This game called golf is one of inches, they say, but for me it is more. For me it's a game of and for the senses. A pursuit of moments. Some drive for show and putt for dough, others tee it up just to flash the membership card. But I fear they miss the point. Because those moments, those little frozen frames of time that remind you life is good... that's my game of golf.

The scent of a leather glove slipping on easy. The crisp dawn air that cradles your face as you mount the first tee. The sweet hollow sound of nailing one on the screws. The way the world holds its breath as the ball sails, a dark spec in a hopeful new sky. The line a ball makes as it cuts across a dew-frosted green. The rattle of sinking a long breaking putt, resin on plastic, unique in all the world, that echoes for weeks. The gentle rapture that comes from knowing you couldn't make that shot yesterday, but here it is, yours to savor, and you know it's there for all your tomorrows because now that you've felt it, you own it.

These moments are bliss, they make you smile at a game that so easily and so often confounds. Because when they come, if they come, they reward you with so much more than honors on the next tee. They tap your shoulder and remind you are so very alive, for this is passion in its purest essence. This, for me, is golf.

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