In a tight match on the lush greens of Pinehurst, Brian Cumming drops to his belly and presses his cheek against the grass, squinting like a marksman as he lines up his shot. The difference between success and failure is about 1/32 of an inch, about the thickness of a penny. Welcome to the world of big time croquet.

This is not backyard, knock your sister's ball into the neighbor's yard croquet. This is the big time. The white-clad men, swinging mallets with pendulum smoothness are some of the best -- not the best in town or the best in the state but the best in the world.

Taps and whaps, clicks and clacks fill the air as players competing in the N.C. Open Tournament strike ball after ball in the complicated game of International Rules Croquet.

Imagine that game you played with the family in the backyard, but played on grass that's in better condition than most living room carpets. Throw in a rule book an inch or two thick, some state-of-the-art metal mallets, and a load of patience and you have world-class croquet.

The closest thing to trash talking is a sincere "That was a fantastic approach you made on that last shot," but don't underestimate the competitive fire of the players.

There are the aggressive players who agonize over missed shots, slumping shoulders like Tiger Woods after missing a putt at Augusta.

All utilize strategy that to many is like a combination of pool and chess, making shots that will set up a long run, keeping their player waiting and hoping for a mistake, any kind of opening. If Cumming misses that difficult shot, the one with the clearance between hoop and ball of the thickness of a penny, there may be an opening.

He stands, the mallet swings, back and forth, back and forth. A firm stoke. A gentle tap, and the ball squirts through the hoop. He goes on to win, not even a grass stain on his belly.