going to pass unbearably slowly between now and our departure next Wednesday. I wonder how many times I can watch my DVD of the K Club '06 between now and then?