Every time I forget how challenging the game of golf is, the sport gives me a rude reminder.

I've never been very good in this game, despite the fact that I have followed the little white ball around for nearly 20 years as the Gazette's golf columnist. I have the opportunity to watch the Capital Region's finest amateur players and club professionals up close, yet none of their outstanding skills ever seems to rub off on me.

Why do I have such a passion for a something I can't do very well at all? Usually, I'm the kind of person who is attracted to games I can excel at to some degree. But in golf, no matter how hard I try, I am continually frustrated.

Don't get me wrong, there are times, however fleeting, when I think I can play a little. I make a few pars, four or five bogeys, and I think I'm so close to conquering my numerous weaknesses.

But then my game crashes when I least expect it, like it did this week during my vacation.

The front nine at Western Turnpike was a disaster. I constantly hit my approach shots fat, and my short-game weaknesses rose up and bit me hard. My putting comes and goes so often that I'm considering switching back to the long putter, which I used on and off for about five years but haven't tried again in two or three seasons.

After my game settled down a bit on the back nine at Western Turnpike, I couldn't wait to play again in my league Thursdays at Van Patten. But alas, we got some rain early in the round -- something my league members have become accustomed to -- and the pace of play was very slow. Not really good excuses, but I was grasping at straws.

I played horribly again. In fact, my concentration was almost nonexistent. My driver, usually the strongest part of my game, let me down. I hit several big slices that got me into trouble, and on the seventh hole, I nearly whiffed trying to swing so hard.

My game fell apart so completely that I forgot two strokes I made. I hit a nice drive on the fifth hole, but then for no apparent reason I sliced my approach shot into the hazard. After taking a drop near the hazard line, I pitched the ball up and remember thinking that I could "save" a double bogey. But my second putt stopped just short of the hole. After putting down a "6", one of my partners reminded me that it was a "7". Not good.

Later, on the par-5 ninth hole, I hit a good drive, but stupidly drove up to my ball and decided to whack away at my second shot with a 3-wood instead of waiting my turn. Of course, I topped it, and it went just a few yards. The steam started rising from under my golf hat. Eventually, I hit my third shot up the hill, leaving me about 140 yards to the pin. However, I came off the next shot, and it landed near a tree in the right rough. With no backswing, I hacked away with a sand wedge, and fortunately, the ball nearly made the elevated green, landing just short of the fringe.

I was quickly losing count of my shots on this hole. Eventually, I three-putted from the short rough, but in my mind, it was a two-putt. I put down "7" again, but my partner glanced over at the scorecard and reminded me -- again -- that it was an "8". I counted up the strokes, and he was, of course, right. How embarrassing!!!

I was so mad at myself that I was glad I hadn't scheduled any more golf for the rest of my vacation week. I'm ready to give up this game.

Later, while watching The GolfChannel, I began to think about when I was going to play this game again.

Maybe things will go better next time. Probably not, but maybe. It's a long summer.