Rejoice, it’s Masters week. This moment on the calendar is notable for many reasons. It’s a time of rebirth and renewal. Spring has officially sprung, the golf season is in front of us, and the best week of television is officially here, live from the Augusta National Golf Club in Augusta, Georgia.
If you are one of the lucky few who attend the tournament, it’s a time of great satisfaction. Being at the Masters is an experience where every detail, interaction, and vivid sight is embedded deep in your memory.
When I think about the Masters, the color receptors of my brain light up. The yellow of the flags, the rusty earth of the pinestraw, the piercing white of the bunkers, the varying shades of green on the fairways, with the long Georgia shadows of April. I think about the pastels of spring on the patrons and the flowers alike. Though the stars of the palette are the green and white, which are omnipresent in the Tournament’s visual language. The umbrellas, the scoreboards, the signage — perhaps only Santa Claus has done more to embed his color scheme in our hearts.
When in Augusta at the Masters, your heartbeat slows and the cone of your attention eases to just what is around you. Everything else in the world washes away. On the grounds of Augusta National, the decisions become simple: move around or stay in one spot, have a Bar-b-que sandwich or a pimento cheese one? Should it be a green hat or a white one? Time stands still, and life is suspended for just a few hours. I can’t talk Monday, I’ll be at the Masters. Meetings are easily repositioned because everyone knows. This time is special.
When you’re at the Masters, you’re part of some of the greatest traditions in sport. Walking the grounds for the first time reminded me of arriving in Rome. After years of hearing about a place, and then finally standing in it, realizing that the magic is real. Augusta is one of the rare places that delivers more than it promises. In a world of diminishing returns and elusive happiness, the Masters astonishes in its excellence.
As a first-time visitor or a seasoned patron, when you walk up to the entrance, the civility of the Tournament puts its arm around you. The decorum is natural, and the etiquette feels correct. We all default to a setting of civility, which creates a unique familial feeling that’s increasingly hard to find in the modern world.
The beauty of the Masters is you don’t have to be there to enjoy it. There’s part of me that loves nothing more than a long Saturday and Sunday in my living room, locked into CBS with Jim Nance. The tournament is winding its way through the second nine to a crescendo finish with the low spring sun illuminating everything so perfectly. What could possibly be better?
In a crazy world with a firehose of information coming at you, the Masters in person (or on broadcast) is a place of refuge from our insane world. It’s all we need, all that matters this week. So clear your calendar, get comfortable and bring on that green and white.
