By the time this post hits the unsuspecting public it will all have kicked off.

By “it”, I mean the Solheim Cup, one of the world’s greatest female sporting contests.  It’s all about Europe versus America; it’s about golf; and it’s all happening for the first time in Spain at the Andalucian course, Finca Cortesin, which handily enough, happens to have an adjacent five-star hotel where the two teams will be staying.

This is the eighteenth playing of the match with the United States leading the way with ten victories to the Europeans’ seven, but on this occasion it is Europe who are hoping to achieve three consecutive victories, something which, hitherto, has been beyond their reach.  The Americans have accomplished this feat twice.

A few months ago, when the two teams were shaping up, I boldly predicted a European win but, as is normal for me, I am now second-guessing myself and wondering was I a little too cavalier with my prognostications.  The next three, nail-biting, exhausting days will reveal all.  How can you be exhausted when you have no intention of leaving an armchair for three solid days?  Except, perhaps, to have a little nervous pacing when critical shots are being assessed and re-assessed……..and re re-assessed.  Goodness, I hope the pace of play is on the brisk side of glacial.

Mind you, from what I’ve read of the golf course – built on the site of an old vineyard – it’ll be a tough ole slog for the spectators with some dreadfully long walks from greens to tees, so perhaps the armchair is not a bad option.  The players will be transported in buggies, of course, so good luck to those who wish to follow a particular match.

I remember working at the Ryder Cup match in 2016 at Hazeltine and being struck by the fact that so many of the greens were on plateaus, resulting in the spectators rarely seeing a putt at all.  They could view the players from the knees up and that was about it.  It was a difficult course to commentate on and I recall saying to Padraig Harrington, one of Darren Clarke’s vice captains that year, that despite all the forensic planning that went into such an event, very little regard seemed to be given to the spectators.  Padraig looked at me in a mildly surprised fashion and said with no little irony, “Maureen, what on earth would make you think the fans are considered?”

I have experienced the Solheim Cup in so many different ways – but alas, never as a player.

When the Europeans won at Dalmahoy in 1992 I was playing full time and the team members were all my friends.  We were collectively incensed when it was reported at the beginning of the week that the Americans had stated that, with the possible exception of Lotte Neumann and Laura Davies, none of the other Europeans would have had a sniff of making the US team.  True or not, it was a grave error on their part and provided motivation and determination on a different level for the home side.  It was rumoured that the Europeans covered a dart board in their team room with the photos of certain American players.  I couldn’t possibly comment.  The result was a European victory, arguably one of the greatest sporting achievements in decades.

Four years later, at St Pierre, I was on duty for Radio 5 Live in the very early stages of my commentary career.  I was in the booth at the back of the final green with the inimitable Tony Adamson when the network came to him for an update on the current scores in a series of fourball matches.  As Tony opened his mouth to begin his report all the computers went down.  He never missed a beat.  Without a single note he had perfect recall of who was where on the course, who they were playing with, what the score was and what was the overall match score.  What a masterclass in broadcasting – certainly the most impressive thing I witnessed that week.

The match at Rich Harvest Farms outside Chicago saw me take on a different role – or, rather, an extra one along with the usual commentary job.  The captain, Alison Nicholas, asked me to be part of her back room team, taking on the responsibility of liaising between the players and the media.  My duties included ensuring the individual players were at the right place at the right time for various press interviews – a little trickier than it may sound.  The most challenging part was shepherding/persuading a beaten team to the media centre for a final full-team press conference.  In the aftermath of a defeat it was understandably the last thing any of us wanted.  It may or may not surprise you as to who were the bolshie ones!

The last Solheim I attended was the Gleneagles one in 2019 where Suzann Pettersen cemented her name in golfing history by holing a seven-footer on the final green for a stunning victory.  She had been one of captain Catriona Matthew’s picks – quite controversially in some quarters, as she’d hardly played in the preceding eighteen months having just had her first baby.

It was so, so memorable but also unforgettable for me for another reason.  It was the last time I worked alongside Peter Alliss, a broadcaster of legendary reputation and status.  It was the final week of enjoying entertaining evening meals in his company, discussing a range of topics on this and that.  Every time I see Suzann’s final putt played out on television I think back to where I was at that moment – sitting right beside Peter in the commentary box.

The Solheim Cup has been good to me and it’s been a big part of my life.  My golf never made the grade but I’ve been privileged and lucky to experience this special week so many times in differing roles.  Oh, and the fun you can have when you don’t have your clubs!

Now for the armchair and the Do Not Disturb sign!

Believe me, you wouldn’t want me as captain of your team, any team, no matter how small and seemingly insignificant.  Because, really, if you’re on a team and you’re trying your damnedest, it doesn’t matter whether it’s the Solheim Cup, the Ryder Cup, the Champions’ League, the Ashes or the Lower Sandford Street Not-Quite-Silver Salver, you want your captain to be on the ball.

Being on the ball is not my forte but even I can recognise manna from heaven, the gift from god that does your team talk for you, primes your players better than you ever could, leaves you with nothing much to do but smile benignly and say, “Go to it.”

This year, Xander Schauffele, the Olympic champion, did the business when he said in an interview that it had taken “nothing special” for the USA to crush Europe in the last Ryder Cup encounter at Whistling Straits.  He was probably right because most of the Europeans played poorly (that’s the polite version) but it was an unwise remark and I believe he’s been doing a bit of backtracking since.  That’s all very well but it’s too late, too late, the damage, with a bit of luck, is done.  Go Europe.

First up, however and already overshadowed by the Ryder Cup in Rome next week, as I’ve just demonstrated, is the Solheim Cup, ‘the Ryder Cup with lipstick’ as Tim Glover, who had his own special way with words, put it.  I’ve always thought it was a brilliant, evocative phrase but a lot of people hated it, thinking it demeaning, belittling the women’s game.  Hey ho.  I still think it’s brilliant, even though my lipstick disappears seconds after it goes on.

Stacy Lewis, the US Solheim Cup captain, is trying to make the Europeans favourites for the match at Finca Cortesin in Andalucía this weekend and I do hope she’s right and Suzann Pettersen’s team win the trophy for the third successive time.  That’d be a first for Europe and a joy for those of us who were at the first, hastily arranged, match at Lake Nona in 1990.  The Europeans, outclassed, were well beaten and one commentator reckoned it would be 100 years before it would be any sort of contest.  Two years later, at Dalmahoy, Europe won and the game was on.

There was no television coverage to speak of because no one was expecting one of the great sporting upsets of all time and Tony Jacklin, who did so much to revive the Ryder Cup, had to follow the action on Ceefax – younger readers please consult your history books or wherever it is you discover the details of ancient technology.  He was enthralled and well understood the magnitude of the achievement as the under-rated Europeans demolished a much-decorated US team.

It’s all much closer now – I would say 50-50 – with the result depending on who plays better over the three days and who holes the putts.  Pretty obvious really but as a captain, all I’d ask is for all (or almost all) my players to be playing well and for them to be putting the lights out – not as in saving electricity but as in holing everything.  No doubt that’s why Leona Maguire, Celine Boutier and Georgia Hall spent many, many minutes on the practice green yesterday afternoon.  I was in awe of their dedication, my back aching just at the thought of it.

I was also hot and knackered, having just tramped around a course that is nothing short of mountainous, with gradients that wouldn’t be out of place in the Vuelta de Espana.  From what I hear Marco Simone in Rome is much the same and it just goes to show that the fans, who make these team events the great sporting spectacles that they have become, are the last people to be considered when it comes down to it.

A nice hotel on site, for the players and officials, seems to be the main consideration these days, which is fair enough.  A walkable golf course, accessible for spectators of advancing years, seems to have disappeared from the list entirely. We’ll yomp to the best of our ability, taking as much water as we can carry, wearing our over-priced bucket hats (I can’t believe I handed over 53 Euro; what a plonker) and raising a cheer if we have breath left.  It’ll be interesting to see and hear what the atmosphere’s like.

My crew from Whittington Heath are planning an early start for the first day’s play but I think I’ll wimp out and aim for the latest bus possible.  I’ve done the first-tee-at-dawn bit often enough to feel no guilt at leaving it to others now, secure in the knowledge that my presence is not required and I will not be missed.

Remember, I’m not the captain.  And I need my breakfast.

The gin and tonics come later.

Finally, all the best to all the caddies this week, they’re in for a heck of a trek and a lot of early starts and a special mention to Colin Cann, who’s caddying for Georgia Hall.  He’s come a long way and tramped many, many miles since he started out with Annika Sorenstam close to 30-odd years ago.

And he’s still going strong, striding ahead of Georgia, who’s in the green.

And finally, finally this is the culmination of many years of work for many people, bringing the Solheim Cup to Spain at last.  Viva Espana and viva Marta Figueras Dotti, whose achievements and honours would take another blog to list.  Vamos.