Relaxed Poulter is boxing clever

Ian Poulter was taking the long walk from eighth green to ninth tee here at Valhalla during practice, patiently answering every autographs on his way, when an American punter behind the ropes advised him he hadn't recognised him in his sober European uniform. "Don't worry. I've still got pink boxers on underneath," Poulter reassured him, bringing hoots of laughter all round.

If you want to know exactly what the most controversial figure in this year's Ryder Cup brings to Europe's party, here was as good a place as any to start. In the charm offensive which now habitually precedes the event which starts on Friday, Poulter has appeared to be just about the visitors' best weapon in winning over the locals.

While the Americans have been chucking lapel badges into the galleries, the Europeans have been throwing them Poulter, who's had them eating out of his hands with his jokes, showmanship and banter about everything from his idiosyncratic dress sense to Arsenal's chances in Kiev tonight.
He may have had to tone down his Austin Powers fashion tastes here but, with his gum-chewing, omnipresent shades and spiky barnet poking atop his visor, his individualistic streak still stands out as if he were a punk at a rotary club meeting. Yet the first impressions, according to his colleagues, is that he's already proving himself a real team player.

This is significant because Poulter has been singled out as the one striking symbol of uncertainty — and potential division — in Nick Faldo's dozen, perceived from the outside as the cocky bloke who didn't do all he could to make the team and the out-of-form show-off who undeservedly nicked the wild card place which by rights belonged to the beloved and proven Ryder Cup star Darren Clarke.

From the moment when Faldo revealed that he let the 32 year-old know of his selection with the declaration "Raquel, get your coat — you're going to the Ryder Cup", the image was created, unfairly or otherwise, of an English golfing mafia takeover, complete with laddish in-joke nicknames, playing fast and loose with the old famed pan-European team spirit.

Yet Faldo has been at pains here to insist he is the guardian, not the potential destroyer, of that fabled solidarity and chemistry. "I am very confident I won't damage the team," he declared with indignation when it was suggested that his ego might be the real impediment to an unprecedented fourth consecutive European win.
"I've got a dozen characters in the squad — I'm the quiet one in the team room right now." Poults', it hardly needs saying, is not a quiet one.