Each of the four majors has a hallowed place in golf's firmament, but first among equals is the U.S. Open, and not just because it's our national championship, by jingo.

It's easier to pass a camel through the eye of a needle than to hit an Open fairway. You can lose your bag in Open rough, not just your ball. Open greens are the size of your hat and harder than Phil Mickelson's head when Lefty's faced with a go-for-it/play-safe decision.

	Anyone see a Titleist?

Count on it being hot or rainy or both at an Open. And, unlike the other majors, par is a good score at the Open -- a simple-sounding concept, but one that invariably messes with the minds of most pros, who at regular Tour events are punished for shooting par by having to spend the weekend at home with the wife and kids.

The buzz going into the 2002 Open is that only the longest knockers have a prayer of winning at the longest track in Open history -- the Black Course at Bethpage State Park in Farmingdale (Long Island), N.Y. (That's right, a muni.) Sure, length off the tee is great, especially at those two monster back-nine par-4's -- the 492-yard 10th and the 499-yard 12th. But of the last 15 Open champions, only Els and Woods are certified bombers.

Eight winners have been among the top 15 for the week in driving accuracy or putting, 10 in greens in regulation. To ace golf's most complete test, you need both mechanical precision and the patience of a saint.

The U.S. Open, better than any other major, measures a winner's brain as well his brawn and his heart more than his hope. That's why it's the toughest major championship to win, first among equals.

This article appears in the June 10 issue of ESPN The Magazine.