Thanksgiving is upon us again and it's time to give thanks for our blessings. Here goes.

I am thankful I'm not John Daly's liver. (Sure he shot a 62 the other day in Hong Kong. Yippee. Nothing more inspiring than a drunk with a reason to celebrate.)

I'm thankful I'm not Tiger Woods. Poor #$%^&*. First it's the knee. Now he loses his reported $7 million-a-year deal with Buick, which also announced, on a much more positive note, that in October it nearly sold a car. (The CEO of General Motors broke the news to Woods in person, flying to Florida and parking his extravagant $90 million corporate jet near Orlando. Specifically, in Woods' living room.)

I'm thankful I'm not 14-year-old Jason Hak, who became the youngest player to make the cut at a European Tour event last week when he shot back-to-back rounds of 70. Poor kid. When I was 14 I was going to friends' birthday parties, playing games like Pin the Tail on the Donkey until the donkey kicked Billy in the back of the head. (Footnote: Billy is now a writer, just like like mea… meuh… mei… us.) I'm afraid Jason is going to miss out on a normal childhood like that.

I'm thankful I'm not the guy who got Ian Poulter ticked off by stealing his driver. Frankly, if I wanted to be chased down the street by a displeased and huffy guy with dyed blonde hair, lemon chiffon trousers and the matching shirt and shoes, I'd heckle Elton John.

But mostly – as we celebrate that day in Plymouth when Myles Standish pushed himself away from the table and proclaimed the bald eagle to be "less gamey" than the spotted owl – I'm thankful I wasn't Annika Sorenstam's caddy last week when the sensational Swede was given a drug test specimen container and told to fill it up.

As I understand it, she handed the cup to her startled caddy and said, "Fjard laisk borga-fjorsk," which means, more or less, "Help me line this one up."