Excitement at Augusta National as Tiger leaves with 3rd Masters
By Maany Peyvan · The Johns Hopkins News-Letter · April 18, 2002
I have to admit, I was pretty lucky when freshman student council member Charles Reyner showed up at my door. I was having a crummy day after a near sleepless night and wasn't looking forward to any visits. "Here's the thing," Chuck says, "I've got a ticket for you to go down to Augusta, it's waiting for you. All you have to do is find a way to get to Columbia, South Carolina in less than two weeks."
Pulling out the student travel bag of tricks, I was able to land a reasonable fare. Baltimore to Columbia by way of Cincinnati? It was shaky, but a great last minute opportunity. After spending the night at Chuck's, we headed to across the river to Georgia, against a warm yet overcast sky.
I suppose the first thing you notice when entering Augusta National Golf Club is the complete absence of minorities. Nearly 30,000 people attend each year, but there seems to be more ethnic golfers than spectators. It was a little unnerving, but in the end, it made fellow freshman Nate Shiu easier to find in crowds and as Chuck's dad said, "This place always has the best looking girls you've ever seen."
We found ourselves walking through grand stretches of mud. There was a rain delay Friday afternoon and as a result the course was an absolute sludgy mess. There was regular brown mud, strawy blonde mud, red clay mud, grey silicate mud and a god awful smelling muck that we all hoped was mud. I ruined a perfectly good pair of suede loafers in five minutes of walking.
There were a lot of things to complain about at the Masters: it was scorching hot, there was a fetid stench that hung over the course, the action was very difficult to view, and too many people (usually heavyset bald men) stood up blocking everyone's view, just so they could get a glimpse of Tiger Woods.
But I'd have to say, I probably haven't had a more enjoyable weekend this year. It is incredibly humbling to walk across grand, beautiful vistas and witness an American tradition that has held for 68 years. You won't see sponsor's booths or convertibles being raffled off at the gates. The Masters limits its corporate sponsorship to Coca Cola, Citigroup and IBM. Concessions are cheap, sandwiches are tasty and concurrently, you get a sense that this is an event not perverted by money as so many sports are. You want logos? Check out the golfers.
And that's another element to admire. Though you may only see action on two or three holes, waiting while your favorite golfers round about, you never feel like you're missing anything. Seeing thousands of spectators around you, and hearing only an eerie silence before a putt is electric. Every shot becomes important, every approach a vital one and every golfer a familiar name.
It's to the Masters' credit that decades-old traditions have stood without it losing any of its grace, style and charm. Being a part of an event so epic is a rare experience. Sure, I may have been talking about basketball during some shots. I may have been discussing Jason Kidd's MVP chances (not this year), and the Kings' hopes of a championship (count on it), but it was an enriching experience, even if I was a gold amateur.
The best moment from the weekend? It wasn't when Phil Mickelson birdied a long putt on the 13th or when Tiger drove so far through the 3rd hole it looked like he was playing through. It was sitting in rocking chairs in the Columbia Airport with other spectators the day after, watching Tiger grab his third green jacket. We all had bad sunburns and muddy shoes and we were all veterans of the same grand spectacle.