Padraig Harrington broke into his familiar lopsided grin. “Sandwichgate? What's that all about then?” he asked, wanting to hear all about the latest comical tales of speculation and spying doing the rounds at Valhalla and actually not believing a word of them.

It was the sort of madness, the Open champion recognised, which takes hold as the start of Ryder Cup dawns, when intrigue reigns about secrets falling into enemy hands and when every single scrap of whispered gossip, however insignificant, is treated like holy writ.

So things have become slightly insane here on the eve of the 37th edition as the United States and European captains prepare to reveal their Friday morning foursomes. All the attention is focused on a single scrap of paper, snapped by a sharp-eyed photograper, brandished carelessly by European skipper Nick Faldo and bearing his ugly scrawl.

If you listened to him, first it revealed only his lads' sandwich orders. “Just making sure who wants the tuna, who wants the beef, who wants the ham,” he said. Then, increasingly flustered and floundering, he admitted he had been caught out because, actually, it revealed only today's final practice pairings.

Yet in Louisville's world of paranoia, naturally still nobody believed him. Not as the list happened to be headed by the names of Sergio Garcia and Lee Westwood, followed by those of Harrington and Robert Karlsson. Surely, the cynics scoffed, these had been intended as his first two pairings tomorrow morning.

Meanwhile, rival captain Paul Azinger, when not weirdly waffling on about his love of table football, claimed European spies were following his team.

“Yeah, my spies are so secret I don't even know who my spies are,” retorted Faldo, while sneering that he didn't believe a word of Zinger's constant protestations that he would put Kenny Perry and JB Holmes first out to spark a Kentucky storm. So, what joy in this daft world of portentous bluff and counter-bluff, unconvincing gung-ho claims and even more unconvincing denials, to find a voice of sanity.

Step forward Harrington, a man who Faldo really should feel very grateful to have on his side this weekend, not least because after digesting news of Sandwichgate he helped bail out his newly-dubbed Captain Cock-Up' by revealing: “He [Faldo] hasn't done his listings yet. I know that for a fact.”

In an event so full of such wildly emotional undulations, level heads are precious, and no one's is as flat as Paddy's.

“I don't get the highs and lows that maybe other players get. I tend to keep it nice and consistent,” he said. “If I'm playing at No1 or No12 come Sunday, I'll just go out and do the same thing I always do. I pride myself on being able to play the 72nd hole of a major like I'm playing the 18th hole of a friendly game.”

Harrington is so modest, he makes himself sound anything but an inspiring leader. When an American reporter asked if he now felt his reputation as the world's leading active player in the absence of the wounded Tiger meant he could intimidate opponents, the Irishman laughed. “I don't think the guys are scared of me,” he said.

Yet he was doing himself a disservice. Why wouldn't the winner of their own PGA Championship worry the Americans? I remember how at Brookline on his debut, they patronised the unknown Dubliner with the crazy name they couldn't pronounce. Now, as Boo Weekley announced as only Boo can, he is the man with a target on his back. A kind of European Tiger, perhaps?
Sports lllustrated dubbed him “The Un-Natural” this week, portraying a workaholic grinder who had turned himself into a rare champion through sweat more than talent.

Actually, the only unnatural thing is the thought of a golfer from the British Isles winning three majors. In the last 60 years, only one other has achieved the feat — Faldo himself.

“I've aspired to play the game a bit like he does,” conceded Harrington. Now, calling himself “a late bloomer coming into his prime at 37”, he fancies he ought to start belatedly assembling the same quality of Ryder Cup playing record as his captain.

At present, it's ordinary — in four Cups, he has won seven, lost eight and halved two — but his record in America in the face of partisan crowds is so outstanding (5-2-1) that he has to feature in one of the opening two matches tomorrow, whether with Karlsson, the Swede in such outstanding form, or Graeme McDowell, the fellow Irishman he is sure he will partner in at least one match.

Four years ago, he remembers how he and Colin Montgomerie silenced the Oakland Hills galleries by halting the Woods-Mickelson juggernaut.
“Colin was fantastic in the Ryder Cup, he loved that position as the playing captain,” said Harrington.

“You know there's nobody to fill his boots at this stage.”

Again, you could not help but feel here was a man underplaying his own worth. The ego may be quieter and the chest a little less puffed out but our new Monty is surely ready-made, waiting and ticking along quite nicely.