Like most golfers, I have an profound attraction toward
The Masters. Is Augusta National, the home of the April tournament, the most
hallowed grounds in all of golf? Not to me. I love, love, love all golf
courses. I love the game. Like all amateurs and professionals, we strive to get
better. Some err on the side of too much tinkering, but not me. I have no
patience for hours of practice.
Over the years as a reporter in Georgia where The Masters was born
and reached hallowed status, I’ve reported on and been on the fairways of the
beautiful course. I never stepped foot on a green because I’ve never played the course. It wasn’t until a
few years back that a woman actually joined the previously good ol’ boys venue.
(I doubt august members of the club like me calling it a venue, though.) More
on words later.
The history of Augusta National is more than golf to Georgia .
It was once a large orchard called Fruitland Nurseries. Owned and operated by the
P.J. Berckmans, the Peach
State can thank Fruitland
for planting millions of peach trees in the 1800s and early 1900s.
The Masters is one of the most unusual
events in sports. It’s all about (stuffy, some would say) tradition.
The Masters would never have been created if the USGA
hadn’t turned down Bobby Jones’ request to host the 1934 US Open. Angry at the snub,
Jones and Clifford Roberts decided to stage their own tournament. Take that, USGA.
On-air commentators are forbidden to use normal golf
terms -- “championship” being the biggie. The U.S. Open, British Open, and PGA
are championships. The Masters is an invitational tournament. The winner is not
the champion. Some other words you won’t hear are: “fans,” “bleachers,” “sand
traps. The preferred words are “patrons,” “observation stands,” “bunkers.”
Amateurs have always been invited to The Masters, but
Jones himself was no amateur due to his equipment deals and monies made outside
the actual game. However, in the eyes of The Masters, which he founded, he is
considered an amateur.
If you’re the winner of The Masters, you get a green jacket
like a beauty pageant winner during her crowning ceremony. The Jacket dates back
to the forties when members started wearing a green jacket so as to be identifiable
by patrons Also, when a member hosted guests in the clubhouse, the green jacket
designated who got the check.
Patron respect of the hallowed course and the invitational
is phenomenal. Marshals need not hold up “Quiet Please” signs because everyone
respects the tournament. The people are not a crowd or even a gallery, they are
patrons. They do not run from hole to hole, like in so many other
“championships.” Use a term like “mob” as one commentator did and you will not
be invited back next year or thereafter.
What does it cost to be an Augusta National member? Not as
much I thought. Every year when I did a newspaper piece for The Masters, I’d
call the membership director and ask that silly question. I was told that
membership is private in all ways. They did not “out” members, even though
it got around that Warren Buffett and Bill Gates had joined. Rumor has it
that it costs less than a $100,000 to join which is peanuts -- without the
gallery -- to the initiation fees of many prestigious golf clubs. Should
you be invited as a guest by a member, the round is said to cost a niggling
forty bucks.
Money is evidently not everything to Augusta National. While
hot dogs are the staples of baseball, pimento cheese sandwiches are the premier nourishment at The Masters. The sandwiches sell for $1.50. But there was an uproar
in 2013 over the change in the recipe. A patron said he was fine with adding
female members, and even tolerant of belly putters, but changing the recipe of
the pimento cheese sandwich went too damn far.
Next:
The trees of Augusta National.
Respectfully submitted,
Gerrie Ferris Finger
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