For me, the Resorters Match Play Golf Tournament isn’t about the golf, which ranges from the sublime to the ridiculous the way I play these days.

It’s about the friendships and memories made.

The first few times I entered, the golf did not go well. But based on the people I met, people I still see on and off the golf course, it was a net-birdie.

I have no idea how the golf will go when players from all around the country converge on Peninsula State Park for the 100th-annual Resorters tournament Aug. 5-7. But I do know that, despite the jangled nerves and misplayed shots, there will be worthy contributions to the century of memories the tournament has produced.

If you’re at all inclined to play, Peninsula Golf Course general manager Jason Daubner, who does an amazing job of giving a state-park course a country-club feel, encourages you to do so. He hopes to celebrate a century of Resorters with its biggest field. Entries are accepted until noon on Aug. 3.

Players are divided into groups of eight by their handicaps, so everyone should be playing against players of comparable ability, and everyone has a chance to know the thrill of victory as well as the agony of defeat.

But a big part of the fascination is that golfers play against their own doubts as well as their opponents. As golf legend Bobby Jones once said, “Golf is a game that is played on a 5-inch course – the distance between your ears.”

Put all of that together and you’ll understand why the Resorter is such an irresistible rite of summer. That’s especially true because it’s played on a gem like Peninsula, a breathtaking layout filled with intriguing holes.

The first time I played, my opponent had a fancy custom driver that should have been banned in 42 states. Jason kept gushing about it before we teed off.

I was already quaking in my spikeless shoes. Overswinging, I dug a deep hole. Only when it was too late did I realize that the guy couldn’t putt.

The next year, my opponent seemed to be teeing off on the first hole with a hybrid, which I thought was strange. Then he striped one down the middle, hit another shot onto the green and made a routine par. He did the same thing on the next hole – two routine pars on holes where I take bogey without complaint.

I was done in that match, too. Only later did I realize he was playing with 1970s Walter Hagen woods that were made of actual wood. A minor-league pitcher in his youth, he had a natural swing. He didn’t play a lot of golf, but wanted to experience the Resorter.

He kept talking about how he had never played so well. He was so nice that I almost didn’t mind losing.

I finally won a consolation match – players that lose their first match get another chance in the consolation bracket – against a guy who forgot to put his putter in his bag.

I kept my expectations low last year, telling myself everybody had jangled nerves and that I used to play all the time without mulligans or gimmes.

And then my 58-year-old Bulls Eye punter got hot, drained a big, loopy 30-footer on No. 9 and a 20-footer that took a subtle left turn on No. 18. Both ended up being good for Long Putt awards, which was as satisfying as winning a match.

Tied after 18 holes, we went to a sudden-death playoff. On No. 1, my opponent hit a perfect drive down the middle. I scuffed an adrenaline-filled ground ball to the left. 

Off we went. The next morning, Jason had me in the consolation bracket. He couldn’t have known that my opponent would put his second shot in the sand trap and blade a wedge over the green, allowing me to plod past him. I politely told Jason I had won.

I felt bad for the guy, but not bad enough to give up a sudden-death win.

As Jason always says, “It’s fun to compete.’’