Tiger generally likes to keep to himself on the practice tee. Ross Kinnaird/Getty Images

It's the world's most high-toned flea market and office water cooler.

Last Tuesday and Wednesday at the EDS Byron Nelson Championship is like every week before a Tour event. The practice tee (driving range in layman's terms) transforms into a buzzing beehive of human commotion. It's the happening spot for players, caddies, swing gurus, agents, equipment reps, media and tour officials to mingle, schmooze, sell, and gossip.

If you hang around and pay attention, you're liable to see (and hear) more than merely watching players beat balls.

The Good and the Ugly. For fans, the practice tee is the ideal vista to watch players hit countless shots mere mortals can only dream of striking. Without tournament pressure, the pros are nearly perfect in their execution. The swings are buttery smooth, irons are crisp, wedges pepper pins, and drives are launched into eternity. One rarely catches a hack skank, shank, or skull. It's true poetry in motion.

A great comparative view is displayed during the Wednesday Pro-Am. Pros stationed on the right; amateurs flailing on the left. The talent-challenged golfers swing with varying degrees of ineptness, showcasing crazed, unbalanced slashes. Shots bounce, skid, squirt, slice, pop-up, and duck hook down the range. It's golf's version of a totally out of synch junior high school orchestra. Still, participants willingly pay upwards of $10,000 to endure the embarrassment to play with pros for a day.

However, the music is in total tune for the pros. It's a symphony of perfect harmony. No energy is wasted. The swings are controlled acts of violence, sending balls amazingly close to their intended targets. Even a low handicapper's game pales in comparison.

With that backdrop, there are pros and pros. The pecking order is apparent as younger, less accomplished players quietly acknowledge the arrival of Tour royalty. They peek at the stars, hoping to absorb some measure of greatness through osmosis. Vijay Singh, Retief Goosen, Ernie Els, Tiger Woods and John Daly bring an extra heap of grandeur to the range. The media instantly catches a whiff and huddles expectantly behind them for the nod to race over and ask the typical questions.

Players. The range is one big schmooze-fest. Some will practice in near isolation (Woods), while others talk freely with their peers. Golfers are a curious lot, so gossip and club exchanging run rampant. Requests for practice partners and after-round activities are planned. Pro golfers are also surprisingly generous with their time and will offer to watch a competitor's swing and give hopeful solutions. It's hard to imagine another sport where competitors willingly help each other's game.

Caddies. They are the players' confidants and barrier to the outside world, akin to an overprotective spouse, shielding the pros from nefarious intruders. A wary look will stop all but the most incessant pests. Clubs are constantly cleaned to a pristine shine. When teeing up drives, caddies will hand-toss balls to the pros -- which looks more like a cool ritual than helpful practice. The pro still needs to bend down to tee the ball, so what's the point? Then again, they're pros for a reason, so who are we to argue their rationale?

In addition, caddies will immediately note if a player is employing a new Sherpa that week and rumors will swirl until the reason is uncovered. Caddie job security is an unsettling week-to-week proposition and possible player/caddie strife might avail a future opportunity.

Nothing in golf is forever and those who react quickly survive the longest.