T
he best email I’ve ever received arrived when I turned on my phone while taxiing on the tarmac of Atlanta International Airport.
have tx for you Sunday It was my best friend’s 30th
birthday, and we had just landed on the Thursday of the 2015 Masters. My buddy had a badge lined up for Sunday, and we were optimistic that I could find one, too. But we took off that Thursday
morning from San Francisco unsure where it would come from. I had started this process the previous October, steering every golf-related conversation toward my quest to attend the Masters. Mentioning the Masters to
someone who has been before is the ultimate icebreaker. Without fail, I was showered with unconditional warmth, and welcomed into an inner-circle of golf appreciation. Everyone was eager to share
how the Masters was Disneyland for adults, how TV never does the mountainous layout justice, how the prices at the tournament are seem- ingly frozen in the Jack Nicklaus era. But every story finished with
a you-had-to-be-there vibe. I was always assured that words could not describe the beauty of the place,
or the cheerful Southern hospitality of the staff, or the unique atmosphere and sophistication of the galleries who were genuinely thrilled to be in attendance. I wouldn’t truly be able to under- stand the Masters until I had com- pleted the transformation from fan to patron, and sat in a little green folding chair, sipped a $4 beer in a souvenir cup, and felt the charge in the air when a hand-operated scoreboard updated with a birdie from a charging challenger on the back nine. Completing golf ’s Rite of Passage
didn’t include fending for myself in the wilderness, hunting lions or land jump- ing (look that one up), but the path to enlightenment seemed just as daunting at times. Landing what is notoriously known as the toughest ticket in sports simply took an army of 25 years worth of golf contacts, a 2,500-mile leap of faith, and 50 maybes that ultimately turned into one yes. So if the opportunity ever arises to attend the Masters, don’t think—just say yes. Because whenever a conversation
turns toward the Masters, I smile faster than you can say “Pimento cheese” and relive these memories:
Amen Corner is a Spiritual Experience hen I reached the middle of the cresting 11th fairway at Augusta National and laid eyes on the
W
Each hole at Augusta National is named after the flora you can find on it. Jordan Spieth tees off on No. 13 of Amen Corner, known as “Azalea.”
WINTER 2016 /
NCGA.ORG / 25
PHOTOS: AP
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