I got drawn out of a hat to play on the media team. It cost j40,000 a team to play with a top professional and when you're a 16 handicapper prone to scuttling the ball along the ground, it looked like money badly spent.

So it was with extreme trepidation that I walked on the 10th tee – my first – to hit my drive at 8am.

It was a little disappointing that Ivor Robson, who we frequently see on television introducing the top players, was not there to announce in those familiar tones: "On the tee, from Mungret ... Eugene Phelan!" Instead, the man in situ was my near neighbour in Raheen, Sean McMahon, now one of the top officials in the Golfing Union of Ireland. Sean relaxed me and gave a little slag.

The one fear was the fresh air shot, even though there were only a handful of people around. Such overpowering relief when I hit it straight down the middle.

Moving swiftly along, my last shot was on the par 5 9th and it was great to sink a 10 foot putt for a par, especially as some of my friends who came out to watch me for 10 seconds were there hoping to see me mess up. Sorry, lads.

A pleasant gentleman called Liam from Adare came out to watch us, having heard on local radio that we were the team to follow. He realised after a few shots that the lads on Live 95FM were only having a laugh.

Our professional was Oliver Wilson, a young Englishman from Mansfield, who played extremely well and was a true gent all the way round.

I was part of the media team that also included John Kenny from RTE Sport and Liam Kelly of the Irish Independent. We were all there at 7am and were handed a goodie bag full of balls (in case we ran out), T-shirts and strangely a bottle of red wine. Was that just for me?

I was tempted to open it once or twice, but remembered my mother warning me about my drinking. So I handed it to my caddie, my son Aaron, who got a day off from Crescent Comp to watch me waddle around the course. Tiger can rest easy. His position as world No 1 is safe.