SOUTHAMPTON, N.Y. - The United States Open isn't the best place to find your career. Which would matter to David Duval, if he were looking.

"I couldn't think of a more fitting place to play, actually. How many times does anybody play great in the U.S. Open? It doesn't really let you," Duval said. "It just kind of hit me. I wanted to go play, for no other reason than I was ready to have fun."

He wants to have fun? At the Open? No one has fun at the Open. To approximate the joy players take from this event, apply thumbscrews and turn. And for pure, draconian U.S. Open pleasure, it doesn't get much better than at Shinnecock Hills.

It has fairways the terrain of an unmade bed. Flat lies are accidental. Shinnecock has three cuts of rough: first, second and animal feed. On some holes, the animal feed - 2-foot tall fescue - is no more than 30 feet from the fairway. It has 164 bunkers, with rocks in them. "I've ruined two wedges in five rounds," Phil Mickelson said.

Did we mention Shinnecock has greens that curve like J-Lo? Into all this merriment strides David Duval, bearing a Zen peace and a smile we have never seen.

Didn't you used to be David Duval? The best player in the world in 1999, winner of four tournaments before the Masters that year, author of only the third 59 in golf history? That Duval would play Tom Watson to Tiger Woods' Jack Nicklaus, for the next two decades.

Then he hurt his back, which forced him to mess with his swing, which prompted bad shots that messed with his mind. When his back healed, his mind was still in the tank. Then he hurt his wrist and his shoulder and began to wonder what he was doing playing golf.

Last year, Duval missed the cut in 16 of 20 events. Duval finished 211th on the money list. He last played on the PGA Tour in October. Then he said the heck with it.

"I didn't really know when I would play again," Duval said, "and I can't tell you when I'm playing again" after this week. "I haven't missed it."

He's a different guy, Duval Wednesday, he used the word "existentialist." He has gone from being success-obsessed to redefining what is successful.

The old Duval never gave up much beyond his club selection. The tinted, wraparound shades weren't just sunglasses. They were a metaphor for the man himself. If he smiled, it was usually out of sarcasm. He was a great player.

The new Duval nearly broke down Wednesday, thanking his family, friends and the media for the encouragement he has gotten during his slide. He said he decided Saturday to enter the Open, during a round near his home in Denver. He called his wife of four months from the course, where he was playing by himself. "I was in tears when I called, and I've been on the verge since," Duval said.

"I'm amazed that so many people care. The number of people who just said, simply, 'Nice to see you again.' That's what matters." The new Duval doesn't know what kind of a player he is. Nor does he especially care.

"If I had to make a choice between playing golf with friends and family, or playing competitive golf, I'd never play competitive golf again," Duval said. That's not the sort of thinking that's going to get him many Ryder Cup points.

He has been to the top - winning the British Open in 2001 - and found it wanting. "Is this it?" he wondered, a week later. The injuries and the failure forced him to reflect, think and grow. To find comfort in his own skin. We all should see so clearly.

They call it "playing" golf for a reason. Duval has a new wife, new kids (by her previous marriage) and a new grasp on what, to him, really matters. The wraparound shades aren't intimidating anymore. Neither is the man behind them.

If you win the Open, someone asked, will you come back next year?

"Maybe," Duval said.

E-mail pdaugherty@enquirer.com