While playing in the Summerfest tournament on Saturday at the Royal Golf Course, my brother Bob said he did a double-take when he saw the sign.

No, I said, it's not the Royal and Ancient. That's in St. Andrews. They have Rolls-Royces and Bentleys. We have pickups and four wheelers.

They wouldn't recognize us. Nor would they want to. They wear slacks. We were blue jeans.

Worst of all, we have fun.

We destroy the game and all its rules and make new ones as we go. With 21 teams on Saturday, there were probably 21 sets of rules.

Royal Golf Club President Andrew Perkins announced that whiffs or one-yard nubbers warranted do-overs. Three-footers were gimmes. The Brits would have been aghast.

Whatever the rules, it was a merry afternoon of golf. No one really played to win. We played just to be there. It was the second time this year Bob came from Spokane.

"It's fun playing here," he said.

One reason it's fun is the layout. Royal can be played under par, but mistakes will be punished. Water features can be a problem, sand is well-placed and rough can mean a jungle.

Another reason it's fun is Perkins. He's brief when he's serious, but he's funny when he gets behind a microphone. He turns a raffle into a game show as suspenseful as those on television.

"I've found a format that works," he said. "I think I'll keep on doing it."

Most of the prizes donated to the cause were awarded through raffles. The only thing you got out of on-course success was added raffle tickets.

Perkins has this particular money raffle that includes several golf balls in a bag. Some are marked with dollar amounts up to $50. One is marked ?, meaning half of the pot ($347 and change this time). And there is an 8-ball.

"What do you get with the 8-ball?" someone asked.

"Nothing," Perkins said.

Then a grin crossed Perkins's face, and he came up with a real winner of a prize, the dilapidated old trailer formerly known as the club house.

"But you have to take it off the property tonight," he shouted.

I did not hear a single complaint on the course. To the contrary, there was laughter from all corners. And there was yelling and cheering. A more joyous competition I've never seen.

What you really played for was a chance to say, "We shot 11 under," as my team did. You weren't required to mention how many mulligans you employed.

The real suspense followed at the raffles. When a name was drawn, the contestant was offered a chance to dip into the ball bag or take one of the prizes visible on the table, some with high value.

"The money, the money, the money," the more than 100 people chanted every time.

They booed when the participant went to the table. They cheered when the participant went to the bag and did not get the ? ball.

One fellow who caught my attention during this Price is Right wannabe was Josh Scroggins. He's a young fellow with a charming grin and demeanor.

Scroggins had all of his tickets lined up on the table, and he was ready to pounce. You sort of wanted to see him win.

Poor guy. Several times he was passed over. Little by little, the money balls came out, and all he could do was say, "awwwww."

Finally one of his numbers was called before the ? ball was claimed. He was excited. So many balls had been drawn that his chances were improved.

He put his hand in the bag and pulled out:

The 8-ball.

"All right," he said. "We're having a bonfire right after this.