There are only two television column topics that I repeat every year. One is the Christmas Buying Guide and the other is my annual ode to The Masters. To me, The Masters is spring and birth and history and good sportsmanship and beauty and nature and how man can shape nature into a different form of beauty and flowers and water and drama that will leave grooves in the arm of your chair as the grip tightens like a golfer one stroke behind facing a long carry over water squeezing the graphite dust out of his club. All of the above. And more.
And this will be Tiger's year. Oh God here we go again. But it's true. By the way, has anyone else noticed that the sum of Tiger's wife (1) and alleged mistresses (13) equals the number of golf majors he has won (14). How weird is this guy anyway? It has to be a coincidence. Either that or Tiger is a professional athlete as written by Bret Easton Ellis.
But every good story needs - well - a story. Tiger is providing it to Augusta. Whether he wins, loses or crashes and burns, blowing the cut, it really doesn't matter. The tournament will now have a shape to it, which it lacked before. It's remarkable. For years we've watched the other pretenders to the World Number One ranking shatter like a cheap windshield when faced with a duel against Tiger down the stretch of a final round. And again, since he's been at a rehab clinic (cough) spa away from paparazzi and sports writers (cough) no one has picked up the crown. Sure, Ernie Els won two tournaments but that seems more of a pleasant final encore to an exemplary career than it does a fresh challenge of the summit.
This way, even under the crash and burn scenario, Jim Nantz and the CBS producers will be able to slowly build in the stories of the leaders so that by the time the weekend rolls around we as audience will still be invested in the outcome. And if Tiger is in contention on Sunday afternoon...I wouldn't be shocked if The Masters pops a rating of around 20-25. American Idol and Dancing With the Stars are the only shows doing 20-25 these days, in case you didn't know.
And there will always be supporting narratives. I remember, gosh, it had to have been at least ten years ago now when early on Day One (and it's not 'Thursday' at Augusta, it's Day One. The Men Who Run The Masters even control the definition of time.) after four holes played the top two names on the leader board were Arnold Palmer and Jack Nicklaus. Seriously, it gives you a chill of a thrill. This year, amybe it will be Tom Watson or Fred Couples popping up on page one of the leaderboard. But someone will be there. Only in golf and really only at The Masters will a Hall of Famer climb out of the stands and still be able to compete.
And this is because Augusta National is the Hall of Fame home course. So bizarrely designed with its mind and break snapping greens - equally loathed by both Ben Hogan and Curtis Strange - course decisions depend more on the memory than on the yardage book. You have to think your way around the track.
That in a nutshell may be why I love it so much. Baseball blathers on about its history and its preservationist instincts - which I'll believe when the last artificial turf field is sent to the side of a swimming pool where it belongs - but golf is the true game of the elders. Bobby Jones. Hogan. Jack Nicklaus. Tiger. Which was the best? We'll never know, but each is publicly beholden to the predecessors and the game tortures all equally. On Sunday afternoon. At Augusta. Cue the Hoagy Carmichael music for Georgia is on my mind. Be seeing you.
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