That Couldn’t Happen, but It Did

We are well into the 2013-14 season of college Men’s Basketball. This is one of my favorite sports. Games don’t drag on, the outcome is often decided near the end of the game, and the players’ ability and heart is often amazing.  As a bonus, you sometimes get overtime.

There are about 350 division 1 schools that play men’s basketball. Those are the bigger, better known schools like Michigan, UCLA, and Coppin State (?). Typically, those teams play 30 games, excluding post-season tournaments.

There are 2 other divisions of colleges and universities; cryptically, division 2 and 3. There is also the NAIA, for smaller schools. All told, it’s a good guess there are more than 15,000 college men’s basketball games a season. That is a lot of chances for strange things to happen. This season had some incredible outcomes, here are two.

David –vs- Goliath

On December 14, 2013 tiny Champion Baptist Seminary (founded in 2005) travelled to Baton Rouge to face the Southern Jaguars. Champion was winless to that point, allowing over 100 points per game, but scoring 40-55. Southern’s program is not that strong: they are ranked 256^th of the 351 D1 schools. However, things were different that night, as seen by the 210 in attendance. Southern got off to a good start, a very good start. The score was 44-0, before Champion’s first point, a free throw, 15 minutes into the first 20-minute half. Champion’s head coach, Eric Capaci, is also the President of the Seminary, and Pastor of the affiliated Gospel Light Baptist Church. He should have figured things might be bad. Before the game Southern’s head coach inquired if he would agree to drop the four media time outs per half. Capaci knew this would be a bad deal for his team. “They need that time to catch their breath”. Media time outs were “in”, for the assumed hundreds of listeners.

When the forty minutes of regulation time ended the scoreboard showed Southern 116 - Champion 12. A loss by over 100 points. Most think this is an NCAA record. Champion’s high scorer had 4 points, while the coach’s son connected for three. Look at it this way, Southern scored almost three points per minute, Champion scored one point each three minutes. Regrettably, Southern’s coach had their superior team “press” the Tigers the whole game. That is bad form in my opinion. One female Southern fan tweeted “I felt so bad for those guys, I felt like I needed to make them some gumbo.” I hope she did. Never one to miss the obvious, Coach C commented in the post game wrap up “I thought we missed some shots we should have made.” (They shot under 10%.) Heading back to Hot Springs, Arkansas, Coach C may have wondered if it was worth the $4,000 guarantee fee they earned. My bet is they did well, if they have logo apparel for sale in the bookstore. The $4,000 seems like chump change to me. My guess is that doesn’t even pay for the teams shoes, although most big schools have deals with shoe manufacturers. Another data point. Last year, each of the teams that made the NCAA’s Final Four in basketball’s March Madness earned $10 million for their leagues. That is serious money.

I would love to report Champion’s season has turned around for their undaunted ten brave souls. Regrettably, the school’s web site is under development, so getting information is tough.  I wonder if the men learned about Daniel in the Lion’s Den when they returned to school?

WSJ Reports A Rare Tie 

Wednesday’s Winston Salem Journal (what did you think WSJ meant, anyway?) reported a strange story. Locals know whenever Winston Salem State University and Johnson C. Smith tangle, “anything can happen”. It did on Wednesday.

The Rams of WSSU drove to Charlotte and JCS’s 50+ year-old Brayboy gym. Both teams were about 15-10, and were trying to “go deep” in the play-offs. Bragging rights were also at stake. With three seconds left, WSS’s Marquez Jones took a 3-point shot to win the game. You have seen that happen before: Gym is going crazy as seconds tick down, a player takes a towering jump shot from way out, horn goes off as ball sails through the air, ball swishes through the basket, “all net”,  fans go crazy, “winner winner, chicken diner”. It didn’t this time. However, WSSU’s Javan Wells got the offensive rebound, and made a quick two pointer to tie with .3 seconds remaining.

JCS’s Golden Rams were ready with a play; after all “they got game”. Joshua Linson, their best player, attempted a full court toss of the ball towards their basket 94 feet away. (Try throwing a basketball 90 feet and you will appreciate the difficulty.) Unfortunately the errant toss hit two of the overhead lights, causing one to drop precariously hanging by its wiring. (Cleverly, Tiffani tweeted “It’s a new meaning to shooting lights out”.) Officials huddled and concluded it would be unsafe to continue the game. Thus, it was concluded the game would end a tie. Frustrated WSSU coach Bobbie Collins, emulating another coach Bobby, tossed a plastic chair in protest, but no one seemed to care. I guess he figured they wouldn’t call a technical.

CIAA league officials huddled early the next morning, and decided the teams would meet in two days (Friday the 21^st) to play a five-minute overtime to determine the winner. Admission will be free, but it is not clear if the concession stands will be open. All this assumes one team would score more than the other in the overtime period. Both teams have games Saturday.

That got me thinking. What is the longest men’s college basketball game? It turns out that happened in December 1981. Cincinnati beat Bradley 75-73 after regulation and seven overtime periods, nearly two full-length games. That is a very long , but low scoring game. For division 3, the record was set in 2010, when Skidmore beat South Vermont 128-123, again in seven overtimes. (Too bad it wasn’t Southern, as mentioned above, that lost.) One player from Southern Vermont played the entire contest.

Full disclosure, I have more than a passing interest in Winston Salem, the WSJ, and WSSU. When my mom was a kid, her parents moved the family from New York City to Winston Salem. Guess what was made in Winston Salem for decades?

One of my dear aunts, Mary, loved sports. She always knew she wanted to be a sports writer, even though that “wasn’t done”. After graduating from college, her first assignment was in the society page. Talk about a fish out of water. The Second World War decimated the sports department (100% men) at many papers as men volunteered to go to war. Knowing southern men needed their sports, just like their grits every morning, management took a chance. They assigned Mary to cover sports. Talk about being thrown in the briar patch. For the next 50 years she worked all levels of sports. She made history doing what she loved. And she gave the best gift ever given, but that’s a story for another day. 

Early on she and Clarence Edward “Big House” Gaines met and became fast friends. Big House, as everyone affectionately called him, excelled in football (4 years All League, 2 years All American) and played basketball at Morgan State. He graduated with a degree in Chemistry. Soon after he joined WSSU, and became the football & basketball coach, athletic director, and ticket manager, all at once. Fortunately, he soon focused on basketball. What a run it was! Eighteen seasons with over 20 wins. Among many others, he coached NY Knicks star Earl ‘the Pearl’ Monroe (pictured below in the 1967 game against, JCS), and the always modest ESPN analyst, Stephen A. Smith. When he retired after 47 seasons, he was the second winningest college men’s basketball coach. He was huge, about a foot taller than Mary, and easily 175 pounds heavier. It was my pleasure to meet Big House on a couple of occasions. Even in his final years he was “big as a house”. 

In his honor WSSU established the Clarence E. “Big House” Gaines Hall of Fame in 2002. It recognizes those who excelled for the Rams, as athletes, coaches, or those “who devote countless hours of tireless work” for the good of the Athletic department. Mary Garber was honored to be added to that shrine, for her part in covering their stories. It was a friendship for the books.

Note: The Fresno Bee (via the AP) picked up that Joshua Linson drained a 3 pointer with 24 seconds to go, sealing a win of 89-86 for JCS. Thus, ending the game that started more than 40 hours previously.

A Sure Thing

Life is full of uncertainty. We generally can’t predict the future. We all know this. However, that doesn’t stop some from offering a sure thing.

1. Facebook will double on its first trading day, because "it is the future". God forbid. (It was up less that one percent the first day, and lost value most of the first ten days of trading.)
2. The Broncos will win the Super Bowl, because of Peyton Manning's experience. (They may, just not in 2014.)
3. Rain will come to parched California. (But when?)

My experience is the more something is “for sure”, the less likely it will happen. Fervor seldom trumps causative factors. For example, my will (and hope) seem to have little influence on whether Cal wins or loses. (Here, I can predict a sure thing. My brother Jon will write some snide comment about Cal, but that’s genetic).

Despite the above, I can offer you a sure thing. More unusually, I can do so based solely on one first hand experience, and some prior watching others in the same situation.

You can’t help but love your grandchildren.

Carol and I waited patiently for grandkids, while friends were blessed with one after another. Some even had great grand kids! They shared photos, stories, and episodes of truly incredible events. At one Mother’s Day dinner, Carol told her boys “her biological clock as a grandma was ticking”. Fervor once again had no influence.

However, good things come to those who wait. On Halloween, 2013 our son Steve and his wife Stili gave the world Nikola. There has never been a better Halloween treat. We get almost daily photos, and recording of his cooing, giggling, and what ever. We can’t get enough.

The appeal is clear, he is a bundle of joy, change and contradictions, all in one.

Joy

It is hard to wake up some times. Yet, most mornings Nikola is beaming with smiles and cooing. Forget about it, after he has been fed, that is assuming he isn’t off to sleep.

He loves to snuggle, particularly wrapping those tiny hands around your neck. True bliss. I have discovered the melting point of an otherwise sane adult.

Change

He is so curious.  He loves to be toured around their apartment viewing all the pictures, paintings, and decorations. Books usually engage, at least for some time.

His features change ever so slowly. We see “huge” differences, even though we have been gone a few weeks.

Contradictions

He is a healthy young boy, nearly 16 pounds and 26” long at three and a half months. Yet his nose is the size of a small blueberry.  His foot is about the length of my index finger, but straighter.

He does get cranky, who doesn’t. Sometimes he reaches his wits end, and our world is filled with crying, frantic leg and arm movement, and anything else he thinks of. However, sooner or later he calms down, and usually transitions to sleep, often with a tranquil smile on his face. (Hint to new Grandparents, if all else fails run a hairdryer at a low speed in a dark room. It usually works.)

Still need convincing? Here is the clincher. I married a woman who grew up in sunny Los Angeles. A perfect day for her is to sit on the beach. Now with a good book, then with her girl friends, and boys that followed. She loves the warmth of the sun, and the calming sound of the tide’s ebb and flow. You get it, she isn’t a fan of the cold. In the past three months (read Winter) she has taken three trips to Cleveland. Last week she was there during one of the really cold spells in Oberlin.  Let it snow.

My job for the month of February is to assist as Steve and Stili manage their day jobs. They are such devoted parents, but have careers. Christine comes and helps seven hours a day, five days a week, and I do whatever is needed. All the while, the Little Prince dictates our every move. As I write, it is 11 degrees, yesterday it topped out at 16. Whatever. Let it snow.

As the doting grandpa, I take lots of pictures. Here he is from earlier this week. (If you would like the full ninety slide presentation, complete with sound track, let me know.)

Hey, you want a really sure thing? Buy stock in Southwest Airlines (LUV, $21.28). It’s the best way to get to Cleveland from the bay area. It is sure to double, maybe even this year.

Cats & Dogs

Most families with a pet make the big choice: cats or dogs. (True enough, there are some families which seem to be magnets for strays of all types, and hence end up with “all of the above”.) My guess is one who is raised with either cats or dogs, makes the same choice when they are adults. Its like toothpaste, odds are you will use what you had as a kid. When I was growing up our family always had a dog. After all, we were “dog” people. Our preference was for frisky, affectionate, lap sized dogs. They would have the “run of the house”, which included under the table scraps from dinner, shared secretly. The only requirements were they did their business outside, and had to put up with the commotion, which was usually going on around them. I remember Poopsie, my childhood dog, who seemed to abide by the house rules, most of the time.  He still holds the record for licking clean a platter, which served the Thanksgiving turkey.

My two aunts lived together all their lives, and were great dog fans.  Dear sisters that they were, and sharing all they did for so long, never confuse them on two points. Mary liked Army and Neely liked the Navy. There was the annual bet on the football game, which Neely generally won in recent years. Also, they had specific and clear preferences in terms of dogs: Mary loved her dachshunds, and Neely was partial to terriers. In over their 70 plus years of living together, they had a long list of dogs. When one died, their dog tag was placed in an honored place in the kitchen, above one of the many dog-napping areas. I never counted them, but there were dozens.

When Carol & I moved back to the west coast, we soon found Sam at a Solano Avenue pet store. He was our preparation for parenting, which quickly followed. He a “mixed bred”, had lots of energy, and was a constant companion. We let him explore the neighborhood, and he always seemed to come back by bedtime or for a meal. One night he wasn’t home, so Carol & I went out looking. We walked to the nearby Cal campus, a frequent walking place for us. Repeated calls of his name yielded no results.  That sinking feeling of a lost dog grew. However, we subsequently saw him running around a plot of grass, with friends. We called him and he immediately returned with an inquisitive look on his face: “what are you two doing here?” When Greg came, we took many family walks in the hills. One day we met a neighbor with a high-strung miniature dog. I could tell that dog always got on Sam’s nerves. After the usual sniffing, Sam lifted his leg and left his signature on the confused miniature. I will never know if the owner saw it, I could barely keep from laughing out loud.

We both ran a lot and Sam stayed lean by running along. I took him on a 20 mile run one time, and he made it, despite being bone tired and having sore paws when we got home. Join the club. Sam was with us until both kids were almost out of high school. His body kind of gave out, and he lost that wonderful energy and interest in companionship. More naps, less eating, more quiet time, and an increasing number of accidents. At an advanced age for Sam, our vet gave us the news we all knew: Sam was on a steep decline and was probably suffering.  We decided to “put him down”, and stayed touching him as he left us. That was a very sad day for our family, lots of tears and a sorrowful goodbye. Greg & Steve may have felt some reprise, since they were no longer on the hook for walking Sam. That was probably not in the top 100 things they liked doing.

I was ready to get another dog; after all I was a dog person. I figured cats were neurotic, and “different”. However, practical mama said without a clear solution to walking the dog twice a day that option wasn’t available. She was right. Somehow we got to the position that a) we wanted another animal in the house, and b) it wasn’t going to be a dog. Thus one Saturday fifteen years ago we ventured to the SPCA and looked at cats. It was easy to dismiss most as being too big, listless, or indifferent. (What little they knew.)  However, we saw a very small cat with a twinkle in his eye. He was mangy, and had some scars and scrapes from being “dropped off”. He could not have been more than on foot long, and weighed less than a dinner burrito. Soon we paid to have him fixed, given shots, and we had a new pet. His was named Kit Kat, or more formally, Kit Kat the Magnificent. He came home with us, and spent the first week hiding in the smallest places he could find. Enticing him to come out and eat and get to know us was tricky. However, in time he learned to trust us, and learned our few house rules: no scratching the furniture, do your business outside, and don’t wake us up.

 
They say dogs have owners, cats have helpers. We were prepared for feline indifference, but were we surprised. Kit Kat loved to play, particularly with the frustrating laser pointer (skillfully directed at various moving places), and an assortment of strings and things, which developed his pouncing instincts. He spent lots of time exploring his outdoors, which went well beyond our yard. Soon he assumed the responsibility of managing our property. Periodically a dead rat, mouse, or what ever was laid as homage on the back door mat.

When we would travel Kit Kat would have a cat sitter. He would always complain when we came home, letting us know his various issues. However, after sufficient lap time, special meals, and other spoiling, a detente would be re-established. Kit Kat pretty much had his way. When he would agree to be brushed, or pet, he would climb up on one of our laps. However, when he tired of the attention, he left. By my rough count he had about six favorite places to nap, and logged as much nap time as a typical Cal Trans crew. He spent hours on Carol lap as her nurturing instincts were picked up quickly.

Sadly, the fall and early winter this year were not a good time for Mr. Kit Kat. It seemed clear his sight was failing, as he had more trouble eating, his appetite waned, he seemed listless, and sleep even more. Breathing became labored, and on and on. The vet confirmed the obvious, the future looked dim.

Trips to the vet became more frequent. His usual fierce resistance to such visits gave way to silent acceptance. All he seemed to want to do was be alone in some small, hidden space. We tried everything we could to give him comfort and show him how much we loved him.

A week before Christmas, we went to hear the Messiah, which is a family tradition. Nothing gets me more in the holiday felling than that evening, usually attending the American Bach Society’s performance at Grace Cathedral. Again, this year’s performance was inspiring, however both of us felt something was wrong. We left at intermission, which is something we had never done before. Sadly, our instincts were right. Mr. Kit Kat had left us for the new world of no dogs or fleas, plenty of fresh food, and comfy places to nap.

What joy and closeness we felt to Mr. Kit Kat, despite the fact one and perhaps both our sons are allergic to cats, dander, or whatever.

I bet there are no laser pointers in cat heaven.

The Masters

Last weekend I had the unbelievable opportunity to attend the Masters Golf tournament. I would like to share some impressions and things I heard.

For the non-golfer, I want to give some background.  It has been contested in early April since 1934. It lasts from Thursday to Sunday, ignoring the par three and putting contests on Wednesday. Certain players earn the right to enter (those who have won in the past, for example), others are invited. Each year a few amateurs are invited. Each day from early in the morning to the afternoon, the field plays 18 holes on this 7,435  yard course (now, that is a long course!). At the end of play of Friday, the field is reduced to those with the best 60 scores (or so). To make the cut, one usually needs to shoot close to par. On Saturday and Sunday pairs start at 9 or so, with the best players teeing off last. If one stays in one place, he or she sees players every ten minutes or so, the spacing between groups. Since it takes about 4 hours to play a round, the tournament lasts seven or eight hours a day.  Following a player in the gallery is tricky since they can move quicker than you can, and many choose to stay in one place, obviously taking the best vantage places early. The winner is the competitor who finishes the 72 holes with the lowest score. In case of a tie, as was the case this year, those tied go back and play until one player has a lower score than the other on one hole (“sudden death”). To make things interesting, the weather sometimes plays a factor, given wide ranges of temperature and sometimes rain.

Its History

Bobby Jones was a golf pioneer in the 1920s. He remained an amateur throughout his career, and in 1930 he won the US and British Amateur, US Open, and the Open Championships in 1930. (At that time, that was considered the Grand Slam, which now includes the Masters. His legacy also includes his prominent role in creating the Masters. After retiring from competitive golf, Jones and Cliff Roberts acquired the 365 acres of the former Fruitland Nurseries, and commissioned Dr. Alister Mac Kenzie (designer of Claremont Country Club) to design the course. The course opened in 1933. The first tournament was contested in 1934, and won by Horton Smith who beat Craig Wood, runner up in the first three events. (Wood subsequently won in 1941).

Jones directs Roberts in 1956

Golf can be a tough game. Anyone who can shoot close to par is an exceptional player. At Augusta every three par has had at least one hole in one recorded, as all five pars have had double eagles (a score of three under par), and all four pars have had eagles (a score of two under par). However, things don’t always go as planned. Someone shot a 13 on 12, a 155 yard three par. Consider this range. The best score for each hole adds to 32, 40 under par. The worst, an incredible 166. Typically most tournament scores come in the range of 65 to 80 per round.

One of the invitees each year is the club champion from Augusta. He plays in the first group, but his scores are not shown on the daily pairing sheets. The player is shown on the sheet as “Marker”, again reflecting the privacy of the club.

The Rules

Augusta National Golf Club is private, very private. Other than members, few know who are “in”. In 2004, USA Today published a list of about 300, said to be the membership list. Last April the club made news as it admitted the first female members, Condoleezza Rice and Darla Moore. Its leadership has a firm hand on what is done, and how. During its nearly 80 year history it has had only 6 Chairmen. The first, Cliff Roberts served for 42 years. I was told that after his election into the club, Dwight Eisenhower  attended his first annual meeting. At the conclusion, Roberts  asked if there were any questions. Ike raised his hand. Roberts then announced the meeting was closed without addressing the puzzled former president.

Small portable viewing chairs are widely used, but can’t be left on the course. However, when the gates open at 8AM we saw many desirable areas already filled. The rumor is certain caddies “take care of friends”, and place the chairs before 8 AM. No one seems to move others chairs, or squeeze in.  If a chair is unused, it is OK to sit, but when the owner returns, you are expected to leave immediately.

Master's Chairs

The gallery of 50,000 people or so, must follow strict rules of demeanor, or they may be asked to leave. There is no running within the club. No requests for autographs.

Beer sales stop each day at 4PM. Sunday we headed to one of the huge food buildings a bit after noon. Time for a beer and sandwich, then back to watching. Unfortunately, no beer was offered. We came to understand that each Sunday the Preacher of a local Baptist church calls when the service is over. Only then can beer be sold. He ran long our year, and thus we enjoyed the lemonade.

        No Beer Before It's Time

My biggest frustration of the weekend was the club’s strict policy (no need to say so, since all policies seemed strict) forbidding cell phones or cameras. I get it, taking pictures of golfers swinging can be distracting, but I wish I had been able to take pictures of the grounds. (Go to www.masters.com, and you will see what I mean.)  Here is a picture of the beautiful, but treacherous 12^th hole.

The 12th Hole Beckons

Our Way

When a golfer’s club cuts into the ground while striking the ball it is called a divot. Go to most courses and you see lots of divots on the fairways. You also see the “gouge” where the divot was removed. Good courses fill those gouges with sand and lawn seed to replace the grass. I was amazed to not see divots on the fairways. Grounds-men pick them up, and gouges are filled quickly with green tinted seed and sand. Golfers pick up their tees after teeing off, thus the tee boxes are pristine each time.

The 12^th is often a critical hole in a round. Even though it is the shortest hole on the course, winds, and other conditions can dictate between a 6 to 9 iron. Rae’s Creek has spoiled many a  round. To assure more consistency, the club has installed systems under the green which regulate the amount of moisture in the ground, and thus the “softness” of the green.

Each year the prior year champion hosts a dinner of all previous winners as the tournament begins. Last year’s winner, Bubba Watson,  won a  playoff by making an incredible shot out of the trees on 10. (See the shot by going to www.pgatour.com and typing Bubba’s 2012 shot). Being a good Southerner he offered chicken breasts and macaroni & cheese for the dinner last week. Nick Faldo quipped :”I was a little stunned we didn’t get a coloring book with the menu”.

This Year

I won’t spend time talking about what happened, other than saying Australian Adam Scott sunk a birdie putt on the second play-off hole to edge Angel Cabrera for the win. However, I will share a couple things which we saw. Not quite half the field hailed from the US with the balance of finalists coming from 14 countries. South Africa topped the list with 6.

The youngest competitor ever was a 14 year old amateur named Guan Tianlang of China. He is a lanky kid who has a spine which seems to move with the ease of Jell-O. He was able to make the cut, despite falling short in distance off the tee. That made him  one of two amateurs to play on the weekend. He has a wonderful game, but Sunday wasn’t his best day. On the 440 yard 17^th, his drive sliced (went right) into the trees. Here is where it gets weird. A spectator was standing in the area carrying a plastic bag of merchandise. Guan’s ball landed in the bag. A commotion ensued, as an official had the gentleman stand exactly where he was. We happened to be only yards away, so we get there quickly. Soon, the embarrassed player came to hit. It was ruled the bag was a man-made object, and thus the ball could be removed without penalty. It was dropped, as proscribed. Then Guan, showing his knowledge of the game, asked if the area was ground under repair. (Golf gives players few advantages. However, the rules allow for relief of a ball lands in ground under repair. Since the man was standing in one of the paths across a fairway, the official ruled that was the case). Thus, Guan got further relief, no closer to the hole. Here is where it gets interesting. Unfortunately, the ball was 30 or so yards from several trees which looked to be 50-60 feet tall. Guan steadied his stance, swung smoothly (but with power), and the ball cleared the trees by 10 feet or more, and landed in the 17^th fairway. Try that shot sometime, much less with millions of people watching around the world.

One remarkable accomplishment of Guan. To shot par, it is assumed you two putt each hole. Of course, it never works out that way. The bane of all golfers is to three putt (or more), on any hole. He never three putted the whole tournament.

Guan was also involved in one of the two “issues” of the tournament. Pros are expected to play quickly, despite all the money on the table. If an unacceptable gap opens in front of a player, he is warned to speed up play. Failure to do so results in a stroke penalty. Guan was assessed such a stroke on Friday, which almost made him miss the cut.

Guan Ripping

Tip to Guan, try earth tones or more neutral colors next year. Those orange pants were a bit strong.

The far more severe penalty was assessed on Tiger Woods. Friday, as part of a charge he was making, he hit a near perfect shot approaching 12, which regrettably hit the flag pole which shows the pin location. The ball rolled back and ended in the water. Tiger took a drop assuming the measure point was where his entered the hazard (i.e. crossed into the hazard). As Jay Cassell taught me the week prior the rule states relief is granted from where it last enters the hazard. In this case that was the other side of the water, thus Woods took a more favorable, and incorrect drop. He was assessed a two stroke penalty after his round was finished, when the error was seen by the officials. That change from a great score to an 8, cost Woods the tournament.

Pay Day

Adam Scott had a good week at Augusta. He won first place, earning $1,440,000. That is about $5,000 for every shot he made, or about $70,000 per hour of play (counting warm up time). His caddy is also happy. By tradition professional caddies earn a couple thousand per tournament, plus a negotiated share of his player’s winnings. Most say that is between 3-10% of winnings. In addition to the check each winner has his name inscribed on the permanent trophy which stays at the club, and also receives: a sterling replica of the trophy, a gold medal, and a Green jacket. The jackets are custom made for each player by the Brooks Uniform Company in New York. The winner can wear the jacket for the first year, but them it comes back to the club where it can be worn when available. Regrettably, those who have won more than once, get only one green jacket.

Cabrera finish was a mixed blessing. While he pocketed $864,000 for his considerable talent, the putt he missed in the second hole of the play off cost him just under $600,000. You do the math. I must say he was very gracious in his concession. He also captured the essence of golf when he said “Golf gives and takes, sometimes you make the putts, sometimes you just miss them, but that’s golf”.

The club also recognizes those who excel, such as the low amateur, any who record a double eagle ( only four have been recorded, and each on a separate hole), eagles, and holes in one (23 recorded prior to this year, 15 of which occurred in 16). Those win crystal vases, medals, or trophies.

I was told the 300 or so members of Augusta receive a bill once a year. That bill reflects usage and their share of expenses. Most think this great club is very inexpensive because of the significant Master’s related revenue.

The sale of merchandise would make a retailer’s mouth water. Nearly every visitor gets something, and many “load up” with goodies to take home. Unlike most sports venues prices are very reasonable. Golf hats, shirts, and the like were normal prices.

The food concessions are almost always crowded (but move quickly), this is no big money maker. Sandwiches are $1.50 for a Classic Chicken to $3 for the BBQ. Beers are $3 (domestic), and $4 (imported). Compare those prices to any other pro event you frequent.

It Takes a Village

CBS has had the right to televise the Masters for some time. They do an excellent job of coverage. In talking with one of their technical people, I was told they have 800 employees assigned to the event. Some come three weeks before the start to “get things ready”. By Wednesday of the following week, all of the TV towers (as well as bleachers, and other signs of the tournament) are gone.

Our club has a dozen or so groundskeepers who work hard to keep it looking good. I was told Augusta has 80. I was told they sometimes ice or heat the azaleas to assure maximum color for the tournament. The grounds are surrounded by pine trees, but you never see a pine cone on the ground. I have no idea how many “clean up” people work, but it has to be hundreds. I never saw a trash box more than half full. I never saw a garbage on the ground.

Face it, when you have that many people in one place, all be it spread out, you need a lot of rest rooms. However, here again the Masters has this down. For men there is a long line but it moves very quickly, since inside are “spotters” who direct patrons to open areas.

These guys are good

The record for the front nine is 30, while the record for the back nine is 29. Five of those six scores were recorded on the final round of the tournament, when pressure is the highest.

On Sunday morning I watched Phil Mickelson warm up for about twenty minutes. I watched him hit a wedge a dozen or so times. Each time he took a divot of maybe an inch of ground. The next shot did the same, just one inch back. And on and on. However, Phil played poorly, despite winning in 2004, 06 and 10. He was widely quoted as saying “he had an off year”, and his well known swing coach Butch Harmon are continuing to work on “technical and fundamental” issues.

I also watched Bubba Watson, the defending champion, practice a fairway wood. He hit a low cut shot, then a high fade shot, then a low fade, then a high draw, then a low draw. He shaped the ball with incredible consistency. Each shot was about 200 yards. However, golf had a mean turn of events for he and his playing partner Kevin Na. Both recorded 10’s at the par three 12^th hole. Both filled Rae’s Creek with three golf balls.

When you sit behind the seventh green, your first impression is its uneven topography. (Perhaps a very verdant lunar surface?) Depending on the pin placement, golfers will either hit below the pin and try to roll up, or hit above the pin, and roll the ball back. The later often looks like a teenager jumping in a car and putting it in reverse. Seven is also a great place to watch putting skills. Given the pin placement on Sunday we saw those who were on the far side of the green start their putts heading away from the hole, knowing the ball will roll about 270 degrees counter clockwise. Most of those putts ended up within a few feet of the hole.

Tips

If you are ever invited to attend, drop everything and make your plans. This is a chance in a life time, and is incredible in light of the beauty of the course, its rich history, and the ability of the players.

As discussed above, golf stuff is available at the masters. Shirts, jackets, ball markers, etc. Go to the merchandise store early your first day. Then pay to have your things shipped (or store them in your car, if close). Don’t schlep the bag around, and don’t wait as many popular items sell out quickly.

Your first morning should be spent walking the course. See the tee boxes and greens, by moving around. Stands are a great play to watch on many holes. Buy a chair and place it early each morning where you want to end up. Late holes will be active late in the day, obviously. Bring or buy binoculars.

Do some reading before you go to get a sense of the course and its history. Learn about Greg Norman’s horrific collapse in 1996, or Gene Sarazan’s double eagle on 15 (the shot heard round the world) to force a play-off in 1935. See the 2004 movie Stroke of Genius which chronicles Bobby Jone’s life.

Spend some time at Amen Corner. There are few places in the world which are more beautiful, and there are some very interesting golf shots made in the area.

Follow the rules, and do nothing to jeopardize your host’s “loss of credentials”. Reselling tickets, acting like a jerk, etc. can result in “loss of credentials”. i.e. the ticket holder losing future ticket rights. That would be a very bad day.

Finally, if you go, try the palmetto cheese sandwich and tell me how it is.