There is no extraordinary descent here, no wash-up, no despair. It's just that now when the brain sends out those electrical impulses of genius, the body refuses to obey.

And yet, run your eye over the man before you, and for some reason, it is not easy to see through the swirls of cigarette smoke and find the gifted, charismatic player who once took the world game by storm. Not easy to find the piercing glare of the alpha-competitor who, according to Jim Murray, used to go after a golf course "the way a lion goes after a zebra".

He moves more stiffly than in his heyday, restricted by the chronic back condition which threatens to end his career. There is an aura, a presence, but as you call up the iconic fist-pump pose on the 18th green at St Andrews in 1984, the image is harder than ever to reconcile with the brooding figure across the table.

A few minutes in the company of either Jack Nicklaus or Tom Watson is a challenge for different reasons. Given the infectious enthusiasm both exude, actually disengaging before the interviewer becomes the interviewee is one of the more pleasant chores in golf.

There is not the same life in Seve Ballesteros's eyes today as he holds court. If he is unfailingly polite, reflecting earnestly on the questions put before him, he is strangely subdued. You even wonder if you detect a trace of sadness.

But what is there to be melancholy about? The effect of the break-up of his marriage remains uncharted water, however, on the face of it, someone with an extremely healthy bank balance, three equally healthy kids, five major championships and a total of 87 victories worldwide, is unlikely to be too down on his luck.

Still, success off the course with a burgeoning design business as well as projects such as the Seve Trophy matches between Britain and Ireland and Continental Europe which will be staged at the gleaming Heritage in county Laois next year, don't appear to be substitutes for the arena in which he thrived.

The attempts to reattach the competitive chord which once defined him have failed abysmally. With the lithe, athletic swing now tight and taut due to the ravages of arthritis, his sublime short game gave him occasional respectability. But Ballesteros hasn't won a tournament since 1995 . . . the year before Tiger Woods turned professional . . . and he hasn't played at Augusta since 2003 when he missed his seventh Masters cut in a row.

Hopes this year that he would be able to take on a fuller schedule never came to fruition. He appeared in just two European Tour events, failing to break 80 in both rounds at the French Open, and then missing the cut at the British Open at Hoylake.

He lights another cigarette, and shrugs. "I'm a very realistic person.

There's a new generation of younger players coming up, everybody has their time, and obviously my time at the top level is gone. I know that, it's easy to accept that. Over the last few years, what I've been doing is participating, not competing. Big difference. That doesn't satisfy me. Participation is not fulfilling."

Perhaps then, the reason for that hint of a void, that personal struggle behind the exterior of 'Seve Ballesteros, successful businessman', is a gradual coming to terms with the reality that his competitive career is over.

"Life is like sport, " he says with more resignation than defiance, "it's a competition every day. Competing against yourself to be better. Better at your job, better father, and there's also the challenge of people wanting to take over from you in the business world."

But you wonder if there's a genuine acceptance that he may never hit another majestic shot either in joy or in anger.

Because competition and confrontation were Ballesteros's oxygen, and in truth, he rails against his time in this decompression chamber.

"I look into their eyes, shake their hand, pat their back, and wish them luck, " he famously once said, "but I'm thinking, 'I'm going to bury you'." From the time he clung on to Johnny Miller, then the world's best player, at Birkdale in 1976, until his inspired, but ultimately doomed, singles game against Tom Lehman at the 1995 Ryder Cup, Ballesteros sucked the marrow out of each and every challenge inside the ropes.

Outside, he fought with the European Tour over appearance money, he fought with the PGA Tour, and he fought with the Ryder Cup committee as a player and then as a captain when he wanted the matches played at Novo Sancti Petri . . . one of his own designs . . .rather than the exclusive Valderrama.

The glamour and the irresistible charm were never enough to completely obscure a ruthless streak. "He could be an evil sonofabitch, " said Pete Coleman who caddied for Ballesteros for a period, "but everyone wanted to watch him because in 18 holes you would always get a touch of genius."

More recently, as the competitive light began to die, he raged one more time claiming that the European Tour was run "like the mafia". But now for the Spaniard, who turns 50 at the end of next year's Masters' week, there might not be one more confrontation. No last shot.

"I will make a decision before the end of the year whether I want to play some golf, or whether I'm going to finish playing and concentrate on my businesses and my children. The Champions Tour is a possibility, but I don't know. I've been thinking about this decision for some time now."

He has been thinking too about the Ryder Cup which he brought to the boil in the 1980s. He regards the last two matches as no-contests with no drama on the Sundays. He believes the Europeans are better as a team, and with the exception of Tiger Woods, better as individuals.

And his one-time bitter rival Paul Azinger? "The Americans are aware of the difference between the teams. They had to make a move. They've changed the qualification system and they've selected the right captain. Azinger is a logical choice."

For much of his golf these days, he finds himself pitted against his sons Javier, aged 16 and now down to scratch, and 14-year-old Miguel who plays off five.

At Hoylake last July, Ballesteros wanted Javier on the bag. "It was an opportunity to make sure that my son understands what the Open Championship is all about. I also wanted him to see who his father is, and how the people at the Open Championship love his father."

It might have been a final opportunity if the competitive clubs are put away forever as Ballesteros snr concentrates on the finishing touches to a definitive autobiography . . . "If the book hurts some people, it will not be an attempt to make any kind of revenge. Just the truth." - and also on the possibility of a film about his life.

He speaks slowly, pausing for a while between sentences before stubbing out the cigarette. So if he decides to quit for good next month, there will be no farewell year, no ceremonial major championships like those enjoyed by Jack Nicklaus and Arnold Palmer.

"It's true, someone like Jack Nicklaus ended his career in a very good way. I need to end my career in a better way than what's happened so far.

I'm thinking about it."

But then, Nicklaus never lost his game, and even had a top-10 finish at the Masters aged 58.

Seve Ballesteros, meanwhile, has been betrayed by his ailing body.

Maybe this is the end of the long goodbye.