AUGUSTA – This is the way it has been so often at the Masters—the best in weather which requires a wrap in early morning and as the sun is setting in the late afternoon.
No endangerment from lightning and no downpours to halt play, but as we all know, nothing is fickler than the weather. Even though the forecast this year is good right on through Sunday, there is that everlasting fear that you might hear thunder rumbling in the distance.
Rain and wind are expected at the Open championship where freshening winds and light mists prevail, but not at the Masters, where fans expect to see their favorite golfers in sweater vests and short sleeve shirts in pursuit of the most prestigious sports coat in the entire world.
Balmy weather is good for the players, and you want such conditions for the competitors, but the most important thing about good weather for a golf tournament is to accommodate the fans. Fans, most often adhered to as patrons, get the ultimate priority by the Augusta National Golf Club, but are helpless when the weather extends the back of its hand.
Fans of all sports today put so much into their support of teams and sporting events that it becomes a gut-wrenching downer when it rains on their parade. That is why you likely will never see the finals of a college football playoff game or a Super Bowl played outdoors.
This weekend should be good for all participants, players and fans alike, at Augusta. There is nothing like seeing fans dressed in fashionable clothing moving about the beautiful Augusta National Golf Club.
From those who have found their way to the temporary grandstands on the back nine to those whose age and limbs allow them to follow the leaders from hole to hole.
Just to walk the grounds of this hallowed layout is as uplifting of a walk anywhere. Even better than at Walden Pond. I have taken the time in early morning at past Masters to walk the course, softly singing, “Georgia on my Mind.”
“I said, Georgia, oh, Georgia
“No peace I find
“Just an old, sweet song
“Keeps Georgia on my mind
There are so many exclusive and extraordinary touchstones in the state of Georgia from the Hills of Habersham to the Marshes of Glynn. When any native trumpets the specialness of the state—from peanuts, pecans, peaches to the Chattahoochee to an outing between the hedges to the rarefied air of the quail plantations of South Georgia, there is none more superlative than the Masters.
Spending a day at the Masters is on the bucket list of countless people all over the world, not just our state. The Masters is a masterpiece among sporting events. It is a Taj Mahall, a Rembrandt, a Monet, a Painite gemstone; it is classy and classic.
And with good weather, no sporting event can match the finish on Sunday when the competition is keen, and the grounds are awash in color and drama unfolds extraordinarily tense as it has done so often.
It was Ken Venturi, who experienced debilitating heartbreak at Augusta, who, as a television color announcer, proclaimed, “The Masters begins on the back nine at Augusta on Sunday.” He took credit for coining that phrase. For certain that is an apt description.
So often the determination of the champion goes right down to the wire. Playoffs are frequent. There were six 18-hole playoffs before sudden death came about when Fuzzy Zoeller won on the second extra hole with a birdie, earning a Green Jacket by defeating Tom Watson and Ed Sneed in 1979.
Anytime I reflect on my Masters experience, I will always consider my first trip here especial. It was a Sunday like we are expecting tomorrow. Near perfect weather, anticipatory scoreboard and an ebullient gallery.
Arnold Palmer was in prime. He birdied the 17th and 18th holes to defeat Venturi by one stroke.
It would be hard to top that.