Masters’ greatness comes from little things
AUGUSTA, Ga. – When people find out I’m covering the Masters tournament, almost invariably they ask, after volunteering to carry my laptop or stow away in the trunk of my rental car, “So, what’s it like at Augusta National?”
What’s it like? Impossible to answer in a sentence or two. Difficult to answer in a 1,000word column.
In a nutshell, the Masters is the best-run event in sports, played in an impossibly beautiful setting, steeped in tradition and drenched in Southern charm. It is rooted in the past, sometimes awkwardly so, and yet in some ways it is ahead of its time. Rules must be followed, by players and patrons, but even when no is the answer, as it often is, the accompanying smile is warm and sincere.
It is a place of dichotomies. No cellphones are allowed on the golf course, but the “press building” (i.e. media center) is a marvel of 21st-century technology. Spectators cannot run on the course, yell “You da man!” or hold up banners or signs, but they are treated as guests and not dollar signs.
While plenty of price-gouging goes on in Augusta — the $275-a-night, five-night minimum stay for a no-star motel is par for the course — the tournament provides free parking, free daily pairing sheets and cheap concessions, including the signature pimento cheese sandwich for $1.50. Of course, getting in is the hard part. The Masters is among the toughest tickets in sports, with daily badges selling on the secondary market for $1,500 or more.
Augusta National, built on a former nursery, dazzles the senses. It looks like a Monet and smells like spring. Maybe because most of the country is shaking off the drab shades of winter, the colors seem almost artificially enhanced. The impeccably maintained turf is an iridescent shade of green, the bunker sand blindingly white. The blooming azaleas add spectacular splashes of pink in Amen Corner, which, like the Grand Canyon or a Dustin Johnson drive, must be seen to be appreciated.
My favorite spot on the course is the stand of pines between the second and third holes. I can watch players hit their second shots into No. 2, walk a few yards to the third green to watch approaches and putts and then turn around and watch tee shots on the par-3 fourth.
The Masters tournament is run by the club to exacting standards. Only players and caddies are allowed inside the gallery ropes, so there is no disorganized entourage of TV cable-draggers, shorts-wearing media members, scorers and rules officials to spoil the visual or distract the player. The cellphone dictum and ticket policies are militantly enforced.
Although some players have likened playing in the Masters to walking on eggshells, there’s not a golfer in the world who doesn’t want to be here the first full week of April. An invitational, the Masters is the hardest major championship to get into but the easiest to win because the field is small and there are amateurs and aging former champions who have no chance.
“I love everything about this place, from the patrons to the members to how it’s run,” three-time champion Phil Mickelson said. “All the little idiosyncrasies of this club that are different, that can be difficult or challenging at times, I’ve come to kind of love and appreciate.”
The tournament’s rich history includes some of golf ’s most memorable moments: Gene Sarazen’s shot heard ’round the world in 1935. … Roberto DiVicenzo’s unfortunate scorecard blunder in ’ 68. … Arnold Palmer’s four victories in a sevenyear span. … Jack Nicklaus’ sixth title in ’86. … Tiger Woods’ momentous victory in ’97.
Past champions are revered here, and the ceremonial tee shot on Thursday morning to start the tournament — this year it’s Nicklaus and ageless wonder Gary Player hitting drives off the first tee — is just one of many traditions that makes the Masters special.
But it’s the little things that I’ve come to appreciate over the 27 years I have covered the tournament.
For instance, I have yet to encounter an ill-mannered employee. Ever. Customer service, at the concession stands and the entrance gates, in the wondrous new merchandise building and on the course itself, is beyond reproach. Whatever the club does to train staff, it’s the gold standard.
A friend, an older gentleman who stopped by the press building one year to say hi, took a spill and instantly was sur- rounded by caring staff members who insisted on a quick medical checkup. One year, I watched a few people trip over an exposed tree root to the right of the No. 1 fairway; marshals placed a trash receptacle over the offending root and the next day it was gone — the receptacle, and the root.
I am not suggesting Augusta National is perfect. The club, which consists of multimillionaires who zealously guard their privacy, has lagged painfully and embarrassingly behind on social issues. The first black member was admitted in 1990, and it wasn’t until 2012 that females were allowed to join the club. Lee Trevino, the great Mexican-American golfer, never felt comfortable here and changed his shoes in the parking lot, refusing to set foot in the clubhouse.
Yet under progressive former chairman Billy Payne, the members took the lead on grow-the-game initiatives, including the Drive, Chip and Putt contest for young golfers and amateur championships in Asia and Latin America, with the winners invited to the Masters.
On Wednesday, first-year chairman Fred Ridley announced the establishment of the Augusta National Women’s Amateur Championship, which will bring the top 72 players in the world to Augusta starting in 2019, with the final round being played the Saturday before the Masters. This is an important development for women’s golf, and for the game in general.
I walked up the fairway on No. 1 the other day and thought about my run of good fortune. If this isn’t my last Masters, well, the end is near. And just like anyone who is lucky enough to visit Augusta National, I’m going to savor every minute of it.
D’Amato writes for the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel