This is an obituary.

As with most obituaries, some of it is sad and some of it is filled with fond memories.

The death, in this case, is my golf game. The temperature is back up. The grass is green. And what's left of my golf clubs are in the garage, unmoved since the end of last season.

I decided this year to give up playing golf. There were lots of reasons. Clearly, economics played a part in it. Golf is just too expensive. I've also got a lot more aches and pains than I used to have. I used to be a pretty good golfer. And now I'm not. Simple as that.

Maybe I could be one of those guys who enjoy playing just for the fun of playing, but I doubt it. Golf was always about competing, and now that I'm such a bum, I don't think I'd get any fun out of it.

My game has just deteriorated. It used to be that if I had 150 yards to the hole, I'd hit an 8- or even a 9-iron. Now, I hit a 6-iron, and if the wind is bad, I may even have to hit a five. Now when I hit the ball I really don't have any firm idea about where it's going to go. And I hate playing like that.

It's not that I've totally lost interest in golf. I still watch golf on television, even the weekly tournaments where a bunch of nobodies are playing. I read Golf Digest. I was very sad when I heard that Amy Mickelson had breast cancer. I wonder what's wrong with Tiger. I know who Daniel Chopra and Heath Slocum and Mika Miyazata and Natalie Gulbis are. Boy, do I know who Natalie Gulbis is.

I read the honor scores every day in the scoreboard in the paper. I smile when I see someone I know in there.

And it's not like I never hold a club. I have a 3-year-old grandson, Charlie. Last year, I bought him plastic clubs. This year I got him a real one. A seven iron, leather grip, cavity backed. He and I go into my backyard, me carrying clubs, including an old wedge for me, him carrying a bag of shag balls. I show him a spot and he dumps all the balls out on the ground. He loves that. Then I walk away and he starts to hit. He takes his stance, fixes his grip and takes a big boy whack at it. Sometimes, he misses. Sometimes, it's a grass burner. Sometimes, it soars and he'll shout "Look how high it is, Papa."

That's my golf world now. I even sold almost all the clubs I had, some almost brand new drivers, a couple of outstanding putters and four dozen brand new Titleists. I've got some old clubs in a bag, so that if I ever decide to play a round I won't have to borrow anything. But my driver is 12 years old. I'm OK, I think, with not playing golf.

But, I'm finding out that golf is so much more than playing. So very much more. And that's the stuff I really miss.

I miss standing in front of my house, dressed for golf, clubs by my side, as I look at my watch when my dear friend, Terry, pulls up to pick me up to go play. I'm pretending he's late and he pretends he's irritated with my pretending he's late. I miss the fact that he knows how to get to every golf course in the state without a map.

I miss my friend, Tom, who is just about the most gentlemanly golfer I know. He cares deeply about his game and he's always got an idea to improve his game. I never hear him swear and he's just about the best player I know at forgetting the past shot and focusing on the next one. He's no wimp, though, and is very good with the needle.

I miss my friend, Punch, who is by far the best player I ever play with. He can hit it a mile, he's got a great touch and he never, ever misses a second putt. He's a little bit of a snob about golf courses, which is why I haven't played a lot with him in recent years. But he's an even nicer guy than he is a golfer and he never makes you feel inadequate next to his game. The only guys I ever played a full 18 holes with who are better are Seve Ballesteros and Andy North, both multiple winners of major tournaments.

I miss Danny and Big Red, two guys in the Brown Deer Senior Men's club. They are friends and can both really play. They are serious about their golf and they've got great humor that is coupled with real dedication. They put up with all the BS rules that the club has. I miss Mac and Mike and Marty and Eppy.

I really miss Scott, the pro at Brown Deer who almost singlehandedly turned a typical government-run course into a truly special golf experience. He's one of the very best there is.

I am amazed at how much of my life revolved around golf. I can't remember the last time I saw the guys I'm talking about. It's as if without golf they have disappeared from my life, or me from theirs.

That's what really surprises me. How giving up a sport can have such a profound impact on other aspects of my life. Oh, we still exchange e-mail and an occasional phone call. But sitting down and sharing a brat and a beer after a round or meeting at George Webb before one are things that just don't happen anymore.

You can take my putter and throw it into the river and I really wouldn't care all that much. It's the other stuff, the atmospheric love around golf, the guys who play it and who love it, that I really miss.