It just occurred to me—jet-lagged as I still am—that a very significant anniversary recently passed. Of no importance to you perhaps, but life-changing for me so I can’t let it go unnoticed.

In mid-November, 1984, exactly 25 years ago, I began working at Golf Magazine. I’d been in magazine publishing for a number of years, mostly travel books and in-flights, and had taken up golf just a few years earlier, having gone to a Golf Digest school at Pinehurst for a week in order to write about the experience. Having never held a golf club before, I suddenly found myself enraptured by the game. Then, in what now seems the blink of an eye, I was in the business. And now, it’s been 25 years.

The mantra in my household long has been, “Golf has been very very good to me” (apologies to Garrett Morris from “Saturday Night Live” in the days it actually was funny). When I think about where I’ve been, what I’ve done, the people I’ve met, and most significantly the people I worked with…well, let’s just say I’m one lucky SOB.

I will resist the impulse to get sentimental and/or maudlin, but thanks to everyone with whom I’ve shared my life and career over the past quarter-century. But most of all, thanks to George Peper for taking a chance on me.