Who wants a 2014 Masters Embroidered Golf Pin Flag from Augusta National? I know I do! And here’s your chance to win one!
As you may have noticed, this blog has not exactly been active lately. I’ve been planning to get back to it but sadly it’s taken a back seat to some other endeavors lately. With my excitement over The Masters, I figured I’d take this opportunity to jumpstart those plans. Giveaways seem like a lame ploy for traffic and comments, but it’s a Masters flag!
The good people at MMOGolf.com are providing the flag to a lucky winner (and one to me – yay!) in exchange for this blog post, some social media promotion and this link to their site: MMOGolf.com
If you like Masters memorabilia, definitely check them out. They have all kinds of great swag from Augusta!
You can also find them on Facebook and Twitter.
How to enter
All you need to do to enter is comment on this blog post with your thoughts about The Masters. It can be anything – why it’s the best major (or not – WHAT?), what The Masters means to you, a story about your trip there, what you’d give to go watch the tournament or play the course, your prediction of who will win – you get the idea. The comment can be as short or long as you want. Entries must include your email (so I can contact you if you win) and must be received before the last putt sinks at Augusta at the end of Masters Sunday (April 13, 2014). Feel free to leave your twitter handle in the comment, too. You’ll get a shoutout if you win, and maybe even if you don’t. 
How to win
Well, it’s pretty subjective. You just have to write the post that I and my staff (ahem) like the best. My friends may weigh in as well. If you’ve been reading this blog or following me on social media for any length of time, you have an advantage because you probably understand what I like and my sense of humor better than someone who doesn’t. I could choose anything from something poignant and lengthy to something quick and dirty that makes me laugh or anywhere in between.
That’s it. We’ll go over the entries and choose a winner after The Masters hangover wears off. I’ll announce the winner here and across my social media accounts, and email the winner directly for shipping information. Good luck, and HAPPY MASTERS WEEK!
April 8, 2014 at 4:12 pm
I want to eat the “Masters” chips. Thorbjorn Olesen posted this picture last year and it has to be one of my favourite photos ever: http://instagram.com/p/X0kC2DizXx/
Everyone talks about the Pimento Cheese sandwiches, but no one is talking about the chips and their custom packaging. So cool.
April 8, 2014 at 4:21 pm
I’m soooo glad you’re back, or will be back!! I thought you might have been inspired to come back weighing in on the Golf Digest cover …. being a chick who golfs and THE GolfChick!! Perhaps you’d have been a better choice for the cover teeing off on the first hole at Agusta. How’s that for a shameless and feeble attempt at getting a flag. Looking forward to your future posts!
April 8, 2014 at 4:57 pm
Being newly introduced to the game of golf, I am in the minority when it comes to the history of the Masters. I can’t tell you who made an incredible shot in what year or which amazing players have received the coveted green jacket.
What I do know is that I was completely and utterly amazed by Bubba’s shot through the trees in 2012. But enough about Bubba because I don’t like his face….that smug SOB.
With that being said, I am sure some would feel me not worthy of winning the Masters flag. I don’t want to win it for me but instead my fiancé, the ever popular and always awesome – Herb McNally. We would proudly display it with our small collection of golf memorabilia that we have collected during our time together as beginner golfers.
On an unrelated note….. http://youtu.be/CMNry4PE93Y
April 8, 2014 at 8:12 pm
The Masters tournament is my favorite tournament of the year! I can’t wait to one day walk the course live and watch it in person! I’m making a bold predictions and think Jordan Speith will win! Hook em horns!
April 8, 2014 at 8:19 pm
Very nice giveway
April 9, 2014 at 12:54 pm
A day-by-day tournament week journal from Morris Wormell, the large and well fed 19 year old U.S. Amateur Champion and sophomore Physical Education at Clemson University, as published in his hometown Spartanburg (S.C.) “Town Tooter.”
Tuesday, April 7
Folks, I guess I was a little nervous. I got real goddamn mixed up and drove in a maintenance entrance and not down Magnolia Lane. Well, some good old boys got me straightened out and right when I got to the “holy gates” the truck backfired and this little old security guard in there sort of hit the deck and I just proceeded on through thinking they knew I was coming anyway and would have my name on a list.
Believe it or not ten minutes later right next to me on the practice tee was goddamn Arnold Palmer. On practice round days you don’t even need tee times so you can go right up to guys like Arnold Palmer and ask them if they want to go beat it around so I tap old Arnie on the shoulder and ask him if he wants to go beat it around. I mean, what the hell, how often do you get to play in the Masters? Arnie says sure kid I’ll meet you on the tee. I couldn’t believe it, but this is what happens.
Anyway, I get to the first tee and there’s this member in his green jacket standing there guarding the place and you’re sort of expected at this point to act respectable so I go up and introduce myself and all of a sudden he screams my name to the crowd and about two of them clap and I overheard one guy ask his buddy who in the hell Morris Wormel is. Then the member says real nice, son, are you playing as a single or with another invitee today? Man, I told him right there I was waiting on goddamn Arnold Palmer to join me, that Arnie would be here in just a minute. He sort of looked around and didn’t say anything for a while so I just got off to the side and started swinging my club while I waited for old Arnie to show up. About thirty minutes passed and I let Nick Faldo play on through, then Corey Pavin asked if he could go on ahead, then the member said that Mr. Palmer might have gotten held up or something and why not I go on ahead and try to play with him another time. Then that guy in the crowd says, well there’s old Arnie going off on the tenth! As it so happened at that point, I remember I never really told Arnie which tee I’d be waiting for him at, so I thought I shouldn’t take it personally. Right then this fellow and his caddie walk up and the member says, Morris, this is Morris Hatalsky. Why don’t you two go and play together? And come to think of it, fellows, this might be the first time in Masters’ history that two invitees with the same first names ever played together, at least in a practice round. I’ll tell you this right now I didn’t quite like the look of this Morris fellow, but when you get stiffed by Arnie I guess this is what you get. Plus, I wish they’d quit calling me an invitee. Man, I earned it. Anyhow, Morris hits his drive okay. Then I airmail mine about ninety yards by his and I had a lob wedge in. I 6-jacked the first hole and that goddamn Morris makes three. I haven’t shot 89 in about twenty years.
So anyway, when you play in the Masters you can bring your own caddie if you want and usually most guys like me bring their dad to do it because it’s usually the dad who taught us how to play and be sportsmanlike and all that but my stupid dad got the dates mixed up so when I got there yesterday morning I asked the Masters guys if they could loan me a caddie who knew the greens real good. This is what all my frat bros. kept telling me. Morris, get you one who’s about four hundred years old and knows all the greens real good. Well, the guy I got was about six hundred years old and they all have nick names. My guy was “Skull Bone.” Every time Skull Bone said it was going to break right it broke left. Every time Skull Bone said it was going to break left it broke right. Every time Skull Bone said it was straight it would roll into a fish pond somewhere. I’m glad I got Skull Bone figured out on Monday because I’m told it’s sort of awful to ask these Masters guys for a caddie then ask them to take him back. He sure does keep my clubs clean, though. Man, are they shiny.
If you’re not a pro and you get invited to play in the Masters they set you up in a little place at the top of the clubhouse called the “Crow’s Nest.” It was me and the British amateur champion, a guy named Iain. And that’s not a misspelling by the way. I checked on it. They just put an extra “I” in there because it’s some ancient spelling thing they do. He’s a pretty nice guy but I can’t hardly understand a word he says even though he’s speaking English. Well, last night I get up there first and I’m checking everything out. I checked to see how big the towels are to see if they’d fit into my suitcase (just kidding). Anyway, this old waiter fellow comes on up there and asks me what I wanted for dinner even though I was standing there in my grippies I have to say I had worked up a pretty good lint ball in my navel too. Anyway, the waiter said we ain’t got menus so you can order anything you want and that he’d bring it right back on up to me. I’ve never heard of this before. So all of a sudden you get real confused because you don’t get a menu to look at. He just kept standing there looking at me, and he didn’t even have a pad or anything, so I said I’d like a lobster sandwich. I also ordered a banana split, a root beer, and a Bud Lite and he didn’t even blink an eye. Five minutes later I got it all running down my chest. Man, I’m having a big time then old Iain comes in and tells me I’m disgusting. This is nothing new to me. I’ve been told I have a powerful personality and that it takes getting used to, but on Iain’s behalf let me tell you this guy is about as prissy as they come. I think they all may be like that in England and if you watch a lot of James Bond movies (you know what I’m talking about). Iain kept looking at himself swing in the mirror and then he kept flopping on the bed like he was upset or something. He was sort of already driving me crazy after about thirty minutes but how many times do you get to play in the Masters? I started clipping my toenails.
Iain had never eaten a cheeseburger before (he swears to God) so he orders one of those and, get this, some hot tea. (I’ve never had hot tea in my life.) Like I said, he’s prissy but not in a homo way. And all the time he keeps saying “cheers.” Cheers this. Cheers that. I tell him he’s got some pretty spiffy looking golf shoes and guess what he says. Right. Cheers. You guessed it. He wears a little gold pinky ring and all he talks about are how excited his “mates” and “chums” back home are of him and how he went to Harvard for a couple of years before he realized how “pukey” America was and all this stuff about his “swing coach.” Well, as you can imagine, this went on and on and I knew I had to do something quick to set the cards right. It was only Monday night. See, the way I feel about this Iain thing is this: here he is in America at Augusta National Golf Club. They don’t really have to invite him if they don’t want. So I suggested we play some poker and I asked him if he’d like to chew some tobacco with me while we play poker. Guys like this hate it when you try to one up them so of course he said he was, Morris, the “cards” champion in his fraternity back home and since he was here in “the states” he might as well “indulge” in a number of “redneck” pastimes such as “chewing” tobacco and “stroke” play and that probably in the course of his “Masters experience” that he was “absolutely positive” I would invite him to “light some of his farts with me.” Hey, I told Iain right then and there that if he’s never seen a fart lit then to don’t knock it. We’re playing poker for fifteen minutes and I never once see this son of a bitch spit. I’m sitting there thinking he’s the toughest dude on the planet or the biggest idiot. Another fifteen minutes goes by and he still ain’t spit yet plus I had phoned down there and got us a six of Bud lites and we’re pounding them down and I’ve had about seventy cigarettes with the windows closed because I figure these Masters guys don’t want smoke getting on the azaleas or whatever. Five minutes later Iain’s got it all running down his chest and a wall. I’ve never tucked another man into bed before so I’ll just chalk it up to sportsmanship. I ain’t no homo.
Wednesday, April 8
Iain looked dead but he was breathing a little bit so I let him sleep in. But before I left I had to peek in his closet. I knew it. He had all his fancy golf outfits all lined up on hangers and on each shirt and pants somebody had pinned a little tag that said “Sunday” or “Saturday” or “Wednesday.” I bet his “mummy” did it for him. So I guess he thinks he’s making the cut.
Anyhow, right next to me on the practice tee is John Daly. Now he’s my kind of guy because he can play golf with a cigarette in his mouth and we even smoke the same brand. Even when he practice swings all those people in the bleachers start screaming. Then he starts whacking a few wedges and they start screaming for him to hit a couple of nuts over the fence. I’m right next to him and you wouldn’t believe the stuff he mumbled under his breath about people screaming at him to do stuff. So here he tees one up and lets it rip right over the fence and a few seconds later I hear tires screeching and what sounds like a couple of RVs crash into each other and the people in the bleachers are going nuts and here he goes and whacks about ten more over the fence. See, I think there’s a road back there, but who cares I guess. I tapped him on the shoulder and asked him if he wanted to go beat it around with me but he said he was already playing with “Fuzz.” I forgot that him and Fuzz are buds. So I go right back on over to Arnold Palmer and ask him if he wants to go beat it around with me. He says sure kid. We had the best time. He really is a nice guy. Arnie said he ain’t shot an 89 in about twenty years. (Card me a 78 with an 8-jack on fourteen. Getting better!). After the round I asked him if he wanted to go see a movie and he says sure kid. We went to see the latest Jackass movie and he laughed his head off. Damn. Me and Arnold Palmer. That was really fun.
Thursday, April 9
Wednesday is the day you get to play in this par 3 contest thing. Not a lot of people know it but there’s this little knock around course over behind those cottages and you just sort of sign up and play if you want to. Some of these guys let their 13 year old daughters caddie for them and the Masters guys let you giggle and whatnot. I went ahead and stuck with Skull Bone because my idea was to pump it right near the jug all day so Skull Bone couldn’t screw me up. This is all free, too, so I have to agree with everybody about how good they take care of you. (The Masters guys. Free green fees I mean.) I really was looking forward to this thing but all my frat bros. kept poking me and saying Morris you really don’t want to win that thing. Morris, don’t win it because ain’t nobody whose ever won the par 3 contest ever won the real tournament and you don’t want to jinx yourself. I had another frat bro. of mine tell me Morris you know in the history of the Masters that the United States Amateur Champion has never won the real tournament anyway so don’t even try. Now what’s all that supposed to do to your confidence? Well, I figured if I wasn’t doing this then I’d be in calculus class so the hell with them since they should be in calculus class and not sucking oxygen in my face all day. I don’t even know how they got tickets.
Of course, none of my friends ever said ain’t nobody ever made three hole in ones and birdies on the rest and ain’t no United States Amateur Champion ever won the par 3 tournament … but now they’d be real damn wrong. I’m trying to hold the little crystal thing they give you and sign autographs for all these people and it sort of hit me right then: what it feels like to be some big shot golfer. All of a sudden people paw all over you and ask you some of the goofiest questions you’ve ever heard like what’s your favorite food and your shoe size. And there I was with two things on my mind: How much chicks and money I might get out of this thing. Hey, I’m not made of steel. I’m just saying your life sort of changes all of a sudden when you do something good at the Masters and all these things start popping into your mind. I thought I could probably eat a lot more food and buy my Paw Paw a new fishing boat but the problem is I can’t take any money they might give me because I’m not a pro so I just suddenly thought all the food and chicks and money and Paw Paw’s new fishing boat just flew right out the goddamn window. Somebody tapped me on my back and guess what he said. Just jinxed yourself, mate. Cheers.
Friday, April 10
Well there I was on the first tee at the Masters and you’re damn right I was nervous. All my frat bros. who showed up again told me as I was walking to the first tee with Skull Bone that I wouldn’t even be able to take the club back so don’t even try. I couldn’t believe it. There they go again. One of then said just hit a nine iron or your putter to get it out in the fairway. So right then and there I decided when I get back to Clemson I’m going to get out of that goddamn fraternity and join a new one. Anyway, I have to admit it was a pretty wild looking scene. See, every year they make the United States Amateur Champion play with the defending champion of the Masters and the guy who won it last year was some little dude from Viet Nam. Now last year was the first time anybody from Viet Nam won the Masters and I sort of heard those Masters guys pretty much freaked out because I hear you just don’t run into too many Vietnamese people at Augusta National Golf Club. Well, there’s no possible way I can pronounce his name, but he’s a little guy, about four feet tall and so is his caddie and there I am weighing in these days at about five-eighty or so and there’s old Skull Bone who’s about nine feet tall sort of eyeing this guy and his caddie who looked like he might have been from Viet Nam too. I hear they think we all look alike over here too. The member who screams out your name before you hit pretty much said the Vietnamese guy’s name real fast so nobody would know the difference and then he hit a pretty good one but he swung so hard his shoe flew off and some kid reached under the rope and grabbed it and ran off. He really seemed pretty pissed off about it and said a bunch of freaky sounding stuff nobody could understand so the Masters guy goes on ahead and screams my name and I must have heard about six or seven people say who in the hell Morris Wormel is. I cut loose with a drive so huge that right after I hit it nobody clapped or yelled for about a minute because they were all gawking at that thing fly off like the space shuttle. Now if you’ve ever been to the Masters you know that people will get right on up close to the ropes way up there and sometimes they just aren’t paying attention because they’re all busy looking around in their binoculars and eating a hot dog or whatever and this is sort of why my ball knocked six or seven people down and finally ended up in this woman’s halter top between her boobs. If you watch a lot of golf on TV then you know what I’m talking about. Sometimes a guy’s golf ball will catch a good lie as they say or it’ll whack some kid on the elbow and you got to give the kid about two dozen of your golf balls to make him shut up screaming. Now I know you’re thinking I walked up there with Skull Bone and reached in that woman’s halter top and grabbed my ball from between that woman’s boobs but I didn’t although I was walking up the fairway with Skull Bone certainly thinking I might have to. By the time I got up there, there was some nervous looking rules official guy standing there with his walkie-talkie looking at the ball between this woman’s boobs and about two hundred photographers snapping away and giggling. Lucky for us the woman had about 17 beers and didn’t seem to give a you know what if my golf ball was stuck between her boobs because there she was doing some gyrations with her boobs, which were also sweaty looking, and all of a sudden she made the thing pop right out so me and Skull Bone and the rules official sort of got off the hook because I’m here to tell you ain’t none of us wanted to tangle with that except if it was a Saturday night real late and I’m speaking for myself here because the rules official looked like he probably went to bed early and Skull Bone, well. While she was doing her gyrations this woman kept winking at me and making some real weird expressions. They say golf is the only sport where spectators can directly influence stuff from time to time. Goddamn I believe them. Forgot my real good swing thought after that. Shot 75. Changed Iain’s clothes tags all around after he went to sleep.
Saturday, April 11
The second round got off to a pretty funny start. Let me tell you what happened. There I am on the practice range whacking a few nuts and having a chew and right in front of me is Seve and behind me is Miller Barber with that chicken wing swing thing of his just going to town. By then word had gotten out who Morris Wormel is because of the boob/golf ball situation. You know, the papers. First official shot of my first Masters and my golf ball ends up between a woman’s boobs. Pretty good stuff for those reporter guys. Anyway, so I’m whacking away and all of a sudden Skull Bone says Mistah Wor-mel, yo bag sho was heavy yestuh-day. Sho was heavy. Now you tell me what you’d do. I figured Skull Bone was just letting me know exactly the status of our Masters tournament and that I might ought to think about getting it together and taking it low. See, I hear the caddies have bets between each other about whose “bag” is going to win so they sort of take this thing pretty seriously. I like Skull Bone and all so I said to Skull Bone you’re darn right and I’m planning to take it low today and get us back in this thing by God. I whacked one over the fence but I’m glad I didn’t hear any cars crash into each other or people screaming. Miller Barber overheard me and said that was a good attitude son and then he want back to that swing of his. Then Skull Bone says, Mr. Wor-mel. No suh. What I mean is … yo bag was heavy. As in my shoul-der be hurtin.’ He kept pointing at the bag with his finger. I said to Skull Bone why don’t you just come right on out and say what it is you’re trying to say. So Skull Bone unzipped the big pocket and pulled out a fifth of Jack Daniels I had forgotten to put in the truck. Well, you can imagine everybody in the bleachers back there started laughing and about eight hundred people all of a sudden wanted my autograph and then there were the photographers snapping away at Skull Bone holding my bottle of Jack and then there was one of those Masters guys who sort of trotted up real quick acting like he had the heebie-jeebies and grabbed the thing and put it under his green jacket and trotted away real quick. Right. Like those Masters guys don’t drink and go to church. I just guess they don’t want you to do stuff in front of kids or old people. I don’t know. Well, here comes old Iain. You just think of the wildest outfit your hundred year old Paw Paw has ever worn and you’ve pretty much got the deal. I had chosen for Iain’s second round of his “Masters experience” a pair of nice checkered pants and one of those golf shirts with the big stripes that run horizontal all the way around the shirt. The stripes were purple and sort of an orange color. His “mummie” had planned on putting that shirt with a real nice pair of white pants and that would have all looked pretty good, but the outfit I chose for him looked like some real bad vomit. So as it turns out he got paired with Miller Barber for the second round and of course since Iain’s all prissy and sportsmanlike he walks right on up to Miller Barber and introduces himself and tells Miller Barber how excited he is to be paired with him during the second round of the Masters. Well let me tell you this, Miller Barber, who I think might be from Texas and doesn’t seem like he likes to mook around with people like Iain, told Iain right then and there that if he was going to dress like a goddamn space alien then he might want to take his act out on Washington Road. Well, you can imagine what Iain’s response was to that. He just sort of stood there like he was about to cry. I guess I don’t blame him because old Miller seemed like he was pretty damn serious. So to try and make Iain feel a little better I opened up the pouch of my Red Man and held it out and asked him if he wanted another wad for today’s round. Man that doo-doo smells good in the hot sun.
Sunday, April 12
If you all don’t mind I’d like to get off the golf for second and tell you what went on up in the Crow’s Nest last night. I mean if you’re reading this newspaper then take a look at the scores and you’ll see that your home boy is two shots off the lead and the guy who’s got the lead is that Morris Hatalsky geek and I think I can take him because of some stuff I did to him during our practice round together on Monday which was completely within the RULES OF GOLF and once he finds out I’m breathing down his skinny neck he’s going to choke big time. Hey, how about that hole in one on 12? Huh? Did you see it on TV? Bounced it right off one of those pine trees back there and man that thing would have been fish food if it hadn’t hit the stick and dropped in the jug. Anyway, there I am in the Crow’s Nest having another lobster sandwich. But it was an appetizer this time. Baby, I ordered up a rib eye, medium rare, and put a stick of butter on that thing and went to heaven. That thing must have been three inches thick. I had the waiter guy fill the sink up with ice and put a 12 pack of Michelob in there and like I said. Heaven. After that I went over and got in bed with my “Golf Digest” and all my telegrams and a pack of cigs and I was having the nicest time. I had forgotten to pack a lot of underwear so they washed my grippie for me and I had it on and it felt so nice. I think they might have put some of that stuff on it that you pour in the washing machine or something. Like I said, free greens fees too. Then all of a sudden old Iain comes in acting all funny. He didn’t even say a word to me. He starts looking around the room real nervous then he went back to the door and opened it up just a little and this hideous looking thing comes creeping in there with him. Man, I don’t know if it was a man, woman, or a werewolf. As it turns out, this thing was Iain’s girlfriend. Let me tell you what she looked like. First she had her head shaved to the bone and what little fuzz she had left she must have shampooed it with Clorox and rinsed it out with monkey snot. Then she had on this little tank top that really didn’t hide anything although she really didn’t have anything to hide if you compare her to that woman I met on number one the other day with the rules official and Skull Bone. These blue jeans she was wearing looked like they might have been used on the floor of a dog house for about eight months. Greasy looking ain’t even the word for it. She had on some sandals that looked like something Jesus might have worn when he roamed the desert looking for the Ten Commandments or whatever. I counted six rings on her toes. Iain starts her over toward me and I don’t know what to do. When she got real close to me I counted real quick about forty-three rings in her ears and although I had never seen this sort of action before, there she was with one of those nose rings and a big bone stuck through her navel. I swear to God that has really got to hurt. Iain says, Morris, this is Mordrid from Piccadilly Circus. I’m not kidding, this chick’s name was Mordrid and she was from wherever Piccadilly Circus is. But the way he pronounced it was like Morrrr-drid. You know what I mean? With his accent and all? Folks, this woman’s handshake felt just like the cold belly of that ten and a half pound bream I pulled out of Paw Paw’s lake last Thursday. Then, get this. She flicks her tongue at me and I swear to God she had pierced that thing with a skull and cross bones. Well, my momma always says, Morris Wormel, when you’re in doubt just be polite so I just said it was a pleasure to meet you and why don’t I get the hell out of here. Then Mordrid says all of a sudden, watch this. She tosses Iain over on the other bed and man they start going at it. I mean really going at it. Not doing it. But just sort of screaming weird stuff and she started scratching his eyes out and pulling his hair and a whole bunch of other stuff. Right then one of those Masters guys and some guy from CBS popped in and said I’d be on TV a whole lot on Sunday and if I ever was about to spit tobacco juice on the ground or smoke a coffin nail or say a cuss word or all three at the same time then to please look around to see if a camera had that little red light on and to not spit or say a cuss word or smoke a coffin nail on national TV and that they would certainly appreciate it. And the whole time they were yakking at me about saying a cuss word or smoking a coffin nail they sort of kept looking over my shoulder and by that time Iain and Mordrid had hid under the bed and you could see two sets of feet poking out from under the bed without any shoes or socks on so you can imagine what the Masters and the CBS guy thought about what was going on in the Crow’s Nest at Augusta National Golf Club so they sort of got out of there real quick. See, the way I feel about this Mordrid thing is this: As you all know I have spent my whole life in Spartanburg or Clemson and if somebody like Mordrid showed up in Spartanburg or Clemson, even if she just needed to haul off and get a tank of gas, I think she’d get run off pretty quick. I know that’s against the law to run people off if they want to haul off for a tank of gas or a Pepsi but this is America. But like my momma said, be polite. I gave Mordrid a brand new pack of Red Man. She ate it.
Monday, April 13
I admit this whole final round thing sort of turned into a carnival and part of might be my fault and some of it’s Iain’s fault and a whole butt load of it is definitely Mordrid’s fault. See, the Masters guys have sworn the three of us to secrecy about what all happened up there in the Crow’s Nest and somehow some reporter got hold of it and I think the Master’s guys killed him before he could get to his typewriter. So anyway, that’s all I can say on the matter, except I did NOT let Mordrid grease my naked body up with almond flavored massage oil and then get locked out of the Crow’s Nest and have to come around from the outside to get in through the general manager’s office window and some other stuff like her telling a reporter my new nickname was the “Creamy Beast.”
Anyway, another rib eye for breakfast and I felt pretty ready. All I did was hit putts because I didn’t want anything weird creeping into my swing on the practice range, like how Mordrid creeps around this place and thinks up all that weird sex kinkiness business. But see, that’s how it happens. That’s how creepy golf can get at the major championship level. All of a sudden you top one real good on the practice tee and your whole day is shot. Better to top one while you’re out there playing then to have thought about topping them two hours before you tee off. Like I said, that’s all I can say on the matter.
On Sunday morning as I thought about the final round with me being two shots off the lead I got to thinking of something and needed a cigarette real bad. The RULES OF GOLF say there’s nothing wrong with a little gamesmanship. I mean, I see it all the time on the pro tour. Some of these guys have the ugliest looking women caddies you’ve ever seen and you can imagine how distracting that’s got to be to the other guy looking at that stuff all afternoon. Anyway, what I thought of was to go on over to Morris Hatalsky and show him a little Clemson sportsmanship. He was way on over at the other end of the practice green and a whole bunch of people were patting him on the back and saying this was his moment and to not screw it up and since you’re leading the Masters your butt hole must be real puckered up right now. This sort of thing. He must have been in the same frat I’m in now. Anyhow, when I walked up everybody sort of shut up and a couple of reporters started scribbling stuff down even before I opened my mouth, so what I did was go up to Morris and reach my hand out and said Morris, I wish you well today and may the winner get the green jacket. Well, he seemed real pleased. We shook hands and what I did was crook my pointing finger in there and started scratching his palm like a cat scratches the litter box. Man, I was going to town with the finger thing and you should have seen his expression change. Then he tried to pull his hand away but I’m fairly well known for my awesome power and just then about ninety-eight photographers start yelling for us to hold the pose since this was a great “photo op” as in the history of the Masters everybody is afraid to approach the guy with the lead on Sunday morning because it usually just makes him freak out even worse. You should have seen this. The harder Morris is trying to pull his hand away the harder I squeeze and the more I’m scratching. Going to town. Just going … to … town. Of course, Morris breaks into this huge sweat, and after about fifteen minutes his hand finally flies right out and he accidentally hit some woman behind him on the chops. Like I said. Carnival type atmosphere. Later that afternoon Morris entered the Masters’ record books as the first guy in the history of the Masters to have the lead on Sunday morning then shoot a 93. He is now also known as having the biggest amount of people follow him around the golf course in Masters’ history as he shot the 93, as it was commonly felt he was playing a lot like most of the people watching and they appreciated seeing this type playing activity from a pro.
Well, as you know by now I got myself too relaxed and so I myself got into the Masters’ record books as I became the first guy in Masters’ history, pro, amateur, or marker, to play the final round in a pair of Weejuns. Hey, I’m sorry. I forgot to put on my spikes and Skull Bone never said a word about it so there I am teeing off in the final round of the Masters with my Weejuns. Plus, guess what else happened. Right. One my ex-fraternity brothers sort of remarked on my backswing that in the history of the Masters ain’t no goddamn hick from Spartanburg, North Carolina (he was drunk. Spartanburg’s in South Carolina) ever won the Masters so don’t even try. They ought not to serve beer at the Masters but I’m not a member so I really don’t have any pull in that area. You should have seen him kicking and screaming when they hauled him to the parking lot and chunked him onto the gravel.
You know they tell you once you get on the golf course you can really start concentrating because guys yelling on your backswing usually quit after a couple of holes. Well, I’m here to tell you, that was not the case with me. Here I am on the first hole, about 123 from the pin looking around at the tops of the pine trees like you’re supposed to do and somebody starts yelling for me to come over. What the hell. I mean what the hell. So I go on over there and there’s all of a sudden Paw Paw and Maw Maw and my momma (Paw Paw and Maw Maw are her parents) and my little brother Larry then there’s dad and he finally apologized for getting the dates mixed up (his parents are dead) and then there’s my girlfriend, Lisa. I’ll have to tell you right now, that whole thing really made me feel as good as I’ve ever felt in my life because they said some Masters guy called them up and said why don’t you all come on down to see your son play in the final round of the Masters and we’ll leave you a butt load of tickets at will call or whatever. I know I’m not a real good writer like F. Scott Hemingway or whoever, but I’d like to say that they were beaming. Does that make any sense? Beaming? In other words, they were all there not saying a single word but saying a million things with their faces and smiles. Man, I have to admit I got a little choked up. Then Skull Bone walked over there and said to my family and Lisa about what a fine young man I was and how much of a pleasure it had been for him to caddy for me all week and how well I can read greens. I mean, this is the Masters and something like this happens and then your momma just starts bawling her eyes out. In a good way, of course. Then my old man starts bawling his eyes out and says he’s never been so proud of me in my life, but like a dad’s got to do he all of a sudden said son you need to stick it close to the flagstick and get off to a good start because the guy in the twosome behind you, some other guy named Morris, just topped it. That’s okay. Dad was a lot like that with me in Little League. You know, father and son pep talk stuff as you stare down the wild monkey of sports competition.
Okay, so then guess what happens. Lisa didn’t know it but laying on the grass face down right next to her was that woman. That one from the other day. So the woman’s already sucked down about 17 beers and she rolls over and says to Lisa is that your boyfriend there, the whale? Lisa puts her hand on her hips and sort of cocks her head like she does and says hell yeah he’s my boyfriend and what’s it to you? Then the woman says to Lisa guess what your boyfriend put between my boobs the other day?
Oh, shit.
See, folks, Lisa had not been reading the “Tooter” of course since she was at Clemson studying to be a nurse so she didn’t know the situation about the boob deal at all. Of course, no woman I’ve ever met in my whole life ever took the time to ask what something really means after you say it before they tear off and go nuts or whatever. Lisa doesn’t understand golf a lot so you tell me if Lisa thought I had purposely, like with my hand, put a golf ball between that woman’s boobs. If she’d have known the truth I airmailed that thing 310 and think about my accuracy for a moment. With a driver. Know what I mean? Well, those Pinkerton guys are really pretty good at breaking up fights between two women and making them quit screaming.
Anyway, pretty good afternoon at the old Augusta National Golf Club. I didn’t have anything to lose as I look back on it. Know what a mean again? Win the thing, great. Don’t win the thing, fine. When the little Vietnamese guy was putting the green jacket on me they had to put him in a chair because he was so short. They actually couldn’t find a jacket big enough at first because (THIS IS A SECRET) once they make sure you haven’t screwed up your scorecard and you’ve read over it real good and you’re the official winner, the Masters guys ask you what size jacket you wear, then one of them goes running into the locker room where the members have their jackets and gets one for you that you can wear for when you win, then they make you a new one later. As it so turns out, for the first time in the history of the Masters I got a jacket I could have right then because the fattest member they had at the club croaked a couple of years ago and since the members sort of have to leave their stuff at the club then I got it.
Anyhow, pretty good to this point. Then you’re asked by the Masters guys to say a few words there at the little deal they have for you on the 18th green and I guess I might have goofed up a little here. You might have seen me on TV. Well, I said hey I know I don’t get any money for winning but Miller Barber, since he came in second he gets the money so how much does he win? Like I said, if you were watching TV you saw all those Masters guys back behind me pucker up like Morris Hatalsky did. I mean you could hear the squeezing going on like a madhouse. I swear it was like being in a rubber band factory. One of those guys runs up to me and cups his hand on my ear and says they really don’t like to talk about the money part of the tournament, you know, as talking about money, the members sort of feel, is tacky. (Of course, these guys like making it! Ha, ha! You been in their pro shop? Jesus!) I whispered back to him that I’d be happy to let the world sort of know all the details of the Morris Wormel-Iain-Mordrid-Crow’s Nest at Augusta National Golf Club situation if he didn’t give me a feel for the cash situation as we were on national TV and guess who was holding the mike and could talk into it real quick? Right. Morris Wormel. So he told me. Holy God almighty. Forget Mordrid and Iain. Calculus, too. I told all those people on national TV on the microphone I was turning pro. Right after I hit the buffet.
April 9, 2014 at 7:06 pm
tradition its the masters come on I get goose bumps amen corner butler cabin
April 9, 2014 at 7:25 pm
I hardly know where to start. The Masters just seems to be in my blood. I was born in Augusta, GA in 1967 so I guess that has something to do with it. Every year as the Masters nears I get more excited than I can put into words. I pull out all my Masters caps (about 15 or so), my banner, and all my shirts (about 5 polos and a couple t-shirts) and display / wear them every chance I get. I buy the Masters magazine as soon as it hits the newstand. And I long to some how, some way figure out a way to get to walk through those gates once again. I have been lucky enough to attend the practice round 5 times through the years, but all that has done is make me want to get back there the next year even more. To walk on the greenest grass among the dogwoods, azaleas, the cherry blossoms and the towering pines under the blue skies is just as close to Heaven on earth as a I can get and still have a pulse. For most people Christmas is the most anticipated time of the year, but not me. Not even close as how much I look forward to the Masters.
@just_hacking
April 9, 2014 at 8:58 pm
What is it that makes Masters and the first full week of April so intoxicating? Is it the way the smells of spring seep right through your TV screen? The contrast of color & vitality of Augusta against what you see out your own living room window? The official proclamation that golf season is, indeed upon us?
Like many other young golfers, Tiger’s triumph in 1997 is the inspiration that brought me to this wonderful game. But the annual examinations of the world’s best in this tourney and at this venue are what keep me here.
Witnessing (if only through a TV screen) the first Masters coronations of Tiger, Phil, and Bubba signal a call to break out the sticks and shake off the winter rust.
The near-misses by Kenny Perry and Chris Dimarco remind the amateur golfer to continue plugging away when the game doesn’t seem to love you like you love it.
The tradition of Jack, Arnold, and Gary demonstrate the timelessness of the sport.
There is no better time of the year. And no better pronouncement of its arrival than the drive down Magnolia Lane, the echoes rattling throughout Amen Corner, the azaleas, and The Masters.
April 10, 2014 at 5:05 am
The Masters is all about tradition. There is so much nostalgia that takes place leading up to and through the event. The classic memories that are remembered and made. Amen Corner, Ray’s Creek, and the Green Jacket! What more could you ask for?!?!
April 10, 2014 at 7:51 am
Just give the flag to Morris wormell jeez. The best thing about the masters is the par 3 contest, where the wives and children of the players get to come out and have some fun on the course. It’s great seeing the kids who barely learned how to walk that have swings better than some amateurs I know. And when they look at video of them at the Masters when they’re older it has to be a kind of uncompromisable inspiration to want to get back there as a contestant. Enjoy the week all, thanks for a cool contest.
April 10, 2014 at 11:41 am
Another thing I love about Masters week… Freddy Couples’ annual charge to the top of the Friday leaderboard. Would be GREAT if he could carry his early-round success through to Sunday one of these years.
April 10, 2014 at 7:44 pm
I’m a die hard golfer, hit balls and play when ever I can. That said I don’t really remember the details of many professional tournaments over the year. Except The Masters, I can tell can tell you where I watched them, who I was with, the shots that I’ve seen. The discussions about how many players would hit into Raes Creeks out of every group.
Oh how I love The Masters.
April 13, 2014 at 5:11 am
I have been trying for many years to get tics for the masters and no luck. I would loveto go. Actually why am i even bothering typing more after seeing Morris’ post above. That breaks a record for longest internet post that I have ever seen! Just give him the flag, unless he was rude in his post (too long for me to read). Would love to see Bubba watson choke today, dont like the way he treats his caddie. Thx
April 13, 2014 at 5:30 pm
I love Bubba’s emotions and his tearful win. Could his son be any cuter? I don’t think so!
April 13, 2014 at 7:01 pm
Stupid Bubba.
April 14, 2014 at 7:36 am
It’s terrific to see your blog updated! You’ve been on my list of golf favorites for some time and I’ve always looked forward to reading your insights and witty observations about this insanely difficult game and its personalities.
In one of your commentaries, you stated something I’ve thought and absolutely agree with: the Powers That Be in the golfing world have the right ideas about growing the game, (i.e., Tee It Forward, While We’re Young, etc.), but they aren’t reaching the audience that is the problem. Many weekend golfers never read the magazines or watch the Golf Channel and therefore do not get the message. It really falls to the individual courses- managers, starters and teachers- to educate the players.
So the question remains, how does our sport grow? My answer is, get more women and youngsters interested in the game. I often play as a single and usually enjoy the rounds I play when I’m paired with women or kids. They tend to have more fun on the course and the machismo-factor is removed from the game. This is not to imply that women and kids aren’t competitive only that they aren’t hung up on their egos like many men are. Further, they generally don’t act like they’re on one of the pro tours!
So my suggestions is give your Master Pin Flag to a deserving woman or younger golfer. Encourage them! In the unlikely event you choose my submission, I plan to donate the flag to my local course (Glen Cove, NY) to use as an incentive to help make this sport more attractive to more players. Maybe it could be one of the prizes for their competitions or as a special award to someone who “gets it.”
Please try to find the time to keep blogging! All of your readers enjoy your thoughts.
April 14, 2014 at 7:42 am
Oops, I was too late! Hope your winner enjoys the flag! Keep writing.
April 14, 2014 at 8:00 am
Bubba’s great. In an age where so many golfers are robots with their swings, their sports psychologists, and off-the-course behavior, that flailing shot finish from the General Lee-owning emotional mess is awesome. I really hope he can maintain his interest in this game, which admittedly can be entirely counter to a personality like his. If he wound up with 5 or so career majors, I’d be a very happy golf fan.
April 14, 2014 at 9:11 am
What a great performance by Jordan…was really pulling for him. Not a Bubba fan his antics and bad behavior aren’t often caught on camera, and I agree with Sean… The way he treats his caddie when it was caught on camera was deplorable.
April 14, 2014 at 9:18 am
…….and what about Freddie and Miguel Angel Jimenez, would have loved for either of these two geezers (before antone gets to sensitive about that I’m quickly catching up to their decade)…. What a great statement for longevity
June 14, 2014 at 2:36 pm
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Keep up the great writing.
October 16, 2014 at 12:57 am
Wonderful post! We are linking to this great article on our website.
Keep up with it !