I've loved golf since I was a kid and used to play a lot, though I don't play at the moment. Still, when it's Master's week, everything comes to a stop for me.
When I was a creative writing professor at the University of Georgia years ago, one of my students was from Augusta, and in passing she said that if I ever wanted to borrow her family's passes for the Master's, I was welcome, since they'd had a membership dating back to her grandfather's time.
I said yes (of course), but only a long time after she was no longer in my class. Linda and I went down for a round on a Friday and we got to see many of our heroes, and stood next to Gary Player when he was on a tee, still a force in his early 70s.
I'm an old liberal and not unaware of how privileged and bourgeois golf can be. But I can't help it. When I see a gorgeous, perfectly manicured course, my heart sings. And seeing Augusta National on TV this week just makes me happy.
I need to be writing. I want to be writing. Instead I'm just enjoying spring and delighted it's going to be a gorgeous week in Augusta.
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