G-LO

He has certainly provided it at the AT&T Pro-Am, raising a healthy debate about who is the bigger attraction, Lopez or longtime favorite Bill Murray. At Pebble Beach, where Lopez owns a home above the 15th tee, he pays tribute to the past. He wears vintage outfits featuring flowing trousers and cashmere sweaters in argyle.

"If I was the king of golf, I would make retro mandatory," he says. He recently paid $25,000 for the only known set of decanters that have commemorated each year of the tournament. "It represents the history of Bing and Bob and Phil Harris and all the times I wasn't there, all in one room," says Lopez who played his first AT&T in 2004.

He has continued to raise his golf profile, being out front on commercials and programs, teaming with David Feherty to host an annual charity tournament in Fort Worth, and forging strong friendships with pros Mike Weir and Vijay Singh (each of whom appear on the dedication list of one of Lopez's recent albums), as well as Lorena Ochoa, who also works for the cause of organ donation. (In 2005, Lopez, whose kidneys were removed because of a genetic disorder, was the recipient of a kidney donated by Ann.)

Away from crowds, Lopez plays mostly at one of Hope's old clubs, Lakeside, a minute from the Los Angeles home that serves as his base most of the year. In the approximately two months a year he spends in Pebble Beach, he plays nearly every day, making himself a more visible part of the community than the former mayor of Carmel, Eastwood. During recent rounds at Pebble and Spyglass, several onlookers waved to Lopez and offered pleasantries. "Always good to see you up here, George," said one well-accoutered matron. After the exchange, Lopez says, "You know, it means more for us, as Latinos, to be well-liked. Because we are not well-liked. All you have to do is watch CNN to see how Mexicans are regarded. And I know the golf community is conservative, but it just seems that on a golf course, people like each other."

Most important, golf has been the vehicle for Lopez to learn to like himself. "Golf is the father I never had," he says. "When I look at my 14 clubs, I think of each one of them as a teacher and role model. The long irons, they're like the strict teachers I had in school." He laughs. "I basically went through First Tee adult continuation school. If they had had it when I was a kid, I'd be the Christopher Columbus of The First Tee."

Golf would be natural fodder for Lopez's act, but he lays off.

"Somehow it doesn't feel right to me to make fun of it," he says. "Because it's so totally opposite to how I grew up, it's my cleansing thing. I always feel better after, no matter how bad I might play."

Has he ever heard that harshest of all terms for an entertainer from a minority background: sellout? "You know, it's never been viewed as, 'He's not one of us,' " Lopez says. "I think it's because people understand my journey wasn't an easy one."

Indeed, Lopez confesses that his formative years in the game were as poisoned by negativity as the rest of his life. "I threw clubs, buried them in the ground, snapped them and hated it," he says. "It was all part of the same thing. I was obsessed with other people's success, envious of other comedians, always wondering, Why not me? At the same time, because I didn't have any confidence, I wouldn't try for things, which must have made me angrier.

"Same thing in golf. I was always walking off the course. Then one time after I slammed the car door I looked in the mirror and had to admit it: Quitter, man. I realized I had become kind of a monster, and it was like I bottomed out. Something was telling me, anything that hurt that much had to be good. So I started to face things on the course and in my career and in my life. I decided that my experiences were valuable and authentic, not something to hide. That's when I found my comedic voice. And then the envy went away, the focus improved, the joy increased."

The peace is evident while playing with Lopez, though he can't help being funny. (Watching Bryan Kellen, the comedian who opens his show, struggle at Spyglass Hill, Lopez takes on the character of a suburban soccer dad, calling out, "It's OK, Bryan, we're your support system. Don't worry, everybody gets a trophy.") Lopez's overall demeanor is that of a subdued martial artist, gathering energy rather than expending it. "Golf is good air," he says at one point, taking in a deep breath. "I just let it in." Most notably, in 36 holes, Lopez never once shows a trace of agitation.

Although his full swing is long and stylish, the best part of Lopez's game is around the green. "Don't be afraid, Luke," he intones in the voice of Obi-Wan Kenobi while facing a fearsome downhill sand shot from a back bunker on Pebble Beach's fourth hole. He skims it expertly with a 58-degree wedge, leading to a remarkable par. A few holes later he flushes an iron approach, prompting him to comment, "I felt that in my chest. You know, in my soul."