Of all the courses, Merion is tops

I HAVE BEEN fortunate enough to experience more than my fair share of truly wonderful golf courses. It comes with the turf. So as you might suspect, I often get asked which one I'd put at the top of my food chain. There's obviously no shortage of contenders, from Augusta National to Oakmont to Pine Valley to St. Andrews to Carnoustie. And some places that stick out are ones you wouldn't necessarily think of, for whatever reasons. I prefer to attack the question one of two ways: If I had only one round left to play, or if I could play just one course for the rest of my life, which would it be? And the unwavering response is Merion.

I'm not saying it's the best, however you want to define the term. I know it's not necessarily the toughest. But for me - and I'm confident I'm not alone - it has been the most indelible. And the most fun. I can't remember the first time I played it, but most likely it was before the 1989 U.S. Amateur. Because it's relatively short, I can actually play it. From the members tees, of course. But that's something I can't always say about many of the championship courses I've had access to over the last two decades. I've probably played Merion about a half-dozen times. Yet I can tell you about every nook and cranny, from 1 through 18, as if I've been a lifelong member. I can't explain why. I just feel as if I know it.

Maybe it's all the ghosts, from Bobby Jones to Ben Hogan to Lee Trevino. Maybe it's the fact that I could play the 11th hole 18 times and call it a round, just as I say about No. 12 at Augusta. I mean, there can't be a better short par-4 anywhere. And Jones just happened to complete his Grand Slam there. Ooze that, when you are standing on the tee. They wouldn't build a hole like that today. Heck, they couldn't build a course like Merion now. That's all part of the magical attraction.

And how many places can you stand in the 18th fairway and try to hit the same shot to the green where Hogan hit his 1-iron in 1950? Thought so.

I can remember so many of the shots I've hit, good and otherwise. I've parred 11 twice, once by somehow holing a breaking, downhill putt from the back fringe. I've also made some dreaded crooked numbers. I parred the long par-3 17th the first two times I was there, once from a greenside bunker and then from a sand trap even farther to the right.

Don't ask. But that stuff tends to stay with you. I parred 18 the first time I tackled it. Haven't done it again, but so what? Once, on 15, I was on in two and had like a 25-foot right-to-left sidehiller for birdie. I was just happy to be on in regulation. So my caddie studies the putt and very matter-of-factly tells me that I'm going to have a 30-footer coming back.

Well, OK. I rolled one at the perfect speed that just missed going in on the high lip. When the ball finally stopped moving I had a 30-footer coming back. What else could I do but laugh? You have to appreciate your limitations.

Did I mention that Merion has maybe the best first tee, situated right next to the veranda, where everyone can watch you swing as they eat their turtle soup? And, yes, the soup is almost as good as the golf. I wouldn't make that up.

Or maybe it's walking up the steps to the intimate locker room, which brims with history and is home to one of those showers where the water comes straight down from overhead. You might only want to linger there for about an hour.

Just don't tell anyone where you heard about all this. It'll be our little secret.

And, hey, we haven't even talked about the West Course. Just in case my final 18 turns into a 36.