It was 1985 when I made my first — and to this day — only trip to Augusta National.
While more time has passed since that spring day than I care to admit, it was a day that will unlikely be forgotten, regardless of how long I am on this mortal rock. During those times I was attempting to take up the sport of golf and while I never did quite get the hang of it, a visit to Augusta National would inspire most anyone to buy a set of clubs.
Perhaps the most vivid memory I have is how perfect every thing was. From the trees to the flowers to every blade of grass, it was almost like you were looking at a painting or staring at a picture. “This can’t be real,” I thought as my father and I arrived at golf’s ultimate country club. You almost didn’t want to walk on the grass for fear of messing up something so sacred.
While seeing this course on television is breathtaking, it can in no way do it justice. This is a case of “it has to be seen in person to be believed” if there ever was one.
It was a perfect spring day that April in 1985 with a crystal blue sky above and the temperature not one extreme or the other. We were there for a practice round but for this young, inspiring golfer it could have been day four of the event. I still have the autographs I acquired that day, someone managing the courage to ask a few golfers for their signature.
I remember watching how the golfers approached each drive and made mental notes in a vain attempt to approve my game. It was best to get everything possible out of this once in a lifetime trip, I figured.
By the time the day was over, I was exhausted from walking for several hours (despite being young and in shape back in the day) but it didn’t seem to matter. As we made the trek back home on I-20 from Augusta, all I could think about was getting back out on the course myself and trying to improve my own game.
Turning the clock ahead 25 years, much has changed since that spring day in 1985. I haven’t played golf in I don’t know when, long ago giving up on the sport which simply became too frustrating for me to continue. To be honest, it was probably for the best because I don’t know how I would have time to play now anyway.
I still make it a point to watch at least some of the Masters each spring, if only on television.
I can’t say I agree with some of the politics employeed at Augusta National (not allowing women as members) but perhaps one day the men who run it will give up on guarding the old treehouse with the sign reading “No Girls Allowed!”
Tigers Woods himself is doing the tournament a disservice in 2010 by competing. While I could care less what he, or anyone for that matter, does in his personal life, he is taking away from the tournament by being there. He should have laid low for a year and then come back. I guess his ego wouldn’t allow it, however.
The powers-that-be who run this tournament will protect him from any uneasy questions about decisions he freely made in his life.
I’ll try not to think about the negative aspects of Augusta National though. I’ll simply try to think about a day in 1985 when a young kid had a memorable day surrounded by beauty and awe. We need more days like that.
Chris Bridges is sports editor of the Barrow Journal. You can reach him at cbridges@barrowjournal.com.
