Fifty pence for a programme, a fiver for a season ticket?

The Ryder Cup was a different kettle of water-dwelling creatures in 1973. Just don't mention the fish to Bernard Gallacher. Forget those lavish seafood platters of lobsters and oysters, it was a hardy staple of the British pub grub menu that caused much abdominal anguish.

"I knew exactly what caused it....it was scampi," reflected Gallacher of that infamous food-poisoning incident which scuppered his Ryder Cup campaign at Muirfield.

At least the fare served up over those rigorous East Lothian links, by far the best course to have staged the transatlantic tussle, was slightly more palatable even if the end result caused much belly-aching in the Great Britain and Ireland camp.

It was 41 years ago that this great golfing skirmish last graced Scottish shores. Indeed, apart from the unofficial crossing of swords between golfers from either side of the pond at Gleneagles in 1921 which planted the Ryder Cup seed, it is something of a curiosity that the contest has been played in the home of golf only once before.

In those days, the Ryder Cup was as lop-sided as a Long John Silver on a listing ship. Of the 19 matches that had been played, the all-conquering USA had won 15. The task facing the home side at Muirfield was a daunting one, on a par with chiselling the nearby Bass Rock down into fragments with a 5-iron.

The Americans swaggered into Scotland with, what many believed, was the best team in the history of the cup. Jack Nicklaus, Arnold Palmer, Lee Trevino, Billy Casper, Tom Weiskopf.... it was a star-studded line-up, all right, but could there be a star-spangled spanner flung into their works?

"Being in Scotland, we were very optimistic going into it," reflected Gallacher.

The GB&I boys didn't exactly roll out the welcome mat to their illustrious guests and after the opening session of foursomes and fourballs the home side had forged a 5½-2½ advantage. It was a purposeful, profitable push and the assault was aided considerably by the Scottish alliance of Gallacher and the colourful, charismatic Brian Barnes. In the morning, the duo edged out Trevino and Casper on the 18th before sweeping to a 5&4 win over Tommy Aaron and Gay Brewer in the afternoon.

Even the seemingly unbeatable pairing of Nicklaus and Palmer succumbed to this GB&I onslaught as they went down to 3&1 fourballs defeat to Maurice Bembridge and Brian Huggett.

And then it was time for tea...and that pesky scampi.

"We were leading that event, but I got food poisoning and didn't play for two matches," recalled Gallacher on that fishy tale that kicked up a stink in the GB&I camp. "I was the only one that got it. I stayed up most of the night in pain and couldn't play and it seemed to upset the team's momentum. Suddenly they had to change around a few of the pairings. Brian and I had won both of our opening matches, but then I'd dropped out and Peter Butler came in. Some other players had to change because of that and it just upset the tactics, which was a shame."

At the crack of dawn the next morning, Butler was roused from his slumbers just 90 minutes before the tee-time and flung into the fray in partnership with Barnes, but this hastily cobbled- together pairing would not be as productive as the Gallacher-Barnes axis. They would lose twice on day two as the US surged back to leave the match evenly poised at 8-8 with two sessions of singles to play.

From there, the visitors would take an American express to a 19-13 victory, having dominated the singles 11-5, although the plucky Bembridge did his best to derail Nicklaus, halving his morning match with the American before narrowly losing by two holes in the afternoon. "Afterwards, Jack said to me, 'Hey, you son of a b****. You really can play this game'."

That's how you did compliments in 1973.