You are 21 or 22 years old, give or take a little fluff on your chin.
You wake up in Paradise, also known as Augusta, Georgia.
You pinch yourself.
Yes, you really are there.
Today you are going to take a 4-stroke lead into the final round of The US Masters.
Before you begin, you indulge yourself for breakfast with an exceedingly good cake from that chap who wrote exceedingly good poetry and you remember his percipient words:
"If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs."
Rory McIlroy was that young boy. Today he wakes up a man.
Having so miserably lost the Championship, he never once lost his head.
The interview that he gave in the immediate aftermath of his defeat should reassure everyone that he is well enough placed to cope with such adversity.
Then I cast my mind to the hellish conditions his contemporaries experience in places like Afghanistan where losing limbs is more likely to impact on their lives than losing a golf competition.
Yes, I take my hat off to Rory McIlroy. But I take my freedom from the selfless acts of our real heroes in the less attractive parts of the world.