By Gene Frenette
Florida Times-Union sports writer
Morris News Service

At first glance, it appears as harmless as the view from tee to green is majestic. Neither the distance (132 yards) nor the landing area, which is almost big enough to require an air traffic controller, should turn the world's best golfers into putty.

In terms of difficulty, it's certainly no match for the treacherous piece of real estate, the par-4 18th hole, that follows it. Those who make a living out of crushing dimpled balls won't find an easier par-3 hole at The Players Championship than the one that, from heaven, looks like your mother's frying pan.

But over the next four days, No. 17 at the Stadium Course will turn into a serial killer. It doesn't claim lives. It just strangles hope and ruins dreams. Sometimes with the aid of one bad bounce, sometimes with the assistance of a tiny wind gust.

No one knows when or who it will strike, but the island hole is a double bogey waiting to happen. You can't stop it. You can only hope the victim is somebody else.

``The problem with No. 17 is your mind can play games with you,'' said Mark O'Meara. ``It's not that demanding when you look at the distance and size of the green. You just have to forget about the water.''

Yeah, like a man walking the high wire can ignore the consequences of one little slip. On a calm day, No. 17 is usually just a simple nine-iron tee shot. But throw in a little breeze, or the pressure of contending on Sunday, and it can become the black hole.

Leads disappear. Hopes die. In a matter of seconds, what a golfer worked four hours or four days to build can be shot down.

Ask Robert Gamez. In 1990, his rookie year on the PGA Tour, he came to the 17th on Saturday feeling like he could conquer the world. Gamez had just eagled No. 16 and was 5 under on the back nine. He moved within four shots of leader Jodie Mudd.

After a quick tour of the island, Gamez found himself 12 shots back of Mudd. He made 11. Four of his balls found the water, including three from the drop area.

``You don't want to get too cute or aggressive on that hole,'' said Gamez, who has never found water in the 15 competitive rounds since then. That's the problem. With or without wind, the margin for error is next to zero. Davis Love III knows. In 1992, his tee shot blanketed the hole and clinched the tournament. Last year, as he was about to catch Lee Janzen on Sunday, his tee shot on No. 17 took the wrong bounce and found water.

``You can win or lose the tournament on that one shot and that's why everybody loves it so much,'' Love said. ``It's just not my idea of a great golf hole.''

If anybody should despise No. 17, it's Phil Blackmar. It has tortured him. It's taken away some much-needed peace of mind (the tournament champion gets a 10-year exemption), not to mention a few hundred thousand dollars out of his pocket.

Blackmar went in the drink on Sunday in 1991, pushing his shot to the right of the green and giving back the lead that Steve Elkington had just given him. The following year, he fell out of the second-round lead with another 8-iron push into the drink.

``I really love the hole, but the first time it happened, I just wasn't prepared to be in that position,'' Blackmar said. ``I had worked so hard all day to catch the leaders. When I finally did, I didn't think the situation through enough.

``I was more worried about the tee shot at 18 because I was exclusively a left-to-right player then.''

Most players who get swallowed up by No. 17 think too much. Blackmar's dream vanished because he thought too little. Some lose by making the hole harder than it is. Some lose by making awful swings under pressure. And some lose by just catching a terrible break.

But this much is certain about the simplest, shortest par-3 out here. Spectators will gather on the island to watch it kill again.