Can’t fight the feelin’

Love is a beautiful thing. It's absolutely gorgeous.

For people that love golf, it is a tumultuous, unfair and usually heartbreaking affair. Something as beautiful as a floating white orb gliding toward a hole in the ground that measures to be four and one quarter inches in diameter can also be the most damning, if the flight goes astray.

The golf gods were in the most gleeful of moods over the past weekend as their benevolence befell the fascinating fairways and flawless greens of Hilton Head Island's Harbour Town. Some of the world's greatest golfers took to the game under the iconic red and white-striped lighthouse; the lighthouse serves as Harbour Town's logo.

Some competitors were unwinding from the pressure-cooked difficulty of The Masters, while some were returning to PGA action, as they didn't qualify to win the Green Jacket. Regardless of where they were the week before, they were navigating Harbour Town's course, each striving for the not-as-famous Tartan Jacket.

The party began on April 13 with the Pro-Am tournament, calling for volunteers to work as amateur caddies or golf cart shuttlers. Volunteer show time was set at 6:15 a.m., as the first tee-time was 7:10 a.m.

They call the caddies by an assigned number and set them up with an amateur – as everyone involved gets googly-eyed over the pro golfer that will lead the groups. My number never got called, so I shuttled people from the parking lot to the clubhouse and vise-versa.

That's where my emotions wrangled me giddy.

Walking across the parking lot was Camilo Villegas, winner of the 2010 Honda Classic. Actually, he wasn't walking, he was strutting, per usual for the 28-year old Columbian. For a professional athlete he was phenomenally ordinary. He's 5'9" and weighs 160 – as listed on PGAtour.com, but get real. Milo weighs 160 lbs soaking wet with two bricks in his pockets.

Anyways, there he was, strutting along, texting on his sleek BlackBerry – that was ironically white – and the opportunity arose while professionalism deteriorated.

"Camilo! Can I have a picture?" I asked.

"Sure, but who will take it?" he said with a disgustingly charming Spanish accent. Silly question, with an arm extended, holding a camera phone, the picture was snapped and small talk ensued. To try and cover up the lack of professionalism in my picture request, I asked how the round went.

"Eh, it's just the Pro-Am, doesn't matter," he said.

Yeah right, just a Pro-Am to you, but what about the three goofballs that paid $5,500 to play on your team? An investigation followed, and some great reporting discovered that Villegas fired a sickening 77, good for 5-over par.

Now that the Pro-Am was over, it was time for the real golf. The tournament began on April 14 starring characters such as the lovable – self-described – redneck, Boo Weekley, the silent South Korean, K.J. Choi and newly rehabbed and recent reality TV star, John Daly. Put those three in a room together, and well, you'll learn about anything from Korean bath houses to how to correctly insert a pinch of dip, or maybe even how to successfully pass out in the parking lot of your Hooters, and still compete as a professional golfer.

If The Masters can serve as a barometer of who will win the Verizon Heritage, well then it's pretty obvious that the field would be at the mercy of Choi, following his tied for fourth-place finish in Augusta.

Good thing it's not. Choi completed the Heritage so far from the Tartan Jacket that he couldn't even make out the tackiness of the red-plaid design as Jim Furyk – who fired a +12 in Augusta, even municipal golf course patrons would be embarrassed of that – slid it onto his shoulders, victorious after one sudden-death playoff hole with Britain's Brian Davis.

The inconsistency of golf seemed to be the predominate story line as Furyk won, blowing away crowd favorites like Boo and Daly, and talented youngsters such as Puma's pastel posterboy, Ricky Fowler.

The story of the entire tournament came down to the runner-up's third stroke on the final hole. It wasn't anything to do with the stoic play of Furyk, it had everything to do with the honesty of Davis.

He played the game with the integrity it was designed for.

Davis barely clipped a marsh grass reed in his backswing, a direct violation of rule 13.4 –a player cannot move against a loose impediment during a take-away – and he called the two-stroke penalty on himself.

What other sport showcases athletes, in the middle of intense competition, calling penalties on themselves?

Imagine if Kevin Garnett said, "You know what, I did elbow the snot out of Quintin Richardson, I'm suspending myself for a playoff game."

What if Barry Bonds, Mark McGwire and A-Rod all came out tomorrow and asked for their names to be wiped from the MLB's record books because of their either alleged or admitted steroid use?

Only in golf is it even comprehendible; the old adage, "if you're not cheating, you're not trying," doesn't hold any water on the links.

Davis was quoted as saying he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he didn't maintain his integrity, there was no option.

He couldn't fight the feeling, he needed to be true.

So next time you tee up your ball, or sip on a Guinness, dedicate it to the guys like Davis. The ones that keep golf truly a game of honor.

Get it. Got it. Good.