It was a glorious day as usual when I set out for a round of golf with my good friend Pat McGuire, 68, a resident of Tampa in Florida .

My wife Christina, 71, and I go to the beautiful sunshine state every year for a holiday.

I’ve got to know Pat well over the years and while we’re on the course Christina stretches out on the sun bed with a good book.

“I haven’t seen a single alligator this year,” I said to Pat as we trundled on our electric buggy to the first tee on the beautiful course at Timber Green Country Club at New Port Richie near Tampa on February 14th, Valentine’s Day, this year (2007).

“Don’t worry buddy,” replied Pat, “They’re out there alright. You can bet your bottom dollar on that.”

It may sound crazy but the gators live in the lakes and ponds on the courses but if you leave them alone they leave you alone. So I always thought it was safe.

Often you see them sunning themselves on the banks, but not a dickybird this year (2007).

Then, while I was lining up my put on the fifth hole, we both heard a scream coming from a lake behind the green.

“Help, help. Gator, gator,” we heard coming from the edge of the lake.

“Help, help, help,” the anguished scream kept coming.

“It’s the bloke who collects lost golf balls out of the water,” Pat shouted as we legged it to the lake clutching out putters.

“Sounds like a gators got him Tom,” Pat said breathlessly as we headed towards the screams.

When we made it to the water I could hardly believe my eyes.

A man in a wet suit was failing around at the edge of the water with a look of sheer terror on his face. His legs were submerged and he was sprawled on his back on the bank flapping with his arms.

He was desperately clawing for the bank but the gator had his legs and was trying pull him under. The surface of the water was all white and foaming.

“He’s trying to get him in a death roll,” I blurted out and Pat and I made for the gator with our putters raised ready for action.

But we couldn’t get in a clean shot because the reptile was under the surface.

The man’s eyes were wild with terror and he desperately grabbed the gator’s head to try to get it to release his grip.

As he did that Pat and I grabbed him under the arm pits and pulled with all our might.

But that gator just would not let go.

We pulled and heaved as the man cried out in pain and then all of a sudden the gator let go and the man surged backwards out of the water and we all fell back in a heap.

We’d saved him from the jaws of death.

But his foot was a bloody mess.

Another golfer called an ambulance but fortunately the man’s wet suit had helped limit his injuries although his foot and hands were badly cut.

His name was Vernon Messier, 57, and he made his living by collecting golf balls from the water.

In 15 years of doing it, he said it was the first time he had been attacked he told me later on when he came back to thank me.

“If you hadn’t come along when you did I would have been breakfast for that old critter,” he said.

“I was running out of strength fast and you came along just in time. Thanks man.”

The alligator – which turned out to be a seven footer - was captured and slaughtered later that day for attacking a human.

Christine could hardly believe it later that day when I told her I had saved a man’s life.

“I suppose you think you’re Crocodile Dundee now,” she joked later on.

And my grandkids keep saying “See Ya Later Alligator” when they come round.        

I can see the funny side but to be honest I was pretty shaken up by the experience.

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