THERE was a magic moment, far from the watching world, that came back to Soren Kjeldsen upon his return to Royal County Down this week.
It is nine years since the Dane won the Irish Open in almost unimaginably dramatic circumstances – the title won, lost, then won again after a gruelling three-man play-off with England’s Eddie Pepperell and Austria’s Bernd Wiesberger.
He hasn’t been back to Newcastle since.
“Yeah, busy schedule, obviously with the travelling that we do, we enjoy being a little bit at home, but it’s good to be here again…”
Yet that final day will never leave him – and, in particular, those excruciating, slo-mo milliseconds when his second putt circled the 18th before dropping into the hole after what felt like an eternity. The crowd erupted, Kjeldsen felt like collapsing.
There would be no wild celebrations; instead, Kjeldsen, caddy Alistair Matheson and friend Jesper Kjærbye, a commentator with Viaplay Sports, sat at a table in the Slieve Donard, a bottle of Champagne and the gleaming trophy in the middle.
Despite their exhaustion, though, there was something they wanted to do long after darkness had fallen.
“I took my friend Jesper down to the 18th green afterwards, when everybody else had gone home, and we were rolling putts towards the hole again, because I had that big lip in.
“He said ‘I can’t believe you nearly missed from there – it was almost a gimme’ and I was saying ‘maybe so, but after six years and wanting it so badly, it wasn’t that easy!’”
That’s why it meant so much; why it still does.
Without a European Tour victory since winning the Open de Andalucia in 2009, Kjeldsen didn’t know that there would ever be another; golf’s power-play evolution taking no prisoners, leaving the Dane and so many others fighting for survival.
Revisiting it now, a wide smile takes over his face as he stands outside the players’ locker room at Royal County Down. But there is a bit of PTSD too, because few leave here without some sort of scar tissue.
After all, Kjeldsen had taken a two-shot lead into the final round, and was one ahead with two holes remaining despite being four over par for the day.
However, a three-putt bogey on the 17th left him needing to birdie the last to win. After chipping from one side of the green off the other, he did well to get up and down for par and a closing 76 to at least clinch a play-off spot.
It was in the lap of the Gods then – until Kjeldsen held his nerve, his upbringing in Aalborg, playing courses on Denmark’s rugged western coast, standing to him when it mattered most.
“We don’t really have links courses unfortunately but we have the same weather – very, very windy. I grew up in wind like this, and that shaped how my game is. I love playing in wind.
“But honestly, it was just being incredibly hard – you’re so drained after those four days. Obviously the course is very difficult, demanding… I just remember having Alistair, my old caddy, on the bag. I was in good form at the time, we’d been doing well for a little while.
“Then the last day, I don’t know if it was just me, but I felt incredible support. I had this feeling, you know, that there was a lot of people behind me. It was very special… I felt a lot of love there on the Sunday from the crowd.”
And, in his 27th year on the tour, that May day in 2015 is still right up there with the best of a brilliant career.
“It’s difficult to rank, isn’t it? The Irish Open, for me, was amazing because I hadn’t won in six years, I’d turned 40, I didn’t know if that was the end or I would win again… it was a special week, so it ranks very high.
“I won the World Cup with Thorbjørn Olesen [in 2016], that was very special, the Volvo Masters at Valderrama [in 2008]… it’s like being asked to choose which is the favourite one of your children.
“They are all important to me – I love them all.”
The circumstances in which he comes to County Down are not wildly different this week to then. Now 49, the Irish Open is Kjeldsen’s last win. Again, he and Jesper are sharing a house near the course, though superstition will play no part.
“Not the same house, unfortunately,” he laughs, “we couldn’t get the same one.”
After arriving on Sunday night, he practised on Monday, walked the course, then played with the rest of the Danish contingent on Tuesday morning; more like being reacquainted with a curmudgeonly relative than an old friend.
“You know, nine years, you realise some of these tee shots, it’s nice to see them again.
“A couple of them you have to pick out something in the distance where you know where to hit it, because a couple of them are not that easy when you stand on the tee.”
The Irish Open took place at the K Club last year, and has also been held at the likes of Mount Juliet and Galgorm Castle since he conquered Royal County Down. But it is on links courses, Kjeldsen feels, that the true Irish Open tests lie.
“I certainly do, and I do think that most of the pros here do.
“I understand there are a lot of things you have to take into account to have big events, but my guess would be that at least 95 per cent of the players here would prefer a links course.
“When we play on the best one, it’s even more special.”
What the coming days hold, only time will tell. Kjeldsen knows the odds are stacked against him getting anywhere near to repeating his 2015 heroics, but few gave him a shot then either.
The ability to tame the elements, no matter how tough, proved a leveller as the game’s biggest names fell away nine years ago. Royal County Down, and all that comes with it, offers him the kind of chance – no matter how slim – that few others can.
“Yeah, I mean, I love this type of golf.
“There are a lot of courses that I struggle to compete on now because of distance, and I think this is one of the places that, if I play well, I could do well.
“It’s not always the case now because of some of the courses we play now, so who knows?”