The Masters, Volume 1 - A Few Thoughts

Just when I thought my relaxing vacation by the beach at Hilton Head couldn't get any better, Tony and I drove over to Augusta Wednesday night and went to the Masters on Thursday. It's the third year in a row we've done this, thanks to the generosity of our brother-in-law, who has passes his late father owned. It is truly a unique experience, even for one who isn't an avid golf fan. That would be me. Not even a golfer. But you don't have to love the game or even follow it to appreciate a day at the Masters. World class athletes are world class athletes, even if they don't play a sport you're particularly into. And world class athletic competitions tend to live up to the hype. As a result, I'm hooked, and I hope I get to go again next year.

Here are some of the things I enjoy most about going:

1.) Dedicated time with my husband. It's not the easiest thing to arrange, honeys, and I'll take it whenever and however I can. Even the three-hour drive (one way) through backwoods South Carolina towns was a highlight, because that translates into uninterrupted conversation time with my BFF.

2.) Augusta National Golf Club. It's just downright beautiful. Towering pine trees, broad hovering oaks, pale purple wisteria, delicate dogwoods (oh, how I miss those in Florida), and my favorite . . . azaleas, in every imaginable color, individual bushes long ago fused together into massive hedges of blooms. The grounds, as you might imagine, are unbelievably manicured, and not just the greens and fairways. The surrounding lawns are every bit as lush and green and closely trimmed, which is why I purposefully wore my best-loved and most comfortable flip flips instead of the recommended footwear, which is anything you can easily tromp around in all day. I hiked the hilly terrain just fine, and every once in a while, as I stood watching some household-name-type golfer line up his putt, I slipped off my shoes and let my feet rest on the Masters lawn. I'm telling you that grass feels like soft, cool, green velvet, and it was all I could do not to tiptoe and twirl and pirouette out onto the fairway like a ballroom dancer. But I feel quite sure that would have been "bad form". The Patrons would not have approved.

3.) People watching. I love to watch people wherever I go. Some places are better than others, because there's such a variety. Airports are great, because there are literally people from every conceivable walk of life, nationality, background, with countless family situations, reasons for travel and, my favorite, fashion sense. There's not quite the same diversity at the Masters, for obvious reasons. It's a specialized event, you know, and it is largely attended by a specialized kind of people, and when it comes to the aforementioned fashion sense, I'm here to tell you that it, too, is . . . well . . . special.

You may not know this, but there exists a parallel universe where grown men wear pink pinstriped seersucker pants. Pleated pink pinstriped seersucker pants. Plaid patterns you never new existed do, in fact, exist in the form of shorts, pants, and golf skirts on the behinds of the Augusta elite. And do you remember those cable-knit sweaters worn as pseudo-scarves over cotton polo shirts with turned-up collars? In the regular world they were last seen on the evil preppy kids at war with the nerds and losers in any number of early 1980s teenybopper flicks. Well, in this parallel universe, they are all the rage, especially in springy pastels, which means a LOT of people at the Masters are walking around looking like human Easter baskets. And it ain't just Babs and Kipper, y'all. The younger set seems to embrace this look, too.

Then there are the young ladies who are clearly dressed to impress, keeping up with more recent trends, so the strapless sundresses and round-the-neck halter tops abound. From the ankles up, everything works, but it's the footwear that takes a downward turn. Girls, I understand that cowboy boots worn with short, lightweight dresses are quite stylish right now, but let's do consider our venue. In a place where name brand running shoes are the standard, with pricey golf shoes coming in a close second (on the spectators), those boots just are NOT made for walkin'. Or hikin'. Which is pretty much what we're doing as we travel from tee box to fairway to green, traditional egg salad sandwich in hand, climbing up one side of a rolling slope and shimmying down the other. I even saw one woman in heels. Heels! Trust me, the grounds crew does not need any helping keeping that place aerated, so let's leave the Jimmy Choos in the closet, sugar plum.

Sidebar: Okay, yes yes yes, I know I was wearing flip flops. But let's not forget the velvety grass. And my flip flops are very functional and perfectly fine for all that moving around. But cowboy boots? Heels? C'mon, now.

4. The GOLF. I have never considered myself a golf fan. Outside of playing with my dad some when I was growing up (and even then I was far more interested in driving the golf cart) and a round or two as an adult, I don't play the game. I don't watch it on T.V. I don't pay attention to news from the golf world, unless it's on Sportscenter. But watching golf at the Masters, up close and personal, is different. I suppose that's true of any sport, but I've been to many world class sporting events, and this is just not the same. There's something about being right there when these people are doing what they do best, and I've gained a new appreciation for just how good they are. They hit the ball so hard off the tee. They examine the green from every angle before each putt, analyzing the dips and rises in the surface, calculating speed and trajectory. It's intense. And they do all this surrounded by complete strangers - fans and critics alike - many of whom are close enough to reach right out and touch, near enough to hear their whispered commentary. This is not an arena, and there is no nosebleed section.

Consequently, there's not a lot of heckling, either. That's another thing I like about this atmosphere. I think people are a lot less inclined to outright insult a player when he could easily take two steps and and one big swing and shut someone up. When people have something negative to say, it's in hushed tones and generally out of earshot of the athletes. So when a golfer shanks one into the trees, although he has to attempt to save face in the midst of the pine straw flanked by an arc of spectators barely wide enough for his back swing, at least he doesn't have to worry about some idiot with a painted chest leaping up to say, "C'mon, Mickleson! My grandma could keep it on that fairway!" Of course, the biggest reason there's no heckling is the same reason I couldn't dance on the lawn: bad form. Maybe Babs and Kipper are onto something there.

So those are my thoughts about the Masters. It was fabulous. I'm very interested in seeing how everything turns out this year, especially considering the fact that the day ended yesterday with a 50-year-old in the lead at 6 under par. This is big news. And speaking of big news . . .

You didn't think I had forgotten Tiger, did you? Of course I didn't. I have lots of thoughts about him. So he gets his very own post.

Stay tuned for "The Masters, Volume 2 - Tiger Returns".