1 week Ago
We can never know about the days to come But we think about them anyway — “Anticipation” by Carly Simon While thinking of this special time of year – Masters week – I remind myself that anticipation is often a wonderful thing, but sometimes it can backfire. As a youngster I became enthralled with the game of golf, and going to the Masters with my parents became an annual rite. The bright green fairways excited me.
The perfectly true greens made me itch to give them a try. If only that could happen once, I told myself, I would make the most of my opportunity. Then it happened when I was a young reporter for The Augusta Chronicle in 1974.
Local media members were given a day at the Augusta National before the course closed for the summer, and when the signup sheet was placed on the newsroom bulletin board, mine was one of the first names on it. The waiting and anticipation began for a day that was weeks away. I dreamed of standing on the first tee lashing a drive down the middle of the fairway.
I fantasized about hitting crisp iron shots to greens and making long putts for birdies. The night before, I barely slept. Anticipation! We were expecting our first child within the next two weeks, and I told my wife (mostly in jest) not to call if she felt that delivery was imminent that day.
Then I got into my VW Beetle and drove to Augusta, turned onto Magnolia Lane and was on the grounds of the National, just as I had imagined. Just as I had anticipated. I was introduced to the others in our foursome, and when our 11 a.
m. starting time arrived we found ourselves on the first tee ready for a day that I had anticipated for years. But perhaps I had over-anticipated.
As I stepped onto the tee, I thought of all the famous golfers who had stood on that spot to begin their rounds. This is where Gene Sarazen had once stood. And Byron Nelson.
And Ben Hogan. And Sam Snead. And my favorite, Arnold Palmer.
Nervous does not begin to describe how I felt. A brief bit of backgound. At that point I had been playing golf for more than a dozen years.
Although I was not a single-digit handicapper, I was fairly decent as I shot in the low 80s and sometimes got into the mid-70s for my rounds. Now back to the first tee. My mouth was dry and it was difficult to concentrate.
I aimed down the middle of the fairway. I tried to think about all the things that are supposed to happen in a good golf swing. Head down, eyes on the ball, left arm straight, weight shifting, club brought down smoothly, impact, follow through.
Instead of the ball soaring high down the fairway as I had envisioned for weeks, the heel of the club struck the ball, sending it weakly to the left and missing the too-wide-to-miss fairway. At least I was off the tee and on my way. I was a long way from the green and too far to even think about reaching it with shot number two.
My 4-wood sent me within 50 yards of the green, and I was happy with that. Then came a pitch over the back of the green. Then a chip and three putts for a triple bogey.
This is not what I had anticipated. The next hole, a long par 5, seemed to be the perfect remedy for the abysmal start, but a shanked third shot led to another 7. Five over par after two holes was not what I had been dreaming about.
Things got a little better with a couple of pars interspersed with bogeys until I had another 7 on the ninth hole. When I reached the par 3 16th hole, I was 20 over par with the only anticipation being to get back in the car and drive home. But as my friend likes to say, “Sometimes a blind hog finds an acorn.
” My acorn was on the 16th. It played 155 yards that day, and even though I had not hit many good shots, that one was my best. I struck the ball squarely with a 6 iron and watched it fly straight toward the hole stopping 18 feet away.
In addition to hitting the ball poorly all day, my putting had been woeful on the National’s devilish greens, so I had no delusion that this would be any different. Once again my mouth went dry as I lined up my only birdie putt of the day. “There’s no way I can make this putt,” I told myself.
“I am way too nervous. I just hope I don’t three putt.” With heart in my throat and hands feeling numb, I took the putter back and stabbed awkwardly at the ball.
It bounced when the clubhead made contact and skipped to the right of where I aimed. “Oh, no,” I thought as I watched it travel those first few feet. Then the ball, with a mind of its own, started rolling, took a gentle break to the left and fell elegantly into the hole.
Acorn! I mean birdie! That was followed with a bogey on No. 17 and a par on the last. I played the last three holes in even par, something I had not anticipated as the round was progressing.
For me that day, the first 15 holes were just for practice..
