In another era when words shaped our lives more than they do now, in my corner of the universe one stood out above all the others.

Duende.

Now you can find it in the dictionary and discover that it’s a Spanish word that can be translated to mean “goblin,” but brush that aside. To know the meaning of duende requires a study of George Frazier (1911-1974), whose brilliance with words was utterly sublime. That he was family (he was my mother’s cousin) makes my embrace of duende totally understandable.

In his wonderful book “Another Man’s Poison: The Life and Writing of Columnist George Frazier,” Charles Fountain said Frazier himself offered that “duende is so difficult to define. Yet when it is there, it is unmistakable, inspiring our awe, quickening our memory . . . ”

It was 60 years ago (February of 1963, Fountain reported) that Frazier introduced his wildly popular duende column in the Boston Globe for the first time. While Frazier appreciated the splendor of baseball (“Ted Williams had duende even when striking out, but Stan Musial lacked when hitting a home run.”) and seemed to be ok with the brutality of football (Jim Brown had duende, Jimmy Taylor had not a drop), my guess is he wasn’t a golf fan.

My wish, then, is that he’d not be offended by what follows, because from my perch it seems that duende fits perfectly into golf, which is my passion. For instance:

Grouped as they are into the same category of major championships, only one of the four tournaments is covered in duende. The Open. Assign esteemed tributes to the others – iconic, challenging, stylish, heralded – but only The Open personifies duende.

Links, of course, has duende. Pot bunkers, heather, putting from 100 feet. Duende for each of these flavors of links, while island greens, flop shots, and forced carries are completely devoid of duende.

You know duende when you’re in its presence. Arnold Palmer unquestionably was head-to-toe duende but Jack Nicklaus, despite all his trophies, was without it. Lee Trevino had it and so did Johnny Miller. Seve Ballesteros’ duende was off the charts, and the more errantly he sprayed his shots, the thicker his duende became. Jack Burke Jr. is all duende, all the time.

Now duende, in Frazier’s words, “is that certain something that sets persons apart” which is why it’s not all about victories and fame.

Phil Mickelson, for instance, has many things about him, but duende isn’t one of them. Not now, not ever. Even if you peeled back all the logos, you wouldn’t find duende within Annika Sorenstam. But Lorena Ochoa? Oh, my, how she oozed with duende. Meg Mallon is another. And so, too, Se Ri Pak.

Tiger Woods had it, lost it, and got it all back. Greg Norman had it but packaged it in a business deal that brought him wine, meat, grass and even more ego.

Rory McIlroy is hugely popular yes. But does he have duende? Weirdly, he does not. Justin Thomas, no. Jordan Spieth, yes. Hideki Matsuyama, no. Ryo Ishikawa, most definitely. Two Kordas, zero duende. Lydia Ko overflows with it, though.

Now as stubborn and strong in opinion as Frazier was, he agreed – begrudgingly, perhaps – that duende is in the eyes of the beholder. Thus we’ll pause at the midway point to remind one and all that all these assessments thus far are through the lens of yours truly.

So onward we go.

When it comes to courses, let’s remember that national championships need space to sell merchandise and beer and duende is not a prerequisite. Which is quite fine with the National Golf Links of America. It sits quietly and majestically on the tip of Long Island, flexing its duende, caring not a whit about national championships.

Oakmont, Hazeltine, Congressional, Torrey Pines and Valhalla all have space and get national championships. But none of them have duende. Pasatiempo is blanketed in duende, as is the Shore and the Dunes at Monterey Peninsula CC. Bethpage Black is a beast, Pebble Beach is not, but only one of them has duende and it’s not Bethpage Black.

Riviera, most definitely. Pine Valley and Cypress Point, no question. But Medinah, Doral, TPC Sawgrass, and East Lake don’t have a smidgen of duende, which isn’t to question their championship mettle. It’s there. But it isn’t accompanied by duende.

With logos, you get duende when it’s subtle and eye-catching. Billboard-size logos that jam in words, dates, and pictures are totally without duende. Logos for Merion, Boston Golf Club, McArthur Golf Club, and Winged Foot all have duende. The list of those logos without duende is lengthy, led by the Old Course at St. Andrews, which is probably OK since its golf course has plenty to spare.

It's not necessary that you be on the map to have duende. As Frazier wrote, “it is very odd about this thing that the Andalusians call duende . . . ” which explains why you can find duende in even those hard-to-find corners of Massachusetts, like Highland Links in Truro and Marion Golf Club.

Nine-holers each of them – and was it mentioned how the concept of a nine-hole golf course has unlimited potential for duende? – Highland Links and Marion provide that piece of the activity that has sadly been lost in the quest to develop “championship golf courses.” We’re talking fun.

That three gentlemen (Jeremiah Daly, Michael Kane, Will Fulton) realized that Marion GC was drenched in duende and bought it to keep it available to golfers of all walks sprinkles each of those men in duende.

Adding sweetener to the story is the savvy of Fulton. Having established a relationship with the Fitzpatrick family (Russell, Susan and boys Matthew and Alex) while playing host to them during the 2013 U.S. Amateur at The Country Club and renewed it during the 2022 U.S. Open at TCC, he reached out to Alex Fitzpatrick, a rookie professional, with a sponsorship offer.

Now maybe Alex didn’t produce a victory, as Matthew had done in 2013 and 2022, but the 24-year-old put up a spirited T-17 finish in last week’s Open Championship and had plenty of air time with the Marion GC rose logo catching eyes.

Lovely stuff. And, yes, it is duende.