start funnelling towards the final hole like mercury finding the drain. If you hang back a little and watch the scene from a distance, as though you’re a battlefield general surveying the move- ment of armies – the by-then empty eighth fairway will be a good spot – you will forsake a close-up view of the winner’s final putt. In exchange, you will watch thousands of people make a pilgrim’s walk to watch another man’s life change forever. If the light is right, which it probably will be, and if the temperature is right, which it probably will be, you’ll forget your laments and misgivings about what the Masters and golf and maybe America have become, and for a few sweet minutes you’ll feel good about their shared possibilities again. Last year, some members stood on the verandah, drinking lemonade, watching Rahm make his walk to the green. Their eyes were half-closed, shielding themselves from the low sun’s blinding light. “You can’t have a day like today without a day like yesterday,” one of them said. He was talking about the weather, which had been stormy on Saturday, too, although not nearly blus- tery enough to knock over more trees. He could have been talking about our present and our past, the way our paths have combined to lead all of us here, to- gether, and how tomorrow will change depending on how we live today. Way back on Tuesday afternoon, before another tournament’s worth of memories had been laid on top of Au- gusta National like a blanket – before Jon Rahm became Masters champion and then joined LIV – an older woman had stood admiring an enormous tree down and to the left of the ninth tee. She was there with a younger couple, wearing matching Masters-brand golf shirts, fresh from the gift shop. The couple had ridden all the rides, and they stood listless and maybe a little bored, as though they didn’t know what to do next. “Aren’t you amazed by it?” the old- er woman asked, ducking under the branches to get a better look at her tree, ancient and beautiful. The couple didn’t answer. The older woman looked across at them and then looked back up at her tree. “You should be,” she said.
out a daylong spot at the first tee or on the rise by No 12 or in the bleachers at No 16; a few wander and stop and wan- der again, following roars and instincts. If your first day at Augusta National happens to be a Sunday, however, your choices will be narrowed until you have only one: to watch the tournament come to its end, and so bear witness to one of America’s most magnificent assemblies. As the morning turns into afternoon, and as groups finish and depart, there is less and less golf to watch, and folks
colourful crowds in the oil-black ponds. Watch golfers make one of the fantas- tic walks of their lives over the Hogan Bridge. Close your eyes and listen to the buzz of anticipation, followed by the rhapsody of result. Then open them again and take a moment to remember where you are, lucky to be alive when so many are ghosts. IF LIFE IS A MATTER OF PERSPECTIVE, golf is a game of choices. Some people watch the Masters by following their favourite golfer or group; others stake
WAYWARD PINES Three trees fell near the 17th tee on Friday, but nobody was injured.
ARTFUL AMATEUR Texas A&M senior Sam Bennett contended before finishing T-16.
52 GOLF DIGEST SOUTH AFRICA
MARCH/APRIL 2024
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