George wasn’t a child of the depression, he was already an adult.  Born in 1904,   Theodore Roosevelt was to be reelected that fall after the assassination of William McKinley and would go on to to win 32 states with over 7 million votes.

By comparison Barack Obama won 28 states and just shy of 70 million popular votes..it was a different time.

George was a Golf Pro…check that, he was an Old Pro.

Connie had an  interesting childhood to say the least…which over a Grey Goose I would be more than happy to take you through…for the sake of time and privacy though suffice it to say she grew up in trying circumstances to become one of the people in life you just gravitate to, a person you might want to be like…she lacked the ability to judge people by their appearance, religion, or any other differentiation we force on each other…a beach girl with all the moves…she was 22 years younger than George.

I tell you all this for a reason…it’s Masters Report Part 2.

We left home at the reasonable hour of 4:00 PM  Wednesday, making our way to Aiken,  SC.

The next day Michael, 17, David, 14, and Audrey, timeless,  would experience their first Masters,  As I may have mentioned in a previous post, my old friend Fred Warren put it best.  ”I only want to go if I can take someone for the first time.”

Brilliant, that described our adventure.

We took Old Hwy 78 through the country to Aiken.  The Dogwoods, Plums, and Forsythia were in all their glory…stop here for a little tip.  When you  can stay off the interstate in the South in the Spring, do it…it’s more than worth the hour you lose.

We had dinner in downtown Aiken.  It was just a pleasant coincidence that 62 years earlier to the day, George and Connie were married a block from where we had Jalapeño Poppers and Patty Melts…they were married during The Masters on April 7, 1948…Bobby Locke, the South African golfer, was the Best Man. That same year he would win  The Chicago Victory Open by 16 and in the next 10 years three British Opens…the boy could golf his ball.

Never really heard the whole story but who cares?  Just try to  imagine the suits everyone wore.

Then not so early to bed thanks to friends Meg, Laura, Joe, and Patty.

Next day broke bright and warm as it should be in Jaw-Ja in April.  We made our way to the course at the un-Godly hour of 10.  I was teaching my boys that it’s not quantity at The Big One but quality…they had no trouble staying in bed.

The rest of our magic day:

10:00 – 11:30 Amen Corner in the bleachers behind 12 tee, several pre-lunch pimento cheese sandwiches consumed

11:45-12:30- a tour of the Press building by friend Geoff Russell.  Several celebrity spottings but no more important than the young and intrepid reporter from The Fort Worth Press,  Dan Jenkins.  He was enjoying a late  morning Marlboro when I approached him.  All I wanted was for Mike and Dave to remember they met him at The Masters (his 53rd) when they were young.  He was gracious and friendly, mission accomplished and  dead solid perfect.

12:30-3:00- more food, a little sweet tea, and some wandering around the course by the boys.  Audrey and I had worn ourselves out from the hills so we sat under the big tree.  His Tigerness teed off at 1:47, a sight to see and a sound to hear…all was forgiven by the reaction of the patrons that day. During their travels the boys witnessed Phil’s first eagle of the week at 13 … they delivered a stellar report of the event.

A few hundred bucks in the concession “tent”  and out of there… home fishing on the dock at 7:20…martini at my right hand.

For the first time ever we all watched the broadcast together all day Sunday… coincidence?

What a day.

Upon arrival to the heart of the new south I started working with a new group of neat people, many of whom I am still connected.  Ed Butler, who for the last 8 years has been my business partner, was my boss and Freddy Warren, then my co-worker, now a bitch of a competitor at Links Magazine.

But the guy who made my week this week was Steve Howard…let me explain.  First though a quick story.

When “SH” and I were first getting to know each other he asked me if I had ever been to a “bigtime”  college football game.  He’s a Georgia Bulldog and as all southerners know college football in the south is King, Queen, Prince and Princess.  Wanting to sound at least somewhat traveled I replied that I’d been to USC-Notre Dame, Michigan-Ohio State and was there the day Northwestern clinched their first Rose Bowl since ’49.

“No” he replied, “I’m talking about BIGTIME  college football”…’nuff said.

On to our topic…about 1997 or so the practice rounds at The Masters had gotten out of hand.  The usual routine of selling tickets the day of had become as antiquated as the mashie-niblick.  For whatever reason (Tiger) the world had awakened to the fact that one could lay down 10 bucks and stroll the fairways of Jones, Hogan, Palmer, and The Bear.

So what they did was pure Green Jacket.  They created a lottery for practice round tickets.  We all filled out the form,  anxiously awaiting word…Steve was the only winner.

Fast forward a couple years and I’m sitting in my office minding my own business.  Steve intercoms me and tells me to come down to his office right away, something was afoot.

He had just received a letter from Augusta National.  They explained in “The Letter”  that they  had cut off the waiting list when The Rockford Files was the number one show on TV and needed to replenish.  Steve, the letter continued, could expect to be the owner of Masters badges within a few years.

This obviously shocked us as we read the letter for the fifth time and sure enough the next year Steve was a badge holder to the most prestigiuous sporting event in the world…not the state, not the country, but the world.

So this year I called him back in March and told him of my lament that my kids and great wife had never seen The Masters.

His response was swift and typical of him.  The badges were mine to take the family.  Wow what a conversation.

Next post…the day itself.

Audrey  worked as hard as a looper lugging a Burton leather bag uphill at Oakmont in the summer, and was  understandably wrecked to say the least… but something was wrong.

The jovial “we’ve done this a hundred times this month” attitude of the OB and nurses vanished.  His umbilical chord was wrapped around his neck and every second mattered.  I was too scared to lend any sort of support I’m embarrassed to say and the combination of Audrey’s strength and the Ivy League education of the Doctor and the ice-in-the-veins calm of the nurses pulled it out in the end.

I assure you Jack never made a 4-footer to win a major with more quiet confidence.

His little brother David came along just a few weeks later  with a lot less fanfare but an equal amount  of hard work by his Mother. Fulfilling my part with the style and aplomb my friends have come to expect, I  inhaled a nice piece of cherry pie in the cafeteria a few minutes before the delivery.  Never let it be said I didn’t shine at the moment of truth with gritty determination…no ice cream on the pie but a half pack of Marlboro Lights outside the maternity ward.

A few days later on the way back to the hospital I informed Big Bro that we were heading to McDonald’s and then would be retrieving Mom and baby brother to bring them home.  ”Oh No” said The Heir…we could visit them but no way was The Spare coming home with us…and he was serious.

It seems as I write this that  I’ve made a slight error.  They weren’t born this year…it only seems that way to a me.  They are in fact almost 18 and almost 15…an Eagle Scout and a soon to be Eagle Scout.  A 4.0 + student looking at colleges and an equally good student upstairs either playing his violin or his Stratocaster….two respectful, smart boys who always have the time to help with no questions asked.

Don’t let anyone tell you the youth of today are in trouble…I have mine and know many of my friend’s kids who prove they are better than we were in every way.

Where in the world has it gone?

It’s Spring Break.  As long as my boys have been alive Masters Week has been Spring Break.  I spent the first few days in Augusta with clients having fun, drinking Kettle One and Silver Oak…rare beef and bluebird sky rounds of golf with a caddie.

No complaints to be sure, it was important to the business…and just plain crazy fun.

It occurred to me about the middle of last summer though that in a very short time they will be off on the adventure that is the rest of their lives…not mine, but theirs…and they had never been to The Masters.

I on the other hand had become bored with it.  Too much trouble with the traffic and the crowds…I was too cool to care…what a spoiled brat I had become.

Thankfully though I woke up from my near-end-of- round nap and am taking them this year on Thursday.  The irony of it being Tiger’s reboot isn’t lost on any of us.  His first day back will be my first day walking down the hill at 10 with my boys…circling down 11 and at 12 and, if there’s room, hanging out in the grandstand for a couple hours.  My hope is we will share our first pimento cheese sandwich there.  This is about us.

I’ll say “Hogan always waited to feel the breeze on his cheek before teeing of on #12″ sounding smart and not knowing or caring in the least if the legend is true.  We’ll sit by 16 green, trudge up 17 and 18, and head home.

Don’t wait…next post,  The Masters  Report.

What I don’t love and never will is the long putter winning a major… If you use a long putter and are like me, a ten posing as a six , it’s cool.  If you win your flight in the Member- Member  or take a few bucks off your pals on a Wednesday after work, have at it. 

But the Masters?  Please.

It took longer than I thought.  It’s a distinct advantage to bury a putter in your stomach under pressure I don’t care what you say, it just is.  Cabrera hit some rediculous shots on Sunday, maybe the worst ever for a winner, but he made the crucial putts.

I know I know the putter is available to all, but that doesn’t make it right…he’s got the Green Jacket, but in my humble opinion, he shoudn’t.

I wish one of the ruling bodies would say “Win the Honda-Northwest-Whatever” with the Belly but not our tournament…grow a pair and you will be Best In Golf.

• I will never, and I mean never ever say or write “The Toonament” again. I’ve done it a lot—and thought I sounded pretty sporty—until I just read it on someone elses BLOG and almost chili-dipped the Shrimp Caesar and sweet tea I had for lunch

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• I will not bet on Charley Howell III to win The Masters because he’s from Augusta…I love ya Three Sticks but enough is enough babe

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• I am going to stop defending Monty. His latest rant on not getting invited makes him sound fussy…even for him…besides the best Scot(t) playing golf today is Adam. What’s up with that?

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• And last but not least I’m going to admit to myself that no, Seve is never going to win another toonament…OK, that was the last one…promise.

For the first time anyone with cable TV will have the chance to see one of Jack’s grandkids caddy for him…he has the same number of these as majors…and it’s 20, not 18. Thanks Billy.

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Also, the home of everything deep-fried wields one of the biggest sticks in golf…that stick is just pure interest of the public.

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The new policy of letting kids in to see the tournament is important. Golf is not growing, it’s just fact. It may seem like a small thing but if these new fans take up the game and influence a few buddies to do the same, that’s an up-and-down we can all be happy about. Thanks Billy.