PATRONAGE: I first attended The Masters during practice rounds in 1989. Complimentary parking was available on what is now the new practice area. After a 2 minute walk we plopped down $8 ($10 on Tuesday) for a stick-on badge and strolled in. My how logistics have grown. After parking in the massive lots east of the property Thursday I entered the south gate, queuing up with others to be led in small groups to the entry, sliding by Berckman’s Place on the right along a beautiful walkway. I listened intently but could detect no strains of “It’s a small world after all.” The staff was delightful and the mood among the faithful patrons simply euphoric. A deep thinker, I could not help but wonder if the world would always be this way if Adam and Eve hadn’t ruined it for the rest of us. Thoughts of an imminent income tax filing and colonoscopy – two events, not one, dissipated as I finally reached the end of the paved entry and stepped onto the familiar ryegrass off the fifth fairway and left the troubles of this world behind. As a sitter, not a follower I headed out for my usual routine, only this time eschewing the stands behind the 1st green for a seat right of the 3rd green. I strongly suggest my typical game plan, punt the chair and migrate through the stands, hitting those behind the 1st, 5th and 8th greens. After a brief cooling down behind the 2nd of 11th tee it’s on to the stands along the left side of the 14th tee for watching the action at the 13th green, then hitting the stands right of the 14th green before heading back down the hill to watch the final groups form the stands left of the pond at 15th. From there it’s a total of 15 minutes to the interstate and back to NashVegas. Not recommended for the first timer, but it works for me.
OBSERVATIONS FROM AN OLD FOGEY: Tournament golf is apparently a grim endeavor as the only aggrieved people on the property were the golfers. I cannot fathom golf without joy. One of the lasting images from my day was to observe Vijay Singh and Angel Cabrera lumbering down the beautiful fairways in a demeanor that reminds me of my own when mowing the grass. I can only wonder what crossed Singh’s mind when the caddy inevitably pulled out that long, balking putter 18 times during the round. Not a particularly fan of either man I surely hope there is some consolation in them wrapping their hands around the grip and stepping into their stance for their swings remain elegant and the ball still soars toward the intended target. I felt a twinge of sadness that at 61 I’ve let my game deteriorate so dramatically. You ask if Augusta is good for the game? Well, it was damned good for me as I just might give it another go this year. I also witnessed an incident that troubled me slightly. Cooling out behind the 11th tee I watched as a participant launched his drive into the Forest of no Return – perhaps now better dubbed Tiger’s Ally, and in anger took another violent swing of the driver through thin air. Unbeknownst to him, another member of the group had begun to step in to tee his ball and was forced into a quick bob and weave, his eyes the size of a coffee cup saucer. He was as astonished as I was and it is not hyperbole to suggest that what could have occurred would have been the most unfortunate event in major golf history (even worse than the aforementioned Cabrera ruining Hillbilly Tour professional idol Kenny Perry’s only chance for a Green Jacket.) There were audible grasps from the small gathering of patrons. I will withhold names as there is always the possibility that tournament officials are monitoring my posts, though the guy has it coming.
I think it’s wonderful that the tournament provides employment for so many young people, including the young men who directed patrons to open urinals in the men’s restroom. This staffing was lost on your correspondent, however as I learned to detect and occupy empty urinals at an early age, a skill that has not, like so many others diminished with time. I did like the older gentleman with a wonderful baritone voice who asked “front nine or back nine” as we entered. I also continue to marvel at those who laud the wonderful pimento cheese sandwiches for $1.50. They were a relative staple of our household growing up and Mom would make a gallon of the stuff when we loaded up the camper and headed to some national park somewhere. The joke is on the patrons, as I’m fairly sure it costs about $0.45 to make a good pimento cheese sandwich, leaving the club with a pretty nifty profit.
I must also add that as a true lover of the game, I just don’t get Berckman’s Place. Who the heck wants to miss any time at all on the golf course watching it challenge, frustrate and reward the greatest players in the world. I arrived at 8 a.m. and departed at 6:00 p.m. and it went by in the blink of an eye. Bogey's a sucker for unlimited food and beverage (assuming there is no time limit), but my guess is that anyone who invites you to visit Berckman's fully intends to get in your pocket big-time down the road. The event is so grand that I don’t understand why it needs a two acres pavilion for folks to sit around and discuss how great it is to be great. Heck, I’ve played three rounds of golf and had two meals with Tom Doak – isn’t that as good as it gets?
A final wrap-up later.