MYRTLE BEACH, S.C. -- All Robert Mieczkowski wanted to do Friday was relax and have fun. It turned out to be the winning formula.

Mieczkowski, an 11-handicap, shot a gross 76 and a net 65 to capture the 29th annual GOLF.com World Amateur Handicap Championship. He beat out 74 other flight winners, including Roger Clemens, who was in contention until a late double bogey ended his chances.

For Mieczkowski (pictured on the left), it was by far the biggest win he's ever had on the links.

"It's unbelievable," he said. "It goes to show you anyone can win."

A total of 3,091 players from 49 states and 25 countries competed for four days in their respective flights. The winners of each flight teed it up Friday at TPC Myrtle Beach to crown a champion. Among those was Clemens. Last week he pitched for the Sugar Land Skeeters, an independent minor-league team, but this week he was just another amateur golfer having fun in Myrtle Beach.

"I think it's good competitive golf," Clemens said after his round. "With everyone's handicap in play, it makes if fair for everybody."

Mieczkowski, a ship supervisor at an oil storage plant in Old Bridge, N.J., was proof of that. With a bunch of his friends from Jersey cheering him on, Mieczkowski just tried to relax and enjoy yet another round of golf. But after firing a net 31 on his opening nine, he started to realize he might have a chance of winning.

When a tournament organizer showed up on the 17th tee with a video camera, Mieczkowski really started to feel the pressure. To break the tension, he was assured it was a "good luck camera," but that was little comfort.

"On the last three holes, I've never felt that kind of pressure," he said.

And it showed. He shanked his second shot on the par-4 8th (his 17th hole), and it led to a double bogey. But Mieczkowski held it together and got up-and-down for a par, net birdie, on the final hole to secure the win by one shot over Frank Payne of Aynor, S.C.

Mieczkowski, who was playing in the World Am for the seventh year in a row, credited his good play this year to playing a lot of golf leading into the event. He owns a condo in Myrtle Beach, and after a stressful few weeks at work, he came down on Aug. 19 and played nearly every day before the World Am.

After collecting his trophy and posing for photographs, Mieczkowski was off to celebrate his big win.

"We're going to grab some wings at Hooters, and we'll see what happens from there," he said.

The most famous player at the Golf.com World Amateur Handicap Championship also happened to be one of the most famous pitchers in the history of baseball, and he also happened to be one of the finalists at the 3,091-player tournament being held this week in Myrtle Beach, S.C. 

Roger Clemens tied for ninth among 74 players to reach the final round Friday, in which all the flight winners squared off for the title. Clemens, an eight handicap, shot a net 71.

Robert Mieczkowski, an 11 handicap, shot a net 65 to win the championship by one stroke.

Complete scores are here.

MYRTLE BEACH, S.C. -- Among the 3,091 golfers playing the Golf.com World Amateur Handicap Championship this week, eight were from China. They were the so-called Chinese Delegation, and they were ferried to their appointed rounds in a van with a driver who knew the roads and a translator who spoke perfect English. Still, they were often late.

Understandably so. This gang of eight was making its first trip to the Grand Strand. You might come for the golf, but at some point Myrtle's other charms are going to suck you in. Where else are you going to find neighboring hotels with names like Hotel Blue and Buzzard's Roost and mini-golf courses with names like Jurassic Golf and Professor Hacker's Lost Treasure? To say nothing of the many, many stores that sell no item over $7.99.

"The comment I heard the most was, 'We need more time for shopping,'" said the group's translator, Jane Zhang. She is a Chinese-educated physicist who lives here, and when she began her gig this week she knew nothing about golf. Then she watched her charges drop $12,000 at the PGA Tour Superstore. Now she knows: Golf is an addiction that needs no passport.

Thursday night, the Chinese Delegation was on the stage at the Convention Center here, getting souvenir coins from the mayor of Myrtle Beach, John Rhodes, himself a former assistant golf pro. He handed each of the eight what could double as a gigantic ball marker with the seal of the city on it. The golfers gave the mayor little Chinese bows and tentative American handshakes.

They were, in varying degrees, a skinny bunch, but in Myrtle Beach the Chinese golfers were loading up on ice cream and French fries and various libations. Still, after a week in America, they remained skinny.

There was a lone woman among the eight, Y.E. Qiaobo, a winner of three speed-skating medals at the '92 and '94 Olympics, in the height of the Bonnie Blair era. Now she's nearing 50 and has turned herself into a sort of glamorous figure with long black hair and perfect teeth and an emerging golf game. She's been playing for three years and she can make a bunch of pars. She claimed to have had three helpings of ice cream on Thursday. She did not claim to have made any holes-in-one.

After the presentation of the city coins, a subset of the delegation retreated to a loading dock where they sat on folding chairs and talked about their visit while convention workers on break smoked cigarettes in the muggy late-summer air. One of the group was Min Yang, a Chinese PBR distributor, who was one of the sponsors of the group. The pony on his Polo shirt was so big you could have cut it off and taken it for a ride. (On Tuesday night, he presented the mayor with a bottle of Pabst Blue Ribbon 1844, which costs $44 per bottle. The mayor said it didn't look like the PBR he grew up drinking.)

Winsen Qian Yong Shen, in a pink shirt and lime-green pants, looked like Webb Simpson on an ordinary day at the office. He wore his collar up. His name, I was told, means, "Always wins money." He did not know about Webb Simpson. Or Nick Faldo. Or Arnold Palmer. He knew a lot about Tiger Woods. And he had heard of Jack Nicklaus. "The Golden Bear," he said.

"The Golden Bear?" repeated Dr. Zhang, the translator.

Jack Nicklaus's nickname, I said.

"Jack Nicklaus?" she said.

"The Golden Bear," I said.

"The Golden Bear?" she repeated.

None of this is going to be easy.

I asked Winsen if he had heard of Donald Trump. He had not.

Right about then, Mayor Rhodes joined the group.

"Mayor Rhodes, could you explain to your visitors who Donald Trump is?"

He said, "Donald Trump is a very well known investor. He may not be the best investor. But he is a very well known investor."

Winsen, through the translator, said, "Why are you asking about Donald Trump?"

I explained that Trump was actively buying and building golf courses, that he was bullish on the game, just as the Chinese were. I told the Chinese Delegation what Trump once told me, that the game will take hold in a major way in China because golf is a great gambling game and the Chinese love to gamble.

Winsen smiled at this and, in nearly perfect English, said, "The whole world loves to gamble."

LITTLE RIVER, S.C. -- Glen Dornoch was a suitable site for Flight 1's grand finale in the World Amateur Handicap Championship here Thursday. Glen Dornoch rivals yesterday's course, Oyster Bay, for scenic beauty with marsh and water views. Jet skis whizzed down the Intracoastal Waterway, along with assorted pleasure craft, plus the monstrous Aqua-sino, a sea-going casino.

Plus, Glen Dornoch is one of the beasts of Myrtle Beach. It's a strong course, with a manly 145 slope from the tips. Luckily, the course got hammered with rain Wednesday night, so pro shop manager Vickie Heher moved many of our tees up from the tips and allowed us to play lift-clean-and-place throughout course, which was a real life-saver for those of us who found the grabby bermuda rough. Even with the weather rules in place, Glen Dornoch was a handful.

Thursday I suddenly started hitting shots on the center of the clubface, unlike the previous three rounds, and played well. I holed a bunker shot for an unlikely birdie at the par-3 17th to get to five under but three-putted from long range on No. 2, our final hole, to shoot a four-under 68, the low round of the day, and according to Heher, the lowest score she's heard of at mighty Glen Dornoch in her eight years there. It's a double-asterisk score, though, because of the conditions we played, but it looks good on the scorecard.

It wasn't near enough to get me into contention. I was out of it after the opening round. The winner teed off in the next-to-last pairing and was the right man in the right place when the guys in the final threesome backed up. His name is Jim Thompson. He's 41 and he's a train engineer originally from Fort Wayne, Ind., who currently resides in Willard, Ohio. He brought a 1.3 handicap to the World Am and said he got two strokes in three of the four tourney rounds and one stroke in the other. He had no idea he'd won the flight until he reached the Glen Dornoch parking lot to unload his clubs and heard the scores of the players in the last group.

By winning the flight, Thompson advances to Friday's World Amateur Handicap Championship finale, where the winners of the all the flights duke it out for 18 holes, with strokes, of course, for the coveted overall title. I caught up with Thompson in the Glen Dornoch grill room after the round. Here are some of our Q&A highlights:

Q: How many times have you played in the World Am?
Thompson: This is my fifth year. I was in the final group on the last day last year and shot 90.

Q: Ninety? What happened?
Thompson: Nothing. It was just really slow and the pace got to me.

Q: Did you feel any pressure in that pairing?
Thompson: No, I don't even come here to win. I just come here to have a good time and hang out with my buddies.

Q: And have the occasional adult beverage?
Thompson: There you go, yes. I come down with a couple of other guys from Ohio. Willard is 40 miles straight south of Cedar Point, the amusement park on Lake Erie, if you know where that is. They're a rowdy group. We're driving back together. That'll be fun. I think.

Q: What was it like in today's round?
Thompson: I thought I was out of it. I was fourth going into today. I knew one of the guys in the last threesome, and he gave me a thumbs-up one time, so I thought they were shooting well. I didn't think I had a chance. I thought another guy in my group beat me because he birdied 16. I thought I had to birdie 17 and 18 to catch him, but I parred in.

Q: Did you hone your game to a fine edge in preparation for this week?
Thompson: Ha. No, I haven't even played all that much this summer, just a few scrambles, that's about it. I'm a member at Willard Country Club, a nice nine-hole course.

Q: Willard? They don't have rats in the clubhouse, do they?
Thompson: No, why?

Q: You never saw the movie, Willard, about the weird kid who used an army of rats to attack his enemies?
Thompson: No, I don't remember that one.

Q: You're really a train engineer? So you must've seen Denzel Washington in the runaway train movie, Unstoppable, didn't you?
Thompson: Sure. That was based on a true story. That train was actually out of Toledo and we run that branch, so we know all about the 8888, the number of that engine. It was a true story but they kind of gave it the Hollywood treatment.

Q: What's your career engineering highlight?
Thompson: None. All I do is drive trains.

Q: That's cool.
Thompson: It's not that cool. Stopping traffic?

Q: Seriously, how many people get to drive a train?
Thompson: A lot. A lot of people work on trains.

Q: What was your greatest moment in golf before this week?
Thompson: I really couldn't tell you. I won a couple scramble events.That's about it. I just play golf for fun. I had a hole-in-one once, a 9-iron from 155 yards in Galion, Ohio. At Valley View, I think.

Q: You're not sure of the course? It was that unforgettable?
Thompson: Only two people saw it, and nobody was in the clubhouse when we got in, so I didn't have to buy many drinks.

Q: Is this the pinnacle of your golfing career?
Thompson: It probably would be, yes. 

Q: You don't seem excited enough. Maybe that's what three beers have done for you.
Thompson: It's been more than three so far.

Q: What are you doing to prepare for the final?
Thompson: Go out and drink more beers with my buddies tonight.

Q: Good plan. How's it feel to be in the World Am final with all the other flight winners Friday?
Thompson: It's going to be hard. I've got no shot at all. I'll have to shoot a 60 or something.

Q: It's a low-net world, not a low-gross world. But at least you made the bonus round, so that's neat.
Thompson: It is neat. I never expected to, that's for sure.

Q: Do you have any other sporting highlights in your life?
Thompson: I played baseball at Anderson University in Indiana. I played semi-pro football for seven years, then I played two years for the Simbach Wildcats in Germany. It was a pro team.

Q: How'd you get that gig?
Thompson: I'd gone to a couple of scouting combines. I was a quarterback with a pretty good arm. I was on the first tee of a golf course in Fort Wayne when I got a phone call from some guy in Germany asking me if I wanted to play for them. I thought it was a joke. I told him I'd call him back.

Q: It wasn't a joke?
Thompson: No, it was real, I spent two years over there. Germany was awesome. It's so clean, the people were so nice and they treated you really well.

Q: They also specialize in beer.
Thompson: They ruined it for me. I don't like any of the beer over here as much as theirs. I liked that wheat beer they had.

Q: What NFL quarterback was your style most like?
Thompson: Somebody with a big arm who couldn't move. Who would that be? Not John Elway, he could move pretty well.

Q: I don't know. Maybe Jeff George? Well, go out in that World Am final and make us proud.
Thompson: Make who proud?

Q: Everybody in your flight. You're representing all of us.
Thompson: So when I shoot a 90?

Q: Then you're not representing us anymore. You're fired.
Thompson: I"m going to be trying so hard to shoot 60 that I probably will shoot 90. You shot 68 today? That's a good score anywhere. Even in Willard. Maybe you should play for me.

Q: I don't think so. You earned it. Plus, you've got at least a five-beer lead on me.
Thompson: Yeah, I'm going to be hard to catch, all right.

SUNSET BEACH, N.C. -- This was a serious mistake in planning. Instead of playing in the third round of the World Amateur Handicap Championship in Flight 1 here Wednesday, I should've set up a lawn chair, a cooler and a video camera at Oyster Bay's now-infamous 17th hole. Apparently, it was quite a show.

The 17th is an island-green par-3 hole. On its website, Oyster Bay brags about having not just one but two island-green par-3s. This seems similar to Quasimodo bragging about his second hump, but that's just my opinion.

This is what Pete Dye has wrought with his famous 17th hole at TPC Sawgrass -- poor imitations. If you're going to have an island green, it had better be a darned big island, and the hole had better not be overly long. Oyster Bay's 17th green is shaped almost like a triangle, with the skinniest point at the front of the green, facing the tee box. The pin was diabolically placed on the green's front edge (pretty much like the other 17 pins were diabolically placed on ledges, knobs, ridges and carnival rides). It's 165 yards to the middle of the green from the back tee. With the front pin location, our yardage today was 144 yards, but it was a very narrow target.

(By the way, the 15th is the other island par-3, and it's not truly an island. It's about two-thirds surrounded, from 9 o'clock counter-clockwise to 1 o'clock. It's also 210 yards. If you like modern golf architecture, and by that I mean island greens, greens with six-foot tiers and ledges, a fairway with a towering tree in the middle and a monster par 4 with two greens, then you will love Oyster Bay, designed by Dan Maples. The only missing design cliches were a double green, a hole with two fairways and a waterfall.)

Anyway, Oyster Bay's 17th proved to be a nightmare, at least from the stories I heard from a few of the finishers who congregated in the bar afterward to commiserate (and also to see if they cashed in on one enterprising competitor's daily skins game).

Here's how it was for our threesome. I'm withholding their names because, frankly, we're embarrassed enough as it is. The first guy up, who happens to live about 50 miles north of me in Meadville, Pa., played his usual hard draw but hit it a tad thin and splashed it in the pond just short of the green. Then I thinned a choked-down 7-iron toward the right edge, where thick Bermuda rough just over the collar grabbed it like a Venus flytrap, saving me from a watery finish, too.

Our third man, a congenial low-ball hitter from Houston, pulled his tee ball slightly. It drew, hit on the left edge of the bank and tumbled toward the oyster-shell-lined water hazard. We didn't see it splash, but the bank was pretty steep, and there was no sign of it when we approached the green.

So, my playing partners advanced to the drop zone. I saw right away that this was a bad idea. The drop zone, a forward tee box, was already badly mutilated with divots. Plus, it was a mere 52-yard shot to the front pin, which was on the narrowest strip of green from that angle. If they aimed left, toward the back-middle of the green, there was a bunker that could've served as a backstop. Otherwise, this 52-yard wedge shot from a tight lie, depending on the outcome of your drop, was one nasty shot. Meadville got his shot on the green where I would've aimed, toward that bunker, and left himself 30 feet. Houston chunked his first attempt. Splash! He retrieved another ball from his bag. He thinned a low one this time, and his ball took one bounce on the far side of the green -- near my ball -- and disappeared into the pond on the other side. That was three balls in the water.

On his next try, he got it on the fat part of the green, 20 feet away. After I nearly chipped in, making a tap-in par, Meadville left his first putt eight feet short. Then Houston, who joked about putting for an 8, left his first putt four feet short. Meadville missed, three-putting for a triple-bogey 6. Then Houston slammed home his next putt for a 9. Our group score smacked of a multiplication table: 3-6-9.

"That was a huge putt," I told him. "Huge."

"I know it," he said, "I didn't want to make a 10."

"Trust me," I said, "I'll bet you right now that you didn't make the only 9 here today. In fact, I guarantee there will be a higher score on this hole today than 9."

We finished the round. I had suffered an abysmal start, three-putting three of the first four holes. It wasn't all poor putting; it was also extreme (and I use that word to be polite) pin placements. I was seven over par after seven holes but played well the rest of the way, posting 79.

We hadn't been in the clubhouse more than a minute when a fellow competitor walked. "How'd you guys do on 17?," he asked. "I made a (bleeping) 15!"

I was going to go to find Houston to give him the good news. He was at the bar ordering a pair of Miller Lites. But before I even got started, another player came in and asked how we liked the pin at 17?

"Ten balls," he said.

What?

"Ten balls," he repeated. "I saw a guy ahead of us hit 10 balls in the water there today. We're not sure, but we estimate that he made a 24 on that hole."

I don't know which golfer it was, and if I did I certainly wouldn't taint his name by printing it here. I also don't have confirmation that it's true. But hey, in the clubhouse bar after a round, any unverified rumor like that is too good not to repeat.

I found Houston and his Lites on the other side of the room. I told him about the 15 first, then the alleged 24. You smoked some guy by 15 shots on that hole today, I said.

He popped the top on his second can and took a hefty swig. He was smiling.

MYRTLE BEACH, S.C. -- It was a battle against the elements here in the second round of the World Amateur Handicap Championship. From what I saw, I'm declaring the elements the winner.

Heavy overnight rain, followed by more morning rain, delayed by an hour our 9:30 shotgun start at Wild Wing Plantation (renamed Wet Wing by more than one chagrined player). We got 10 holes in before another wave of showers hit. It was two hours of misery.

You know it's wet when you make a fist while wearing your rain glove and it wrings water like somebody turned on a faucet. Fortunately, the tournament officials were smart enough to put lift-clean-and-place rules in effect and move up some tees. Even in the championship flight, this was not a day to play from the way-way back.

When you're playing in the rain, you forget how far you can't hit it. It was a significant adjustment on club selection. With falling rain, and of course no roll, plus a little breeze, it was a two-club difference. At the par-3 17th, a 184-yard shot today, I normally would've hit 5-iron. But since rain was falling and my rain suit was wet (but I wasn't--thank you, ProQuip!), I'd already noticed how poorly the ball was carrying. I downshifted two clubs into a hybrid, choked up slightly and hit a nice shot pin-high. A guy in the group ahead of me--yes, they were still stacked up on the tee when we arrived--hit a sweet long-iron shot that kicked in close and looked like it might go in.

He expressed disappointment that it didn't find the cup for an ace, but then said he'd just had a hole-in-one a week ago. "Then you weren't due," I said. I bumped into him in the bar after the round and he said that shot was a leaner--his ball was actually leaning over the edge of the cup. "Nice," I said. "So, did you make the putt?"

I woke up with a really sore left Achilles tendon. I wasn't sure I was going to be able to play. And since it was raining early, I didn't bother warming up on the range. Don't get wet until you have to -- that's my theory. It caused me to lose some shots to the right early because I was loathe to finish on the left side, and then I over-adjusted and started yanking the occasional shot. By the end of the round, it felt better, so maybe I won't be too hobbled for the last two rounds.

All in all, I played solidly, hit a lot of greens in regulation, and was even par until the rain began. With three holes left in the round, I teed off on the 18th. We were drenched by then and my grip slipped just a bit, causing me to snipe-hook my tee shot into a diagonal lake in front of the fairway. It really shouldn't have been in play but bad shots happen in bad weather. I made a triple bogey there, parred the last two and posted 76. Nothing special, but by late in the round, all we wanted was to be done.

Other things I heard today:

- During the pre-round instructions and send off as we waited in carts, the club official announced there were only three holes with out of bounds in play at Wild Wing. "Thank god!" a voice from one of the carts said loudly, sparking uproarious laughter.

- Also before the round, a weathered older gentleman carrying a small cooler was headed into the bar area when he ran into a friend. "I'm going to get some beer," he told his pal. It was 9 a.m. The friend replied, "I wish you hadn't said that." The man with the cooler was undeterred. "Beer, don't leave home without it!" he said.

- During our round, one of us hit a shot that landed in a fairway puddle, and someone in the group said, "It's OK, I saw it splash." There's something you almost never hear during a round of golf.

- Wet Wing's Avocet Course was fairly pleasant to play, not counting the rain. Lots of big bunkers and big greens. I remember early last decade when Wild Wing was a hot spot to play in Myrtle Beach. It had four courses, I believe, and earned a lot of rave reviews. Now only one is still in operation. You could see some of the overgrown holes on the other courses here and there, apparently victims of the recession.

- One last nugget overheard in the dining area pre-round, where free donuts, juice and coffee were set up for World Am participants. Said one grinning, pudgy golfer, "When they're free, I try to stop at three." Yeah, I think that's the golf writer's motto, too.

PAWLEYS ISLAND, S.C. -- We're off and crawling.

All right, the Golf.com World Amateur Handicap Championship is off and running. Hooray. However, a lot of us who staggered to the finish line in Monday's opening round here are barely crawling after our games failed to survive an initial reality check. You want me to be clearer? Count me among those in the Not Ready For Prime Time Players on this day.

The moment that captured the mood came on our next-to-last hole. My threesome was waiting at the sixth tee at the nicely conditioned River Club. The twosome ahead of us was on the tee waiting to hit. The threesome behind us pulled up in their carts. Yeah, we were stacked three-groups deep on the tee. That had happened on the opening nine, too, on a par 3 that featured a semi-island green. (It's all your fault, Pete Dye, wherever you are!) Anyway, the guy in the group behind us who was riding solo in his cart had his iPad out and was already fiddling with it when he asked us sarcastically, "Are we having fun yet?"

It was five hours into our round, we had two holes left and I was so many over par that I'd lost track. What else can you do but laugh? Actually, my playing partners had some highlights. Derek, a younger guy probably in his 20s, played a nice little draw and threw in a couple of birdies while Jeremy, who works for Barefoot B.E.R.B.S. and was wearing a pair of their killer golf sandals, hit a few bombs off the tee and piled up some birdies. Derek shot 78 -- I kept his card. Jeremy had to be around even par.

The longest putt I made on the firm and slightly quick greens was five feet. And I only made one. A baboon could've holed more putts from where I was. Thus, a lot of easy up-and-downs from just around the greens turned into a buffet of bogeys. It didn't help that as a Northerner, I didn't adjust to playing the occasional shot out of some thatchy, grabby bermuda rough.

There was a little wind and it was heavy ocean air, apparently, because I came up short repeatedly, including on that next-to-last hole where my 4-wood second shot on the par 5 dropped out of the air like a bird that had been shot. It splashed in the pond. That turned into another bogey when I missed an 8-footer for par. I didn't read the greens well and I had no handle on the speed. It added up to 81 but it was worse than that, really, because I was playing out of the middle of most fairways.

Wait, I just remembered another moment that better symbolized the day. At No. 14, the semi-island green hole that was the official Closest to the Pin hole, I dropped a 5-iron shot in there to about six feet. The previous closest, according to the card on the green, was seven feet and change. I didn't sign my name on the card because I'm playing as a "celebrity" guest -- I don't need to steal prizes from the paying customers. Anyway, my putt was apparently downhill. I didn't notice that. I didn't feel it. But it obviously was because I lightly rolled it and it raced four feet past the cup and broke right. Before you could say "Don't tell me," I missed the par putt coming back. I don't have an excuse, other than some butterflies in Zambia that were flapping their wings excessively loudly at the time.

The River Club was a pleasant mix of shade trees and pines. Some holes are bordered by condos or homes, but they're set well back and don't really come into play. It's a nice course, designed by Tom Jackson, and it was in excellent shape considering the area has had more than five inches of rain in the last week or so. The only nitpicky thing I noticed was that from the black tees, which we played in the championship flight, the par 3 holes were the same -- all in the range of 185-190 yards. When we were going over the scorecards at the end, I'd written down a 3 for Derek at No. 2, and he thought he'd had a 4 there. What did the hole look like? We couldn't remember. The par 3s were too similar.

The River Club's signature hole is undoubtedly the 18th, which has a fairway that curves left around a lake. It was also dead into a stiff breeze, so two of us played safely out to the right. Jeremy tried to carry the fairway bunker but the wind dropped it into the sand. He had only 203 in from there, still over the water, but if he'd known the hole better, his tee ball easily would've carried onto the land left of the bunker and he would've had a short iron in.

I bumped into some of the guys I played with during last year's tournament in the shop after the round. We all commiserated on our scores. It was an interesting contrast from the scene before the round when everyone was warming up and, as golfers usually are, brimming with optimism and hope.

I heard somebody in a nearby cart (we were lined up for a shotgun start) tell a story about his buddy who made a hole-in-one at a golf outing that was giving away a $50,000 Cadillac Escalade for a hole-in-one. His pal thought he'd won the car but learned that he apparently aced a different hole than the prize hole. When he was offered $100 to spend in the pro shop as consolation, he wasn't pleased.

"Then he said three guys came up and hit him up for free drinks because he made a hole-in-one," the guy said. "He said, Screw that, I just lost $50,000. I'm not buying drinks for the whole field when I only won a hundred bucks."

The World Am, by the way, continues through Friday. It's 72 holes of stroke play with handicaps, and it's a blast. It's like having a golf trip organized for you. You play a different course in the greater Myrtle Beach area every day, under tournament conditions, and you're flighted so you're playing against competitors of an equal level. I ran into two guys in the hotel elevator who came over from Italy to play.

Anyway, I've still got plenty of time to stop sucking. My flight heads to Wild Wing Plantation tomorrow, so I'll crawl there first thing in the morning. It'll get better.

(Photo: Chris King/Myrtle Beach Golf Holiday)

Nearly 3,100 golfers, 60 courses, 72 holes of intense stroke play competition, an 18-hole championship playoff, nightly parties and entertainment. It may sound like the U.S. Open from qualifying to conclusion, but the GOLF.com World Amateur Handicap Championship in Myrtle Beach, S.C., is an event unlike any other.

Golfers from 49 states and 24 foreign countries flock to Myrtle Beach, S.C., every year to participate in a tournament that provides a one-of-a-kind golf experience. Now in its 29th year, the World Amateur allows everyone from scratch golfers to 30+ handicappers to test their nerves and competitive resolve.

The tournament, which uses an intricate handicap formula to level the field, is open to all golfers -- men, women, young and old -- who have a certified USGA handicap.

The World Amateur features five competitive divisions, ranging from men and women 49 and under to the super seniors (70+). Within the divisions, golfers are flighted by closely grouped handicaps. The event features 68 flights, and the winner of each advances to the Flight Winner's Playoff, an 18-hole shootout that determines the World Champion.

Throughout the week, Golf.com will bring you the sights and sounds from this unique event. For more information, visit the tournament's official site, and check back throughout the week for scores, players' stories, scenes from the tournament, and updates as the field narrows and champions are finally crowned.

MYRTLE BEACH, S.C. -- For Thursday's final preliminary round at the World Amateur Handicap Championship no one in my threesome was in serious contention, so we did what we were supposed to do -- have fun.

That wasn't necessarily easy. We teed it up at the Fazio Course at Barefoot Resort, a demanding track in North Myrtle Beach. It was by far the best-conditioned course we played in our four-course tourney rotation -- it was breezy and it was tough. I made it tougher by cleverly yanking an 8-iron shot on the 13th hole, my first hole, left of the green into a marshy hazard. Didn't find the ball, had to take a drop, ended up making a four-footer to save double bogey. This is not how to have fun, kids.

Sometimes you need a punch in the gut to focus. That got my attention. Once again, however, the mystery of grain and bermuda greens eluded this Northerner. I had a few skanky swings here and there but otherwise played pretty well. I pitched a shutout in the birdie column, which makes it difficult to shoot a good score. Still, 75 with an inexcusable double on the opening hole wasn't all bad. A 74 would've gone down a little better had I made a five-footer for birdie on the final hole, the par-5 12th. But why start making putts now, Chumley?

I played with Mike, a Baltimore guy who wanted to talk Ravens football with a Pittsburgh guy (me). He was interested to hear that I thought the Steelers might -- note that I said might, Steelers fans -- be getting a bit old this year and could stumble. The Ravens, I said, look like the team to beat. He didn't disagree.

Our third was Doug, who's got his own heating and air installation company in South Carolina and is a self-described redneck. He's even got "Redneck" stamped on the heads of his Ping irons, which prompted Ping to call and ask if that was really what he wanted on his clubs before they printed it. Git 'er done, boys.

Doug wielded a long putter pretty well most of the day, except for two glitches, and was solid off the tee. He was taken aback at the start of the round when a photographer from our web empire came out to shoot some photos of me in action. (Doesn't that sound like a choice assignment?) He wanted to know what kind of celebrity I was and later, after the photog left, began referring to me as a supermodel.

He and Mike asked what I was going to write about today. I said I don't know, "but I'm definitely blasting you guys." That was a joke. Doug laughed and said, "Well, you better be nice to me 'cuz I'll hunt you down and shoot you."

That, too, was a joke. Doug mentioned how he got his nickname, Redneck, back home. He'd gotten hooked on golf, was playing quite a bit and sometimes went to the course straight from work -- sometimes wearing denim shorts or jeans and work boots. He was at his course, about to tee off by himself, when another golfer asked if he wanted to join his group. Doug said sure, he didn't really want to play by himself. The man said, OK, I've got two more friends coming and we like to gamble a little on the course.

How much is a little, Doug asked. Usually $20 a hole, plus junk, the man said. That was considerably less than the stakes Doug's buddies played for so his eyes lit up and he said he was in. They went out on the course and the man walked into the shop after the round with his bag and said he was leaving. You're quitting, the club pro asked.

"Yeah," the man said. "I just lost $180 in nine holes to some damn redneck! I'm outta here!"

After that, Doug said, his club pro always addressed him as Redneck. Hence the nickname on his Ping irons.

When Doug made a funny remark on one of the greens (that I won't repeat here), I told him that's perfect, that's a quote I'm going to use for my story.

"Hey, I'll give you a quote," Doug said. "Don't pick your nose while you're driving on a bumpy road. That's good advice."

After I finished laughing, I agreed that it was very good advice.

Doug also enjoyed ribbing Diana, the photographer. On one par 4, he pushed his approach shot into some trees on bare ground, then thinned his next shot over the green and out of play. He took a drop, chipped across the green, chipped on and eventually made an 8. "Did you get a shot of that?" he asked the photographer.

"Yeah," I said, "I'm definitely buying a copy of that print from you."

No, Diana said, shaking her head, she didn't capture that shot. She stuck around for eight or nine holes, way more than she needed to get a decent shot of me hacking away. I apologized early on for not making some dramatic gestures and reactions. Plus, it's not like I was racking up birdies. Why would I fist-pump after holing another dicey two-and-a-half footer for par?

When she informed me she was leaving after our next tee shot, we felt compelled to do something. I split the fairway with my drive and then, after a few seconds of silence, raised my arms in the traditional "the field goal is good!" signal, indicating I'd finally found one. Doug hit a drive and, a bit off-balance, capped it with the Gary Player walk-through follow-through, then he punched the air in triumph, getting into the spirit of the moment.

"I just 'bout fell down there," he admitted.

"I definitely want a copy of that print, too," I told Diana.

Mike hit a low snipe-hook off the tee that he didn't particularly like. No theatrics. On the green, Doug rolled in a birdie putt and said, "You see that? The lady photographer leaves and right away I make a putt. She missed a big chance there. Make sure you tell her that when you see her."

Consider yourself told, Diana. You missed a potential Pulitzer shot, without a doubt.

So maybe you get the idea of what kind of day we really had. We rooted for each other's shots and putts and enjoyed our tension-free golf.

It was a fun day. Somebody in the flight made a hole-in-one, but back at the clubhouse, I forgot to stop by the bar to collect my free drink on the acer's bar tab. The guys in this flight, the low handicappers in the tourney, had a skins game each day. Hopefully, the man who fired the ace won enough for that skin to cover his bar bill.

Maybe my round moved me up to a top-ten finish, maybe not. It doesn't matter because Mike, a returning competitor, has the World Am figured out.

 "A lot of guys come here for the golf," he said. "I come for the people."

Now there's a quote I can use. Thanks, Mike. See you at next year's World Am.

(Photo: Diana Eliazov/SI)

MYRTLE BEACH, S.C. -- "I now pronounce you man and golf widow. You may kiss the bride."

OK, those aren't the exact words the justice of the peace used to punctuate the Wednesday night wedding of a charming Italian couple that took place here at the Golf.com World Amateur's 19th hole. But we can read between the lines.

Max Molino, 59, married his longtime girlfriend Pia Lale Damoz, 53. He's a 7 handicap playing in the event. She's not a golfer, but she is a good sport, as she demonstrated by agreeing to tie the knot here in the golf Mecca that is Myrtle Beach, all while the celebrant blessed the newlyweds: "May your drives be long and straight, and may all your putts be short and uphill."

How did a couple who've long lived together in a village in northwestern Italy end up exchanging vows here at the World Am? "They wanted to finally get married, and he loves golf, so they decided to do it during the tournament," said Albert Tamietto, a friend of the groom. This is Max's first marriage -- not counting his relationship with golf -- and Pia's second. How did Max pop the question? Through a translator he told us, "I just said to her, 'Hey, why don't we get married?' " That's not exactly dropping on bended knee on Pebble's 18th green, but what do you expect? They've been together almost as long as Phil and Bones.

Pia looked lovely in a sleeveless blouse and khaki pants. Max was dapper in a dark blazer and navy-blue pants. And like a certain Royal Wedding that took place earlier this year, this affair boasted both elaborate headgear (visors, caps, a couple bucket hats) and star power. Who needs Beckham and Pippa when you've got Peter Kessler? After their nuptials-sealing kiss, the bride and groom passed beneath a "saber arch," with the groomsmen's poised drivers substituting for swords. Then, the pair were promptly pelted not with rice but wiffle golf balls.

"This is our first wedding," said witness and World Am spokesperson Chris King. But it's not the first time love has taken flight on gossamer wings during the world's largest amateur golf tournament. "A few years back, a couple met here at the tournament and ended up getting married."

So where will the honeymoon take these crazy kids? The Greek Islands? The white sands of Bora Bora?

"Actually, they're just heading back home," said Tamietto, though they still have time to partake in Myrtle's nightlife. In that case, another blessing for the couple:

May your marriage be long and happy, and may your wedding night at Fuddruckers be plentiful.

(Photo: Diana Eliazov/SI)