Colin Byrne on his annual visit to the Masters and the quirky goings-on at Augusta National
TUESDAY: No matter how many of these biggies you have done there is still an enormous sense of occasion about coming back to another Masters. There is also very much a sense of permanency at these big events.The same faces tend to show up every year. The county sheriff at the personnel parking gate surprisingly gave me a big welcome back. The people at the credential office had a big smile to welcome me back. The southern hospitality is traditionally warm and it is a tradition they are keen to maintain.
Already before nine in the morning there were roars from the huge practice round galleries. It seemed like the tournament had started already so loud were the cries of the enthusiastic crowd. There is a clear distinction between the practice round patrons and the tournament ones, up to Wednesday the galleries generate some heartfelt passion for the game. There is a policy at Augusta about the time the patrons are released onto the golf course. Never before eight o'clock. However, the green jackets are no slouches when it comes to raking in the green-backs. The let the mob into the merchandising area well before eight so that they can load up with memorabilia before claiming their vantage point on the course.
WEDNESDAY: It's an all South African fourball this morning, Ernie Els, Trevor Immelman, Retief Goosen and the legendary leader Gary Player. At over 70 it is still hard to curb this three time Masters Champion's enthusiasm. The fact that he still wants to play a course that can only appear as an untamable monster is a tribute to his competitive spirit. He had a friend of his, the founder of the Outback Steakhouses carrying his bag for the day. A multi millionaire, who confessed that it was one of the best days of his life. Such is the inspiration that Augusta is to an ardent golf fan.
Player was reliving his preparation for previous Masters throughout the past decades. He told us that he used to draw the green shapes himself in the yardage book which enabled him to visualise the exact pin positions each tournament day. He acknowledged anyone of the patrons who applauded him as he strode by the crowd appreciatively. He is one of the original showmen of the professional era. When the opportunity arose he told jokes to the crowd congregated around tees. He empathised with us caddies as we shuffled our way down the steep descent towards the 10th green. He was wondering if we had trouble with our legs as we negotiated this undulating terrain.
At the 12th green Gary showed us where he played a miracle shot from the back trap which he had no intention of even trying to hit onto the green and somehow it ended up in the hole for a birdie. He re-enacted the whole scene as if it happened during Tuesday's practice round. On the 16th he told us about Arnold Palmer holing a tramline putt when he had a two shot lead over him and had expected to go four ahead. He ended the fascinating day by saying on the 18th green that no matter what happens to you at this event something amazing will always happen. Expect the unexpected. Player missed the cut comfortably yet respectably, but he was still on the range on Friday evening hitting balls preparing for his next event.
FRIDAY CONFUSION: Day two on the quickly baking and wildly undulating greens and the afternoon tee times are looking to be the tricky ones. My daily visit to the well-situated weather office, half way between the caddie shack and the driving range revealed nothing untoward apart from winds gusting up to 20 miles an hour from the south west. Wind, without stating the obvious, is the most vital ingredient to get right when you are making a club decision for an accurate golfer. With the capricious nature of the Augusta wind change, which the more I come here makes me wonder if Bobby Jones and Alister Mackenzie, the course designers were aware of the whimsical mood of the breeze when they chose the site on which to build Augusta National.
I felt like a novice at Amen corner on Friday afternoon. The compass, wind map and flags flying in the highest point on top of the range fence suggested that the wind was from the south west, the neat blades of grass that I plucked from the tightly trimmed fairways flew in the same direction. But somehow after we concurred on a club in the afternoon despite having thrashed out the usual selection ritual we both were extremely uneasy and uncertain about it being the right club. Our worst fear proved true, we came up short and long and vice versa every other hole. The Augusta gusts got us every time. I know its the same for everyone but given the uncompromising nature of the course you do not need to undermine your decision making ability on a gusty Friday afternoon on the back nine. The weather office can give you an accurate wind forecast but there is no theory, apart from experienced guessing to figure out where the wind is coming from when you are hitting.
SATURDAY: I wake up and immediately look out the window to see how hard the trees are blowing. Good news, they are hardly moving, I will not have to endure such a tense day of wind guessing again today. In fact, the only thing we had to guess was when we would actually get to tee it up. The forecasted rain arrived early afternoon and the predicted thunder rumbled behind it. Lingering is part of the tradition at Augusta, the weather here at this time of the year is unpredictable.
The logic of the delay was a little hard to understand. The forecast suggested that the morning would be relatively rain free, and there would be thunder and lightening in the afternoon. Sure enough the forecast was spot on.
The authorities chose their own solution by keeping us hanging around the course most of the day and eventually sent us back out on the course in the late afternoon.
Just as the forecast suggested, we would be hanging around all day long to play as many holes as possible and finish off the third round early on Sunday. With intermitted announcements on a crackly tannoy as the day dragged on I felt like I was at a dreary holiday camp and not the exclusive Augusta National.
We finally got nine holes in with Tiger and conveniently finished by the clubhouse as the light faded. I bumped into an Irish visitor whose wife had brought him to Augusta for his birthday and managed to get tickets just for Saturday. For him the decision to play a couple of hours golf late in the evening was better received than it was by the majority of us disgruntled caddies who had had our fill of yet another Augusta standard sandwich which helped relieve the boredom of the caddie-shack.
SUNDAY: The last time I witnessed a scene like this was on the Discovery channel watching a herd of stampeding buffaloes charging across the savannahs of southern Africa. The herd of patrons had been held back in the shopping bays until the order was given to release them on to the golf course at 7.30 (a big exception) for the 7.45 restart of the third round.
We were on the putting green as the herd trampled down the course in search of their chosen spot to plant their chairs for the day. There are very few stands at the Masters, the tradition is that you buy a green foldable chair and claim your own vantage point for the day. It puts a new perspective on those enthusiastic towel throwing holiday makers claiming their place by the hotel swimming pool.
As they attempted their charge, the vigilant security guards were keeping them under control by making sure they did not break into a canter, as running is forbidden inside the National grounds. The more experienced patrons had developed some interesting motions for moving rapidly but always observing the heals on the ground rule. The tradition continues and Green Jacket control has not been relinquished neither inside nor outside the ropes.
