Some people celebrate Valentine's Day with candy, chocolate or flowers, and are often willing to pay quite a bit to do it. In this week's Grant Me This, Grant Boone reminds us that finding true love is actually the greatest gift of all.

By Grant Boone, Special to PGA.com

First off, this week's GMT would've posted sooner, but we were waiting for Mary J. Blige to finish thanking everyone as she picked up her Grammy Sunday night for R&B Album of the Year. According to the GMT research team, the only people Blige didn't thank were her second grade P.E. teacher and the overnight barista at the Starbucks on Hollywood and Vine. (Before you ask, the answer is yes, I am trying to work the word "barista" into every column this year.)

Oughtn't they have a Grammy for longest acceptance speech? They could record it and make it into a box set. Seriously, with as many people as she rattled off, how badly would you feel if you were in any way connected to Mary J. and didn't get mentioned? Isn't it better for everyone involved, especially those of us having to sit through it at home, just to say, "There are way too many people to thank individually" and be done with it? I did notice for the sake of time, she thanked only two-thirds of the Godhead, with God the Father and Jesus receiving props from their peep, Mary J. (My sources tell me Holy Spirit is accustomed to being left out of most victory celebrations and was not offended at the snub.)

Really, it's a little like faith, hope, and love. These three remain, but only one makes the cut as the greatest, that being Love. Except for Sunday when Love actually finished fourth to Phil Mickelson at Pebble Beach, thus ruining the perfect lead-in for the Valentine's Day edition of GMT.

My experience, though, has been that Love stories often go that way. They're rarely what you expect -- sometimes better, sometimes not.

You ask Amy Mickelson if she's heard such and such rumor about her husband, and with a chuckle she'll tell you one just as juicy. And every bit as unsubstantiated. Pick something scandalous, and Phil (or Amy) has supposedly done it.

When I was growing up in Nashville, Tennessee, the kids at school on wintry days would say, "There's three inches of snow in Memphis, and it's heading this way!" We'd all get our hopes up, right about the time sun came out and the mercury rose about 20 degrees.

I have covered the PGA Tour regularly since 1997, and I'm still waiting for the Sports Illustrated tell-all article about Mickelson's indiscretions. I well remember an agent at IMG (the industry giant that represents Tiger Woods and dozens of other golfers, athletes, and celebrities -- but not Mickelson) told me the bombshell SI piece would hit newsstands that week. That was April 2005. Mine must've been lost in the mail. Almost as bad as the tripe being spread is the sadistic glee on the faces of those who tell it, as if they can't wait to tear this man down.

Far be it from me to offer Mickelson up as a saint. A former Saint, though, probably would. Conrad Dobler played 10 seasons along NFL offensive lines, including in New Orleans, earning three trips to the Pro Bowls and the dubious distinction as the league's dirtiest player. But he was cleaned out six years ago when a freak accident left his wife, Joy, a quadriplegic, and subsequently drained the family's finances.

Enter the Mickelsons. Despite the fact that they weren't asked nor had they even met the beneficiaries, the Mickelsons arranged to pay the college tuition of one of the Doblers' daughters, Holli. Why did they do it? "Because we can," came the reply.

I can't prove the gossipers wrong. I'm merely suggesting the next person who spreads some negative nugget about the Mickelsons without substantiating evidence be forced to line up across from Conrad Dobler and repeat the rumor to him. Then we'll see who's willing to play ball.

Listening to rumors, of course, is nothing compared to real life, of which Phil and Amy experienced plenty in March 2003 when their son, Evan, was born. Amy and Evan nearly died during the delivery. Nearly four years later, there they both were, along with Evan's two big sisters, Amanda and Sophia, embracing Dad on the 18th green at Pebble Beach after his 30th career Tour title. (By the way, I know many were confused about the pro-am portion of the tournament, so let me clarify: you did not win. You did. Harry You, CEO of Bearing Point, teamed with Mickelson to win Pebble's pro-am competition. I must say for the first three days of the tournament, I kept seeing "Mickelson/You" on the leaderboard and thought it was another of Ford's promotions to give some lucky winner the chance to fill out a Phoursome with Phil.)

Over the last 15 years, the couple who first met at Arizona State the morning after Phil had been to a Guns N' Roses concert has been Welcomed to the Jungle of life in the public eye and all the concomitant criticism and conjecture. They're not complaining. They have a great life. But what makes theirs great isn't all their cool stuff you and I could never afford, but rather the same priceless commodity we all share: the people closest to us.

Valentine's Day is the perfect time to remind those we love of how we truly feel. I hope you'll take the time to do that today.

Even if you're not a romantic at heart, try something. You can hardly go wrong with something soft or sweet. You could even write an online golf column with an encrypted love note to your beloved that has -- oh, I don't know -- a message consisting of the first letter of each paragraph. Get creative.

U may surprise yourself. And while I have a moment, I'd like to thank my wife for being my Valentine all these years. And my buddy, Joel, for introducing us. And her parents for having her. And the barista who served us coffee this morning?

Grant Boone is a husband, father, golf broadcaster, and sports journalist based in Abilene, Texas. His column appears on PGA.com each Wednesday and every day during major championships and other big events. He can be contacted at pgagrant@hotmail.com.

The views and opinions expressed here do not reflect those of PGA.com or The PGA of America.