Golf and me, we've had an uneasy relationship.
For a long time I viewed the game much like ordinary Dunedin folk view our students: as sort of a necessary evil.
It was the sport I least understood and most feared.
There was the odd film (Happy Gilmore), the occasional book (A Good Walk Spoiled) and even actual golf tournaments (Tiger winning the Masters in 1997) that made me wonder if the sport deserved a second chance.
But for every point of interest there came an obstacle.
The sheer boredom of watching the early rounds of a tournament.
Steve Williams.
Bland leading men.
The endless discussion of etiquette, which bored me rigid. (Question: Why must fans be quiet when golfers are preparing to swing? Do basketball fans go silent when Kobe Bryant shoots a free throw? Does Dan Carter kick goals in peaceful stadiums? What makes golfers so special that they are granted complete silence for their strokes?)
Most of all, golf seemed to me to be full of excess, sort of a greenfields version of yachting's Americas Cup.
No sport sucks from the corporate teat quite so thirstily as golf - though rugby is learning fast.
The A T & T Pebble Beach Pro-Am. The Mercedes-Benz Championship. The Honda Classic.
The Crowne Plaza Invitational.
Are these sports events or business seminars?The top players often seemed more concerned with their latest endorsement deal than their short game.
Nike swooshes were everywhere. Titleist. Calloway.
I'm drowning in a sea of sponsors.
Then Tiger came along and, like every sports fan, I was electrified by his talent and in awe of his remarkable mental fortitude.
But after a while even he lost his appeal.
His golf was peerless but his personality seemed bland.
What did he stand for? And the behaviour of his caddy, the bullish New Zealander Williams, was a big turn-off.
Cambo winning the 2005 US Open was a great story, as was Dunedin's own Mahal Pearce climbing out of obscurity to claim the New Zealand Open in 2003.
Still, golf held none of the appeal of other sports.
Well, it's time to give golf another chance.
Having volunteered to help cover the Open at The Hills in a couple of weeks, I've forced myself to be less grudging in my embrace of the peculiar little game with sticks.
I've been following the action, writing stories, reading golf books, and discussing the game with my colleague and personal golf guru, Dave Cannan.
I've even tried to play the bloody game.
Accompanied by my wife's 17-year-old brother, I hacked my way around the Ranfurly course in January.
Posted a score of 117.
Over NINE holes.
I was truly appalling, especially with a putter in my hands.
Safe to say I won't be asking to play a round with other media at The Hills.
Mr Hill, I suspect, would be most concerned at what I might do to his exclusive course.
Golf still has its mysteries but I'm genuinely excited about the Open, and about seeing the great Sir Bob Charles and the potentially great Danny Lee in action.
Let's play ball.
Sorry, foooorrre.
