The Masters Tournament in Augusta, Georgia, is, as Jim Nantz of CBS likes to say, “a tradition like no other.”
A couple of weeks ago, the day after the Masters, was the first day it touched 80 degrees. I was out walking our dog, Bo, wearing a Masters hat from a prior trip. A neighbor of mine, probably inspired by the tournament broadcast, was out on his front yard practicing his swing. For many, The Masters marks the start of the golf season. I passed another neighbor who noticed my hat and asked me if I was there over the weekend, and said getting to the tournament was on his bucket list.
That’s the thing about the Masters. Even people who aren’t diehard golf fans feel its pull.
I’ve been fortunate enough to attend a few times over the years. This year, though, I was watching from the couch, which in some ways made it even more special. Once you’ve walked those fairways, you never quite watch it the same way again. The television broadcast is beautiful, but you begin to see what it can’t fully capture — the slopes, the speed, the vibe of it all.
As you turn off Washington Road — a stretch not unlike Route 117, with its gas stations, strip malls, and chain hotels — and pass through the gates of Augusta National Golf Club, it’s like entering another world. It’s as if they turned up the volume on the color green. The azaleas, which seem to bloom on command for tournament week, look almost too perfect to be real.
In all my time there, I’ve never seen a piece of litter or a weed, or a blade of grass out of place. Even after heavy rain, there is no mud. If a puddle forms, within minutes a quiet bucket brigade appears with kitty litter — an exact Pantone match to the surrounding turf. Problem solved.
There is also a manners vibe that is hard to describe but easy to feel. No cell phones. No cameras. Blood pressure drops the moment you walk through the gates. Everyone is polite. All the employees ask you if you’re having a good time, and they seem to care about the answer.
Even the language matters. Attendees are “patrons,” not fans or spectators. The word “crowd” is avoided. It seems as if the goal is to create the feeling that you are visiting a museum or a cathedral.
One of the great traditions is the folding chair. Patrons place their green chairs at a prime viewing spot and walk away. Anyone is free to use the chair until the owner returns. It works perfectly. It’s hard to imagine that system holding up at a Yankees game.
And then there are the prices. Parking is free. The concession stands might as well be using a 1950s menu. Two beers, two chicken sandwiches, and a bag of chips — and you’re getting change back from your twenty-dollar bill. In today’s world, it feels almost surreal.
All of which makes the recent turbulence in professional golf stand out even more.
The emergence — and now what appears to be the unraveling — of LIV Golf shook the sport. The competitive tour was started by the Saudi National Investment Fund and spent over $5 billion luring PGA stars away from the American tour. It split players, created tension and challenged some of the traditions that have long defined the game.
And yet, every April, the Masters serves as a reminder of what endures. The tradition of this year’s tournament, and the lack of performance by LIV players, may have put the final nail in the coffin of the upstart tour.
But when Sunday arrives at Augusta, none of that noise really matters.
What matters is the leaderboard. And this year it delivered. Rory McIlroy chasing history, trying to win his second consecutive Masters. Justin Rose, steady as ever at 46. And local fave Cameron Young in the mix — not to mention world No. 1 Scottie Scheffler.
Young, who grew up in Westchester and whose father has long been the head professional at Sleepy Hollow Country Club, represents that next generation knocking on the door. Seeing a local name on that leaderboard adds another layer to the drama for those of us watching from home.
For all the changes swirling around the professional game, the Masters is still what it has always been — the place where the past, present and future of golf meet in tradition and history.
Every kid who has ever picked up a club has imagined knocking it on the 15th in two or rolling in a slippery 10-footer on 18 to win a green jacket. That doesn’t change.
I wasn’t there this year. But having been there before made watching it all the more meaningful.
Spring has arrived. The Masters delivered. And some traditions, it turns out, still hold.
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