THE EARLY BIRDS CATCH SOME GOLF.

Byline: KEVIN MODESTI

PACIFIC PALISADES - The faint moon was sitting on the clubhouse roof and the bright sun was rolling over the distant green as the hardiest gallery of Nissan Open week assembled behind the No. 1 tee at Riviera Country Club on Thursday. The loudest noise came from the cool breeze rustling a palm tree. The few dozen fans wore winter jackets and sun block.

A man in a blue blazer stepped up and sang out an announcement, ''First on the tee, from Tokyo, Japan, Shigeki Maruyama.'' After applause, Maruyama gritted his teeth and ripped a drive that flew long down the right edge of the fairway, eliciting the ceremonial first ``Good shot!'' of the tournament from several fans.

The L.A. stop on the PGA Tour was under way.

The hands on the Rolex clock said 7 a.m.

``The gallery that's here this early has come to watch golf,'' said Brian Brice, a restaurant general manager from Santa Monica. ``All of my friends who come to drink and socialize show up later.''

Golf works on a different schedule than you and me and other sports. Nissan golfers were on the practice range before Dodgers baseball players hit the practice diamonds Thursday in Vero Beach, even though it's three hours later in Florida. Nissan golfers were competing five hours before U.S. hockey players took the ice for their game Thursday in Turin, even though it's nine hours later in Italy.

To me, showing up at dawn to watch a racehorse work out is perfectly normal. Showing up at dawn to watch a man attack a ball with a stick is kind of loony.

But here I was, braving a near-perfect morning, the sky marked by clouds as flimsy as an Angels trade rumor, propping my eyes open with spike wrenches, mingling with the citizens of Golf Nation.

There was Charles Howell III, wearing a black knit cap as he teed off right after Maruyama and eagled the par-5 first hole to jump to the top of the leader board at the tournament's crucial 10-minute mark. Howell said later that he'd take the first group's 7 a.m. tee time, and the pristine putting surfaces, every day ''except for having to get up at 4:30.''

There was Brice, the fan, telling me that Thursday morning, before the crowds get out of hand, is always the greatest time to watch a golf event. He said this as he blew on his hands for warmth.

There was Michael Johnston, in charge of the gallery ropes beside the 18th green, saying he learned last year how to make it easier to get to Riviera before 6 a.m. He and his wife motored in from Lancaster with their fifth wheel and camped overnight at Dockweiler State Beach.

There was Sonny Todorovich, dispensing cigars from a booth near the eighth green, saying he'd made his first sale at 7:30. This did impress Sonny as kind of early for somebody to be sucking on a Cohiba, since he normally waits until 10.

And there was Willie Davis, standing on the pro-shop steps so he could see over the line of fans, talking about Buddhism.

Davis, the Dodgers center fielder of the 1960s and '70s, came out to watch Tiger Woods, because Tiger's mother, like Willie, practices Buddhism.

``I got here at daybreak because I didn't want to miss anything,'' The Three Dog said. ``The early bird ... sees everything.''

Davis was saying he's an early riser anyway. He gets up at 4 a.m. in Burbank, has coffee, jumps in his Infinity and cruises, meditating about the day before and the day at hand, ``all looking to tomorrow.''

``There's the Tiger Man!'' Davis said as Woods walked to the tee and struck a contemplative pose as he stared up the fairway. ``He's playing the whole round in his mind right now - bang, bang, bang. Look at that concentration!''

Thus, Woods was the only member of the Nissan's 144-man field to play the whole round before 7:30. He probably wishes he could do that for real. He's a ``dew sweeper'' at heart.

Woods is one of a small group of pros who like to begin their practice rounds before dawn so they can savor the peace and quiet before the public arrives. They sometimes run afoul of tournament rules this way. They always tick off a few fans who, after all, might have come out specifically to see the world's greatest golfer.

For golf fans, the rule seems to be, you snooze, you lose; you don't snooze, you still might lose.

Whatever the hardships in getting to Riviera to watch the 7 a.m. group, I have to say the wide-open freeways more than compensate.