Whenever time permits, a group of us get together on Friday and Tuesday mornings for some serious golf at Clontarf GC, which probably explains why we've been called, rather ungraciously, The Effentees. Our number includes a truly inspirational man whom we will call Sean. Eighty last month, he happens to be a victim of Parkinson's Disease which he steadfastly refuses to allow interfere with his golf.

With a view to helping Sean remain competitive, our Director of Golf - the revered DOG - gave him a special, "domestic" handicap of 36. And Sean now delights in what he calls his "two-stroke engine", while we marvel at his ability to strike the ball with shaking hands.

As it happened, I was in a quartet with Sean last Tuesday for an extremely serious "team event" against two other groups: best-ball strokes over nine holes. Sean's first contribution came at the difficult, par-four fifth where he hit a low-iron third shot to four feet and popped in the putt, left-handed incidentally, for a four, net two.

Eventually, we came to the ninth on seven under, knowing that we needed one more net birdie to win. All seemed lost after three of us made a mess of the hole and Sean had been seen skinning his third shot dangerously close to the front bunker. From there, however, he chipped admirably to six feet below the hole and sank the putt for a five, net three. "That's a win," he said triumphantly.

Minutes later, the four of us were collecting our £1 bets from the opposition. And the DOG was mumbling about "that bloody fellow and his two shots". And how he'd have to be cut. Isn't golf a wonderful game?