The chirping birds on TV? In four days I never heard a tweet.
Listen closely: It’s the continuous loop of an audio tape.
In person, the dazzling azaleas and dogwoods look less spectacular.
To achieve that vivid color, the tv producers tweak the color saturation from the camera feeds.
What is understated on your television, however, is the mountainous terrain.
(TV flattens golf courses.) The tenth hole drops ten stories and before you ascend eight and 18, order oxygen.
While it deserves its reputation for beauty, Augusta features some remarkably forgettable holes.
The second green lacks background, and I’ve walked three through nine twice
and can remember only the gimmicky eighth.
The left hump flanking the green looks like the burial site of a Goodyear Blimp.
It's two golf courses: a merely good front nine and then all heaven breaks out, with 10, 11, 12, and 13.
The amphitheater of the 16th,
the site of Tiger Wood’s unforgettable “Have You Ever?!” chip-in,
suggests a cathedral in the woods.
Sitting outside the clubhouse late in the final round in 2004,
a roar from 16 climbed the hills to us--the farthest-most spot from that spot.
“What happened?” I asked a CEO-type near the tv.
“Harrington aced sixteen.”
Ten minutes later, and even louder roar.
“Now what?”
“Kirk Triplett aced it too!”
Yet 16 is no patsy; Corey Pavin’s hole-in-one there in 1992 was its first Master’s ace since 1968.
Before the final round in 2016, I told my hosts at least two golfers would ace 16 that day.
Shane Lowry, Davis Love, and Louis Oosthuizen made it three.
Amen Corner looks prettier in person and is unmatched for spectating.
From 20 yards behind the 12th tee, you can watch the tee shots and putts on 12,
turn left to see the approach shots and putts on 11,
then turn your glance slightly right and watch the rifle shot drives echoing off the thirteenth tee.
Your shot to the green on the 12 looks like you have to land your shot on a Post It note.
Forget margin for error; there is no apparent margin for success.
Augusta’s turf is beyond imagining.
On my first hike back from Amen Corner and up to the clubhouse,
I glanced over to the tenth green and called ahead to my date,
“You ever seen a green that perfect?”
“Look again,” she said. “That’s the fairway.”
Which it was.
That said, few experts consider Augusta the world’s best golf course.
My son Will’s choice, Royal County Down, won the recent vote of Golf Digest.
Cypress Point (CA) gets more votes.
To many students of course design and architecture,
Augusta looks the Mona Lisa in a sequined red gown and lots of eyeliner.
Magnolia Lane is not very long and the clubhouse is not opulent.
Think a really big and immaculate beach house.
(The first time he saw it, Tiger Woods commented “it’s not as big as it looks on t.v.”).
But it is spotless and looks like it was painted that morning.
At Augusta National, tidiness is next to Godliness.
Speaking of aesthetics: Fortune 500 executives should not wear shorts.
But dozens apparently think it's a fine look,
or simply don't care what others of us think of their fish belly white legs.
(No wonder most people turn off the lights before having sex.)
I didn’t play the 12th, but spent four mornings admiring a version of it.
Right outside our kitchen window, the home’s owners had built a replica of the hole, complete with a pond.
Even though it’s mid April in Augusta, it’s the South—so you can’t escape SEC football.
Our upstairs den was lined with ten framed photos of the various bulldogs who had served as Uga,
the University of Georgia’s official mascot.
Ten.
Of a dog the home owners did not own.
Ten.
(Note: Uga appears in the movie, Midnight in The Garden of Good and Evil.)
As some of yiou reading this know, SEC football is a whole ‘nother deal.
Almost forgot: Our next door neighbors that week:
Arnold Palmer and his family.
(P.S. When I picture Arnie drinking, he is not holding an Arnold Palmer.)
Yes, there are golf groupies. (The pros call them the Party Groupies Association.)
Seve Ballesteros, alas, died before he could write the definitive expose on it.
(His caddie kept half a dozen note cards in Seve’s bag, each of which read,
“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
On a couple occasions, the Spaniard’s caddie handed out too many and,
outside Seve’s hotel room, major congestion problems soon followed.
John Daly tried to write a similarly salacious report on golf groupies, but his publishers talked him out of it.
P.S. Working the groupies is part of many caddies’ jobs.
P.P.S. There are far more groupies at LPGA events. Coincidentally, this past week’s ANA Inspiration Event for women is widely referred to as Lesbian Spring Break.
P.P.P.S: The mascot for John Daly’s favorite college football team is a pig.
Walk the first three days and by Sunday you are walked-out.
So we hit the souvenir tents, mingled with members over pimento sandwich lunches on the porch,
then walked into a small, second-floor room to watch on TV.
As I neared the set I nodded to a group to my left, four CPAs from Akron, Ohio, I figured.
After I’d watched for couple minutes I felt a tap on my shoulder.
“Sorry, sir, “ a white coated waiter whispered. “You cannot sit here.”
“I can’t?”
“Sorry, this the Champions’ Section.”
”What about those accountants?”
“That’s Mike Weir and some friends. The defending champion.”
Mike Weir comes up to my nose.
And looks like an actuary.
Great guys: Curtis Strange, Brandt Snedeker, Nick Faldo, and Adam Scott.
Vijay Singh has a lovely dry wit.
But my votes for the most engaging pro golfers are four women: Beth Daniel, Michelle McGann, Judy Dickinson, and Nancy Lopez.
Oh, yes: Go.
There is no place on earth like it.
Listen closely: It’s the continuous loop of an audio tape.
In person, the dazzling azaleas and dogwoods look less spectacular.
To achieve that vivid color, the tv producers tweak the color saturation from the camera feeds.
What is understated on your television, however, is the mountainous terrain.
(TV flattens golf courses.) The tenth hole drops ten stories and before you ascend eight and 18, order oxygen.
While it deserves its reputation for beauty, Augusta features some remarkably forgettable holes.
The second green lacks background, and I’ve walked three through nine twice
and can remember only the gimmicky eighth.
The left hump flanking the green looks like the burial site of a Goodyear Blimp.
It's two golf courses: a merely good front nine and then all heaven breaks out, with 10, 11, 12, and 13.
The amphitheater of the 16th,
the site of Tiger Wood’s unforgettable “Have You Ever?!” chip-in,
suggests a cathedral in the woods.
Sitting outside the clubhouse late in the final round in 2004,
a roar from 16 climbed the hills to us--the farthest-most spot from that spot.
“What happened?” I asked a CEO-type near the tv.
“Harrington aced sixteen.”
Ten minutes later, and even louder roar.
“Now what?”
“Kirk Triplett aced it too!”
Yet 16 is no patsy; Corey Pavin’s hole-in-one there in 1992 was its first Master’s ace since 1968.
Before the final round in 2016, I told my hosts at least two golfers would ace 16 that day.
Shane Lowry, Davis Love, and Louis Oosthuizen made it three.
Amen Corner looks prettier in person and is unmatched for spectating.
From 20 yards behind the 12th tee, you can watch the tee shots and putts on 12,
turn left to see the approach shots and putts on 11,
then turn your glance slightly right and watch the rifle shot drives echoing off the thirteenth tee.
Your shot to the green on the 12 looks like you have to land your shot on a Post It note.
Forget margin for error; there is no apparent margin for success.
Augusta’s turf is beyond imagining.
On my first hike back from Amen Corner and up to the clubhouse,
I glanced over to the tenth green and called ahead to my date,
“You ever seen a green that perfect?”
“Look again,” she said. “That’s the fairway.”
Which it was.
That said, few experts consider Augusta the world’s best golf course.
My son Will’s choice, Royal County Down, won the recent vote of Golf Digest.
Cypress Point (CA) gets more votes.
To many students of course design and architecture,
Augusta looks the Mona Lisa in a sequined red gown and lots of eyeliner.
Magnolia Lane is not very long and the clubhouse is not opulent.
Think a really big and immaculate beach house.
(The first time he saw it, Tiger Woods commented “it’s not as big as it looks on t.v.”).
But it is spotless and looks like it was painted that morning.
At Augusta National, tidiness is next to Godliness.
Speaking of aesthetics: Fortune 500 executives should not wear shorts.
But dozens apparently think it's a fine look,
or simply don't care what others of us think of their fish belly white legs.
(No wonder most people turn off the lights before having sex.)
I didn’t play the 12th, but spent four mornings admiring a version of it.
Right outside our kitchen window, the home’s owners had built a replica of the hole, complete with a pond.
Even though it’s mid April in Augusta, it’s the South—so you can’t escape SEC football.
Our upstairs den was lined with ten framed photos of the various bulldogs who had served as Uga,
the University of Georgia’s official mascot.
Ten.
Of a dog the home owners did not own.
Ten.
(Note: Uga appears in the movie, Midnight in The Garden of Good and Evil.)
As some of yiou reading this know, SEC football is a whole ‘nother deal.
Almost forgot: Our next door neighbors that week:
Arnold Palmer and his family.
(P.S. When I picture Arnie drinking, he is not holding an Arnold Palmer.)
Yes, there are golf groupies. (The pros call them the Party Groupies Association.)
Seve Ballesteros, alas, died before he could write the definitive expose on it.
(His caddie kept half a dozen note cards in Seve’s bag, each of which read,
“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
On a couple occasions, the Spaniard’s caddie handed out too many and,
outside Seve’s hotel room, major congestion problems soon followed.
John Daly tried to write a similarly salacious report on golf groupies, but his publishers talked him out of it.
P.S. Working the groupies is part of many caddies’ jobs.
P.P.S. There are far more groupies at LPGA events. Coincidentally, this past week’s ANA Inspiration Event for women is widely referred to as Lesbian Spring Break.
P.P.P.S: The mascot for John Daly’s favorite college football team is a pig.
Walk the first three days and by Sunday you are walked-out.
So we hit the souvenir tents, mingled with members over pimento sandwich lunches on the porch,
then walked into a small, second-floor room to watch on TV.
As I neared the set I nodded to a group to my left, four CPAs from Akron, Ohio, I figured.
After I’d watched for couple minutes I felt a tap on my shoulder.
“Sorry, sir, “ a white coated waiter whispered. “You cannot sit here.”
“I can’t?”
“Sorry, this the Champions’ Section.”
”What about those accountants?”
“That’s Mike Weir and some friends. The defending champion.”
Mike Weir comes up to my nose.
And looks like an actuary.
Great guys: Curtis Strange, Brandt Snedeker, Nick Faldo, and Adam Scott.
Vijay Singh has a lovely dry wit.
But my votes for the most engaging pro golfers are four women: Beth Daniel, Michelle McGann, Judy Dickinson, and Nancy Lopez.
Oh, yes: Go.
There is no place on earth like it.
