What a strange game we play. Four hours plus, across four to six miles of land. Chasing a tiny ball we don't want to touch very often. We spend thousands on clubs, balls, bags, head covers. We do it with our best friends, sons, brothers, wives and daughters. We do it in crazy weather. Wind, rain, extreme heat. Everything about the game is difficult. One good shot in 80 or 90 is enough to keep us coming back. The harder and more beautiful the scenery, the more we seem to like it. Nothing about it should work. But my word, what a beautiful game. It's the only one in the world where we can play the same place as the best in the world. Carnoustie. St Andrews. Pine Valley. Augusta. Turnberry. Lahinch. Pebble. We will put all our effort into a game that's literally impossible to master. But it's about the moments. The birdie in the middle of a run of double bogeys. Watching your dad hole out a 40 footer for eagle and still shoot 90. The hilarious moment on the tee when your scratch friend hits it 59 yards off the tee. Your best friend taking 5 to get out of a bunker. The one shot you hit pure all month. Golf is more than a game. It's the moments of greatness where you hit a shot Tiger would be proud of. The time spent with friends and family. The past glories that you tell for a lifetime. Nothing about the game makes sense. Yet we all love it, we yearn for it, and when we're in it we can hate it. It's the hardest most simple game in the world.