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(There are very few women, and those that are present hang back or sit around reading, oblivious)

Of course, these days it's all about a player's "team", with him merely forming the figurehead of a well-oiled and interlinking machine.

But it's the hierarchy of "Team Shiny Shoes" that is the fascinating bit. missed a trick with all that wildlife stuff.

The societal structure of the greater logo-ed golf pro would make a great show. Big Hat Diary it could be called.

Clearly, the player is the main man and top of the food chain. He serenely grooves his irons and wellies his woods often unaware of the social climbing and infighting among the pack behind him.

At the start of a practice session the caddie, his loyal follower and mutually beneficial friend, will assume the position leaning on the bag behind his man. This is the prime spot.

But the caddie is humble and knows his place and will cede it immediately should the coach turn up.

The guru is often older and moves in with ease, trusting his instincts after years of running with the pack. But he's experienced enough to remain alert. And spotting the agent approaching he'll surreptitiously move around to view his man's swing from another angle, thus avoiding any suggestions that he has been elbowed aside.

Like a hyena, the sharp-suited agent, big of shades and sporting pointy loafers in a variety of suede or reptilian-effect leather, will scatter those around the pro as he makes a beeline for the bag.

One arm rests on the clubs, while one leg crosses behind the other in the ritual stance. During the winter months or in inclement weather you may see them adopt a wide-legged position with hands thrust deep in pockets.

Either way, they dominate and they know it.

Hanging back but still part of the fabled "inside the railings" scene are the scavengers, the none-specific hangers-on, the shoe salesmen and the in-the-know media men. There's always some back-slapping, arm clutching and plenty of those handshakes where you approach with your palm facing upwards to suggest magnanimous bonhomie.

For a member of this sub-set, the behaviour is ingrained from an early age when play forms an important part of their education. They instinctively progress from one end of the range to the other, exchanging brief snatches of banter and standing in small wide-stanced groups looking over everyone else's shoulders before moving on. But only ever walk one way - that's the rule. Never go back. That ruins the mystique of somewhere to go.

Up front, meanwhile, the player pounds away, stopping now and then to crack gags, or to bellow insults at passing peers. He's immune and gets laughs from his subaltans whatever.

All the players have their quirks, and it's pot luck which sort of behaviour you will witness at any given time.

On Wednesday afternoon at Birkdale, for example, you could observe Vijay Singh grappling with an assortment of mechanical contraptions, Anthony Kim sporting headphones to pound balls, Scott Verplank practising with his coach kneeling behind to hold his right foot down and Miguel Angel Jimenez perching his stogie on a natty little cigar tee while flailing away.

But there's one animal that rules the practice plains, particularly among the Europeans of the species. It's the universally accepted king. And it's known as a Nick Faldo. (Latin name: Ryder Cuppus captainicus).

The Faldo stalks the range, tall and magnificent, highlighted mane flowing, looking for his pride of young European lions. Spotting one of his trusted lieutenants on Wednesday, the Faldo scatters the pack as he silently takes up a position behind the pony-tailed Jimenez.

The Spaniard caresses another effortless long iron and holds his follow through admiringly. But suddenly aware of his captain, Big Mig snaps to attention and gives the Faldo a stiff military salute. (I'm not making this up)

Faldo returns the gesture and orders his man to stand easy as they chat, calm and assured with each other before September's battle at Valhalla. Conversation done, Jimenez salutes once more and the Faldo skulks off just as quickly as he had arrived.

His presence certainly caused the entire range population to sit up and take notice but now they settle back into their familiar routine, squabbling for supremacy and flaunting their plumage in front of the paying public, who are very much "outside the railings".

This behavioural pattern continues until the tournament ends or the pro misses the cut, when his supremacy is at its most vulnerable. But next week represents a fresh start and the rhythms of pro life on the range will resume somewhere else.