On the Open Championship course when the wind howls and the rain swirls and the pack behind you is trying to take a lifetime's prize from you, a man's new best friend is his caddie.

The golfing world last Sunday marvelled at the bearded Irishman, Shane Lowry, as he held his nerve together coming down the home stretch of the 148th British Open that - for all the major tournaments in America and the rising multi-million dollar events in Asia and the Middle East - remains the most coveted test in the sport.

You get the ancient Claret Jug. You get £1.56 million (S$2.66 million) prize money. You get more noughts on sponsorship contracts than you ever imagined. And you walk away with the complete satisfaction that you, Shane Lowry from Clara, are henceforward a master of your game comparable to the giants of the past.

Golf is a lonely game. Man against the course, against the elements, against the cunning plots of designers who contrive the placement of bunkers, rough heavy grass, and holes placed where the contours are as capricious as can be.

But what stays with me from last Sunday was that Lowry was never alone. This big, burly, 102kg Southern Irishman was being cheered every stroke of the way by tens of thousands of men, women and children of Northern Ireland.

I swear I had not had a drink, neither claret nor any other alcoholic beverage, but I was seeing double every stride that Lowry took on his journey to stardom.

At his back, on his bag, caddie Brian "Bo" Martin was there.

They looked at times like the Chuckle Brothers. Figuring it out, putting their heads together, this red-bearded golfer and the caddie who, with his white, trim beard, could well have been an older brother.

In fact, Lowry and Martin are from two sides of the Irish border that is the bone of contention threatening no agreement between the UK and the European Union.

We won't get into Brexit here, except to observe that the unity between golfer and caddie was symbiotically close. The traditional role of the caddie is to do the heavy lifting, to tot up the distances between shot and pin, and to offer any advice his golfer (his employer) is willing to heed.

Again, these two men looked closer related than that. Martin was managing more than the clubs or the course, he was managing his man.

Whatever the financial arrangement between them, this caddie was worth far more than the traditional 10 per cent of prize money a winning golfer might pass on.

"I owe Bo an awful lot," Lowry said, "and I told him coming down the last. He's an unbelievable influence on me, on my life, my golf. I am very happy I could share this walk with him."

They teamed up less than a year ago. Lowry, 32, had sacked his former caddie who had been with him for nine years during last year's Open at Carnoustie where they missed the cut.

It was rock bottom for Lowry, the point of self doubt. He admits that he cried in his car that day.

His coach arranged breakfast with Martin, 46, a former ace club golfer who, after caddying for several golfers, was considering doing something else in, as he put it, "the real world".

The agreement was to give it a go, take it one tournament at a time. Along the way, Martin, a laid-back man, saw that "this guy is a really good player".

Good, but not the master of his talent or his temperament. Every other leading player regarded him as the man with all the shots, who lost the 2016 US Open after starting the final round with a four-shot lead.

Lowry, with Martin at his back, won the Abu Dhabi million-dollar tournament this year from a similar four-shot overnight lead. On the back nine of the Open, Lowry admits, he started to tell his caddie how nervous he felt, how scared I was "about messing it up".

The caddie told him to stay in the moment, slow it down, play the last four holes in par and that he's got this. He used laughter, and used the crowd. "How mental is this?" Martin asked. "What are these people like, standing out in this rain and watching us playing golf?"

Enjoy the situation, don't even think of the score.

Some time later, when Lowry was on a table leading a lusty rendition of the Irish song "Fields of Athenry", both the player and the caddie drank in what they had achieved, and how it will change their lives and their families lives.

Together.