Damian Corless, Irish Independent, 26 July 2008

“I can be a little bit solitary and self-contained," reflected Padraig Harrington recently. "Even as a kid, things like peerpressure never worked on me. Everyone I knew started to drink and smoke, but I didn't. And maybe golf suits me because it's a little bit of a loner's game. You are out on the course on your own."

Last Sunday at Royal Birkdale, as the Dubliner sized up a daunting 250 yard approach to the 17th green, the peer pressure of the whole world pressed in on him. For the dozens of cameramen circled around, the hundreds of spectators flanking the fairway, and the millions watching on TV, Harrington's next move was a no-brainer.

All the defending champion had to do to retain his Open title, was do what he'd done all week. Just play it safe. Play the percentages. That would surely shade it.

Instead, the loner in Harrington stepped up to the mark. To gasps of bewilderment he threw caution to the wind and gave the ball an almighty twack into the heart of the booby trapped target. With that supreme act of faith in himself, he didn't just smash all doubts about the destination of the trophy, he buried a lifetime of uncertainty about his rightful station in the world of golf.

Self-doubt has been one of the recurring themes of Harrington's extraordinary career. His father Paddy, who played in two GAA All-Ireland Finals for Cork, had all five sons swinging golf clubs almost as soon as they could walk. By his mid-teens, Padraig wasn't just the best in his family, but amongst the best in Ireland.

Despite a formidable amateur record, he ducked turning professional in favour of gaining solid qualifications as an accountant. He recalled: "I think I lacked a little bit of confidence then and didn't want to risk it, but then I started to see lads that I could beat quite easily having good professional careers. So I thought if they can do it, I certainly can."

So, at the relatively late age of 24, he turned pro. Having passed his accountancy exams, he now had a proper job to fall back on. But failure never seemed a danger. Following a bright run of top 10 finishes, he won the Spanish Open as a rookie. His ambitions upon turning professional matched his modest nature. He was delighted at the prospect of getting paid for doing something he loved, and looked forward to seeing the world as "a journeyman professional".

But with the eating the appetite grew. From the moderate peaks of that debut season he glimpsed a Promised Land that he'd always considered out of bounds. But maybe it wasn't.

Counterbalancing his capacity for self-doubt, Harrington has a deep contrarian streak. He's admitted: "I've always been one for a good argument. It's probably my favourite pastime. I love to try to change someone's mind." In 1996, his second year as a pro, he decided to change his own mind – and the minds of others – about what he was capable of. He entrusted himself to a team of specialists. Supervised by fitness coach Liam Hennessy, he dropped two stone in weight. Hennessy remarked: "He was a joy to work with. If Padraig thought by going to Siberia you'd get an inch further down the line, then he'd be on that plane. It was about incremental improvements, tiny fractions at a time, and an unbending will when it came to the hard work." Gaining those tiny improvements even stretched to having laser eye surgery.

Even though he knew it would disrupt his game in the short term, he enlisted coach Bob Torrence to break down his swing and reconstruct it from scratch. Torrence noted approvingly: "He's prepared to get worse in order to get better. Not many are." He also recruited US sports psychologist Bob Rotella, having read Rotella's assertion that he could do more for a talent with great dreams, than a great talent with no dreams.

Assessing Harrington's evolutionary leaps in mental toughness, sports psychologist Phil Moore says: "He has taken himself through the three stages outlined by [legendary Olympian] Carl Lewis. You have to decide what you want, then work out what it costs in life terms, and then decide if you're willing to pay that cost. Most people who get to the third stage decide they're not willing to pay. Padraig was willing."

The most recent addition to Harrington's mindset-support team was the bio-mechanist Dr Paul Human, who's known as "the putting professor".

Since the death of Padraig's father two years ago, the longest-serving member of his back-up crew is his wife, Caroline. The couple, who have two young sons, became teen sweethearts six months after her father brought her to watch a junior game at Stackstown golf club. That's how long it took Padraig to pluck up the courage to ask her to a Patrick Swayze movie.

Summing up Caroline's role, Harrington said: "When you shoot a bad score, the only people who care are your wife, your family and your dog. If I have a bad day, I can get it off my chest quickly by talking to Caroline.

"Then we move on. We don't sit around moping. But the talking is important. She is a good psychologist. The best for me, anyway. Golf is a terrible game that way. It builds up inside you, and it is best to get it out. She is there for me when things go wrong, and when I need a kick up the backside." And if Caroline has to pop out for a minute, there's plenty more family around to do the needful. His caddy Ronan, for instance, is married to Caroline's sister.

Alan Swan of the Kartel Clothing range signed a sponsorship deal with the novice professional back in 1996, and the new World N0.3 is still on board with the local firm. Swan says: "In a way, Padraig is a family business. The family are a big part of his life. We might ask him to do a photo-shoot and he'll say drop up to the house.

"I was coming back from Limerick recently and phoned to ask if he'd sign a T-shirt for charity. He said no problem, and would I stop by at his Ma's house because he was heading there for dinner."

Harrington's concessions to fame and fortune are few. Now that he has joined golf's top table, he will travel more by private jet, but at home he still drives a 10-year-old car. In keeping with his motto that "practice makes permanent", he spends countless hours on the microcourse in his back garden built to US PGA standards. Indoors he has a jukebox full of vinyl 455, a pool table and banks of arcade games.

In the past he's described himself as "not stylish" and "not a glamorous player". In the wake of last weekend's victory, with Tiger Woods clearly in mind, he was happy to count himself amongst golf's "mere mortals".

But while Woods may be worshipped for his superhuman feats, it is Harrington's down-toearth manner that has made him universally loved. So loved, indeed, that a UK marketing magazine recently speculated that his career earnings could exceed EUR100m, mostly from endorsements.

So why does everyone love

Padraig? "He smiles," answers John O'Shea of GOAL, a charity patronised by Harrington. "We live in a curious world of whingeing and depression, and Padraig is a beacon of positivity.

"In contrast to the scowling Monty [Colin Montgomery] or Faldo, he has this endearing trait where he seems to treat the toughest match like a Wednesday four-ball.

"You just know Padraig is never going to fling his clubs into the rough and storm off spitting curses. He always comes across as someone who feels privileged to be doing something he really loves. He still has the same joy in the game as does the weekend golfer, and that's why people relate to him.

"He has now reached his zenith. He can go wherever he wants to go with his game."