Seve Ballesteros remains in a Madrid hospital today, carefully assessing the lie he's been dealt and the options for his next great recovery shot.

On Tuesday, a biopsy was performed on a brain tumor that was diagnosed after Ballesteros collapsed last Monday in the Madrid airport. Whether it was benign or malignant, operable or inoperable, has yet to be released to the public.

To count the 51-year-old Spaniard out now, however, would be as foolish as it was almost 30 years ago when he stood amongst the vehicles in a car park adjacent to Royal Lytham & St. Anne's with a claret jug on the line, only to make birdie. There has been perhaps no athlete in history more adept at extracting himself from impossible situations with a combination of imagination, skill and force of will.

"During the whole of my career I have been one of the best facing obstacles in golf courses," Ballesteros wrote Sunday on his Web site. "Now I want to be the best facing the most difficult match of my life, with all my strength, and counting on all of you who are sending me encouraging messages."

While many in Europe are waging a campaign of prayers for the continental star, let's add another well-wish from his many fans on this side of the Atlantic Ocean. Here's hoping that after a successful recovery, Ballesteros will be strong enough to travel to Augusta next spring and, if the club is willing, join another icon and cancer survivor on the first tee at the Masters Tournament. There could be no more fitting place for Ballesteros to stand than beside Arnold Palmer at Augusta National Golf Club.

It is difficult for Americans to comprehend the magnitude of Ballesteros' sporting impact in Europe. Just think of Palmer.

Ballesteros was the King of European golf. For all that Arnie meant to the development of the game as a popular sport in the United States, Seve was every bit his overseas counterpart. They were two men who carried the sport to new heights in their respective circles through their flamboyant styles and charismatic personalities.

Palmer dragged America into the modern appreciation for a global game and opened the door for succeeding generations of Americans to win the British Open. Ballesteros turned the Ryder Cup into a major international obsession and opened the door for a golden era of European success at the Masters Tournament.

Palmer rose fast and faded too soon after winning seven majors. Ballesteros did the same after winning five.

Palmer won the undying adoration of his "army" with personality and daring. Ditto Ballesteros.

There was only one place in the U.S. where Ballesteros ever felt truly comfortable and in his element. He often refers to Augusta National as his "American home." He felt a kinship with the place from the first moment he stepped on the property as a teenage prodigy. It took him three more years before he became, at the time, the youngest Masters champion in 1980 at age 23.

If ever there was a stage made for Ballesteros, it was Augusta National. The old course didn't mandate control off the tee, but instead rewarded the magician's touch around the greens. Seve loved it. He won a second green jacket in 1983. He left a couple more dangling from the hanger.

When Ballesteros returned to the Masters in 2007 for the first time in four years, he was a shadow of the fiery figure that all but owned the place in the 1980s. He finished last in the field, failing to break 80. He would make no promises to ever return.

Let's hope he does, because it's the place where the world annually appreciates superior craftsmen of the game. Ballesteros practiced a shot-making art that has been all but lost in the modern era of technology. He could ad lib shots like nobody since Sam Snead. He embodied the game in its purest sense -- hit the ball and play it where it lies. Wayward shots weren't trouble to him, just opportunities.

"He was Cirque de Soleil on golf," said Nick Faldo, the stoic European contemporary of Ballesteros. "I think that's probably the best description. It was artistry and grace and everything."

That sense of playing life as it lies is what will carry Ballesteros through his current challenge.

"I have always felt very close to people who suffer serious, life-threatening diseases, even more severe than mine," he said. "I want to remind them that with courage, faith, serenity, confidence and lots of mental strength we have to face every situation no matter how difficult it is."

It is one of my great regrets that I never got to witness Seve in his prime. Like other golf fans, his major victories and Ryder Cup mastery came through the lens of my television. He was a virtuoso unlike any other.

By the time I joined the golf media at the dawn of the Tiger Woods era in 1997, Ballesteros had already prematurely faded from the center stage. The last cut he ever made in a major was in 1996 at the Masters. He was only 39.

Even so, I have seen enough of Seve to get a taste of what made him great. In 2006 at Hoylake, Ballesteros returned to the Open Championship with his son, Baldomero, carrying his bag. He was 49 and nervous, worried about embarrassing himself after so long away from the competitive spotlight. He hit a few 3-woods that the average 15-handicapper might, including a duff off the seventh tee that carried only about 160 yards into the deep rough. He also made an uncanny up-and-down for par on the 17th -- "You can do that only once out of 20 balls, maybe," he said -- that elicited memories of the glory days. He shot a respectable 74.

But it wasn't the golf that was captivating. It was the reaction his mere presence drew from the fans. The British galleries rose and cheered for him on every hole. The reverence they held for the man was the same that Palmer received when he strolled Augusta National with a game 40 years beyond its prime. The fans adored Ballesteros and he adored them back.

"They were great support and that's why I'm here," he said.

The next spring, Ballesteros returned to Augusta for the first time in four years. He would soon turn 50 and was trying to cobble a game for the Champions Tour.

On the Sunday before the tournament, Ballesteros was practicing alone with a European TV crew filming a documentary. I wandered over to the short-game area to observe. The cameraman was curious whether Ballesteros could really hit greenside bunker shots with a 3-iron.

"Would you like to see?" Ballesteros asked.

He then hit the silkiest sand shot to within inches of the cup with a club not suited for the task. Ballesteros appreciated the obvious awe of his three witnesses.

Two months later, Ballesteros traveled to the Open Championship at Carnoustie and tearfully announced his permanent retirement from competitive golf.

"For a few months there was something confused inside of me," Ballesteros said as he tapped his chest. "There was a fight, internal fight. My head say I think you should retire. But my heart was keeping telling me that you would be better to continue playing and compete."

His heart is waging another battle with his head with much more at stake. May the heart win this time.