On Christmas Eve I was invited to participate in the annual Chucklehead Christmas Eve Golf Classic at Port Ludlow.

The classic consisted of two threesomes, which turned out to be less exciting than it sounded. We combined the two threesomes into an ungainly sixsome. Such a maneuver would have slowed down play considerably had there been any other golfer on the course. Did I mention the classic was played at 8 on Christmas Eve morning?

The conditions at Port Ludlow were a tad bit on the damp side, but not really all that bad if you were a duck, a spawning salmon or robustly fortified against the elements by frequent and liberal application of the tournament sponsors’ products (liquor). We caught a break at the turn when an eerie, balmy tropical squall blew through the course, simultaneously drying out our drenched shoes and clothing and bringing my patented high wind fade shot into and out of play. The tropical breeze made it feel like we were playing golf in Hawaii, or what playing golf in Hawaii would be like if Hawaii were located just outside of Forks.

Truth be told, I am not much of a golfer. In the classic, my always-entertaining driving game was unusually spotty, but I made up for it with a scattershot iron game and some comically inept putting. It being Christmas Eve we permitted ourselves some limited wagering, which we restricted to betting on the number of strokes per hole, strokes per side, total putts, final actual score, predicted final score, score from past games and past lives, and the direction to which the geese would scatter when disturbed by one of my many errant drives.

Dan “Spank the Big Dog” Clark handily won all of the Closest to the Pin contests and also all of the Longest Drive contests, which is particularly galling since he wore shorts most of the day. Relying on steady if unspectacular play, stellar club selection, exemplary concentration and the great good sense to lay off the liquid warming agents (liquor) on the back nine, Rick “Tiger Woods Got Nuthin’ on Me” Torseth, and Dale “Take No Prisoners and Eat the Wounded” Knell were the big overall winners.

I lodged an official protest of the results based on the unfair handicap of having to watch Paul “Christmas Pants” Kundtz tee off immediately before me with a driver built by Bainbridge Island golfing legend Tom Hayward featuring a blue head as big as Michael Moore’s dinner plate.

Clif “You Call That a Swing” McKenzie kept score, no mean feat given the conditions, the complexity of the betting arrangements and the propensity of some of the participants (OK, mainly me) to report only about 80 percent of my actual strokes on any given hole. McKenzie also served as guardian of the sacred cigar stash, which was generously provided by honorary islander Michael “How can Anyone Lie Twenty off the Tee” Nikunen, who was present at this year’s open in every way except physically.

Winter rules were in effect, which in my case meant that I hit virtually every shot off of a tee, including a couple of my longer putts. To save weight and room in my golf bag for snacks and sponsorship (liquor) products, I carried only a driver, my trusty and ubiquitous 11-wood, a wedge, a putter and about four dozen special pink “Flying Lady” golf balls. Needless to say, no one mistakenly hit one of my balls during the classic.

In deference to the weather, I wore my running shoes and a safari hat, but it turns out that I would have been better off with a pair of waders and a portable Wet-Vac.

At the end of the round of golf, we squared up financially and had a couple of celebratory holiday cheeseburgers before heading back to BI where I took a well-deserved nap and shower before heading off to a more traditional Christmas Eve celebration at Grace Church.

The fact that I lost money virtually guarantees that I will be invited back next year, and if invited, I’m there, dudes. There are some holiday traditions with which one does not mess, and the Chucklehead Christmas Eve Classic is clearly one of them. Next year, I may play to win by putting with my eyes open and carrying real clubs. Applications are being taken now for 2006 sponsors, and a few caddie slots still remain open. No experience necessary — actually, none is preferred.

Tom Tyner writes a weekly humor column for this newspaper. This is from his “Classics Files.”