When you reach 89 editions of anything, you’re going to develop some traditions. The Masters, an event steeped in lore, rituals and traditions “unlike any other” is the quintessential example of that and part of what makes it the golf treat of all golf treats.
It’s one thing to see a beautiful drive or a putt sneak into the cup. It’s another to watch some great golf that constantly harkens back to memorable moments (personal or universal) joining a long line of transcendence. With the Masters around the corner, our panel of Augusta National zealots came together to discuss what makes the Masters the Masters, and the traditions that they can’t live without.
Keely Levins, Contributing Writer: There are many wonderful things that greet you when you set foot on the grounds at Augusta National. The blooming azaleas, the turf, every single blade of grass somehow in place, the towering trees, the perfect concession menu with its endless supply of classic chicken sandwiches and cookies, all available for a couple of dollars. But one thing you won’t find is a cell phone. Even when attending the Masters as a member of the media in 2019, my phone had to be left in the press room. I was reacquainted with a pen and paper to take notes on—and unfortunately was also reacquainted with my horrendous penmanship.
Walking around, you’re present in a way you can’t be with your phone in hand. Your head is up. You’re watching shots without the obstruction of people trying to get a photo of their favorite golfer. If you hear a roar, you’re walking in its direction, talking to people to figure out what happened, instead of looking it up on your phone.
A college teammate of mine was at the Masters that same year I went. Usually, meeting up with someone at a tournament is pretty simple. You can text where you are and find each other in a matter of minutes. At the Masters, without cell phones, we had to set plans to meet up with each other a day in advance. What a concept. Our first attempt failed. The texts we exchanged the night before the Par 3 Contest were along the lines of: “I’ll be at the Par 3 Contest.” “Perfect, me too. I’ll find you out there.” “OK, I’ll be the guy in the golf shirt.” Jokes aside, the par 3 course is small, we thought we’d find each other. Unsurprisingly, I didn’t find him. We texted that evening, trying to come up with a plan for how to meet up the next day. I chose the most isolated spot I had seen on the course, so we wouldn’t have to search through crowds: 11th tee at 9 a.m. This foolproof plan worked, and we greeted each other laughing at how complicated something so simple had become, appreciating the reunion a little more because of the difficulty.
The no phones policy at Augusta National brings you into the moment on the course, which is exactly where you want to be and should fully be present. And it reminds you that communicating should be something done with a little extra thought.
Augusta National
Michael Johnson, Equipment Editor: Having attended north of 20 Masters, there’s no shortage to choose from. The honorary starters. The green jacket ceremony. No cell phones (yes, I actually like this “tradition”). But the one that would have me curled up in the fetal position crying would be if they did away with the manual scoreboards. Although decidedly old school, it just fits with the genteel nature of the event. Plus the anticipation the crowd feels as a number is about to be posted is special and the accompanying roar or groan with posting of said number is part of the Masters charm. In an age of electronics everywhere, the lack of modern-day scoring is a welcome respite.
Greg Gottfried, Web Producer: I know that Jim Nantz is a lead NFL announcer, a March Madness legend and guy who just always seems to be on the air, but he’s become synonymous with the Masters in a way that echoes Tiger Woods, Jack Nicklaus and Rory McIlroy making a late Sunday run to no avail. I was born in 1995, and Nantz became the CBS Masters anchor in 1989, so I literally don’t know what the Masters is like without his hushed whisper (that I may or may not have fallen asleep to once or a dozen times) and final-putt calls. Nantz has admitted that he wants to keep going until the 100th Masters, which is in 2036, and that almost seems too perfect. I don’t want to start a Masters without hearing “Hello, friends,” and the way it’s going, one of his three kids will be there to take his place at the 101st Masters. There should be a Nantz at Augusta National at all times. Now that’s a nepo baby I’d respect.
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Jamie Kennedy, Director of Content and Social Media: I know it’s a bit silly, but I love the skimming shots players hit each year on the 16th hole. As a kid, I would do it on almost every lake we walked past on a course. To see the pros try and do it, have fun with it and hit some creative shots. It’s not for everyone but I love it.
On my first time covering the Masters, it’s where I went first. I headed straight to 16 and sat in the grandstand near the tee. It was a blast.
Shane Ryan, Contributing Editor: Best Masters tradition: When the players skip the ball across 16 during the practice round. As a mediocre golfer, I am astounded at this level of control for an objectively weird shot. Plus, it’s so aesthetically pleasing to watch the ball skid over a hazard from land to land. It’s like they’re defying the fear of hazards that absolutely consumes me when I play. Bold! Daring! I watch Jon Rahm’s hole-in-one at least 5-6 times per year.
Tod Leonard, Senior Editor: For a couple of decades in covering the Masters, I’ve had one consistent habit (beyond scarfing down a pimento cheese sandwich). On Sunday morning, as long as the weather cooperates—and I honestly can’t recall many rainy final rounds—I’ll set out to walk the back nine before any of the groups have arrived there yet. I make my way down the hill at No. 10, always going down the left because I enjoy how relatively quiet it is on that side, make the right turn at the 11th tee and stride toward the elbow of Amen Corner. The journey reminds me where the traditional Sunday pins are, but more than anything, there’s a joy in beating some of the crowd to take in the quiet beauty of easily the most beautiful golf course I’ve ever seen (sorry Pebble Beach).
Standing behind the tee at the 12th, where so many Masters have been won and lost in that seemingly short carry over Rae’s Creek, there’s the exciting anticipation of the tension and drama that will take place on these grounds in mere hours. At Augusta National, it’s the equivalent of standing on the 50-yard line ahead of the Super Bowl. From there, I make my way to the 13th green—have the azaleas and dogwoods here dazzled or disappointed this year?—and use the crosswalk to pass along the front of the pond at the 15th. The gift here is being able to pause, however briefly, to take in the exact view the players will face in deciding to attack the green in two, or see their hopes dashed by finding the water. It’s a short walk to the 16th green, where the pond is usually so still that the colorful attire of the patrons is reflected in a flawless mirror. Finally, it comes to hoofing it uphill to be reminded of the underrated difficulty of the pin at the 17th green, and then the last push up the left side of 18, swimming mostly upstream as thousands of fans make their way to the far reaches of the property. There’s a stop at that final green, of course, to recall as many triumphant walks as possible and hope again for something as emotional as the farewells of Jack Nicklaus and Arnold Palmer, as chilling as Tiger Woods’ improbable win in 2019, or as electric as Phil Mickelson’s triumphant “leap” in 2004.
The walk completed, there’s only a prayer left. To thank God for being so fortunate to see this special place every year, for the memories of the friends, family and colleagues who have shared these experiences with me, and, with his grace, to please bring me back for another Sunday walk.
RELATED: A completely unscientific ranking of 10 Masters traditions
This article was originally published on golfdigest.com
