From the Masters
The Masters—an experience unlike any other. There could not possibly be a better way to describe it.
My first Masters did not disappoint in the slightest. Granted, it helped that this was one of the most exciting Sundays at Augusta National in a quarter century.
Everyone I was sitting with was just thinking it was going to be some ridiculous six-man playoff and Tiger was going to find a way to win it once he finished up one shot back of the leader at 10 under.
And that wasn’t even what made Sunday exciting. We all got to witness things that almost never happened.
We got to witness something that never happened. Ever.
Oh yea, but don’t get what I’m saying misconstrued. Tiger is back.
Sunday wasn’t about him though. It was partially about Rory McIlroy, who had the outright lead after the third round by four strokes. But the back nine was his undoing.
Many people will point to his 10th hole as where it all fell apart.
He used the driver and hit it off into the pines to the left on the ninth hole.
He was lucky to save par, but his body language changed completely right then and there.
He had the worst final round ever, shooting an eight-over 80.
But he’s young. He will bounce back.
Sunday afternoon was about Charl Schwartzel. After eagling the par five second, he bogeyed the very next hole, but held steady right there.
For a while. After the fourth, he pared every hole up to the 15th.
Then a glance up at the leaderboard. He saw about a half dozen golfers making a move. So he knew he had to do something.
Then the 15th—birdie. Then the 16th—birdie. The 17th and 18th had the same result to win it all.
Never been done before. May not ever be done again. He absolutely deserved to win this.
So after all this I had a lot to digest. But on the drive back to Milledgeville from Augusta, I only thought about one thing.
I would never trade that Sunday afternoon for anything. I can’t put it into words.
The only thing that I can say is if you ever have an opportunity to go, drop everything that’s going on in your life, and do it. Preferably on Sunday.
It doesn’t get any better than being able to hear a pin drop then once someone sinks a putt, the entire gallery erupting in a split second.
It’s beyond description. It is unequivocally an experience unlike any other.
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