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I never have envied anyone but now I have changed my mind. I have decided to envy Peter Jacobsen.

If you play golf you know who he is. If you don't, he is the boy wonder of Portland, who has won many tournaments, has won millions on the PGA tour, just turned 50 and joined the senior tour.

He'll continue his winning ways, I'm sure.

He is a talented mimic, a man immensely popular as a comic, and an entertainer who could easily be elected governor if he so chose.

My interest in his career goes beyond mere admiration for his golf game. I went to high school with Peter's dad, who went on to become an all-conference center for the Oregon Ducks.

I felt a lot of hero worship for Peter's dad, and now that he has passed away I have transferred my adulation to his son.

He is a perfect guy for me to envy. I have tried to explained my envy to Elsbeth but she is puzzled. She has heroes, too, but they usually own department stores that have frequent shoe sales.

So when she asks me to take the garbage out and I say, "Do you think Peter ever takes the garbage out?" she raises one eyebrow and says, "I won't be fixing Peter Jacobsen's dinner. But I might consider making yours."

I get the hint.

You can see why I envy him. I'm betting Peter never has to get up at six, put the coffee on, pour his own Froot Loops, slice his own banana and butter his own toasted muffin.

And I strongly doubt Peter ever has to hand over the remote like I do if I want my top drawer filled with clean sox and shorts every day.

Peter's wife, without a doubt, reveres her guy. She should. He is almost a god. He shouldn't have to clean the crud off his golf shoes before he throws them on the back porch.

With a minor adjustment to my backswing and a lesson or two from Tiger Woods' golf coach, that could be me out there.

In fact, when I swing a five-iron on the front lawn I am pretty sure I already look a lot like Peter, but if I happen to leave a huge groove in the turf she expects me fix it.

Peter doesn't have to do that. He has a caddie who takes care of that for him. Not me, boy.

When I'm out golfing, trying to take a little lunch money off a dentist, I have a hunch Elsbeth is watching the Mariners.

While I'm out flailing in a sand trap, she is usually at Fred Meyer or Target trying on blouses instead of applauding my heroics.

When she insists I give up valuable driving range time to take her grocery shopping she still expects me to open her car door, help her in and out, or maybe even carry the groceries in from the car.

Also, I'm always expected to walk on the mud puddle side of Elsbeth on the sidewalk, so I get splashed with muddy water instead of her. Ha. Peter's probably got 50 pairs of expensive golf slacks, but Elsbeth strolls on, not caring if my Dockers get muddy.

I plan to envy Peter for another month or so, but if that does not work I will probably switch to Freddie Couples.

He's not only a Seattle boy, but uses a belly putter. I don't have the putter yet, but I've got the belly. It just may be my ticket to fame.