June 2000: Vol. 79, No. 3

The only thing better than getting to cover the Masters is being picked to play a round at Augusta National when the tournament ends

by Brad King (MMC '97)

very year, the Augusta National Golf Club selects 40 media types to play the course on the Monday after the Masters. Once you've hit from the Holy Tees, you can never be selected again. And this year, I got picked!

Needless to say, Sunday afternoon was doubly exciting—watching the final round of the tournament and figuring out how I would play each hole the next day. When I arrived at Augusta National Monday morning—entering through the front gates!—I was told that my group wouldn't tee off until around 10 o'clock, due to the overnight frost. No problem. Gave me time to meet my caddie and figure out what would make the knots in my stomach go away.

Answer: nothing.

After my first putt on the practice green, a writer said, "That's pretty close." What he didn't know is that the hole I was actually aiming at was 60-70 feet away from where the ball ended up. How fast are the greens at Augusta National? Try putting in the bathtub.

I met the rest of my foursome—nice guys, but much better writers than golfers. Then there's me, with my 12 handicap that I rarely live up to. As we moved to the No. 10 tee (we played the back nine first), we learned that the greens hadn't been mowed that morning, giving us a slight advantage. But pin placements were exactly the same as for Sunday's final round of the Masters. Yikes! When it was my turn to tee off—with a crowd of scribes looking on—I was focused on just one thing:

Hold onto the club, dummy! For God's sake, hold onto the club!

I made pretty good contact, but pushed my drive into the woods. I wasted a shot hacking it out, but my approach shot landed 25 feet from the cup. Thinking back to the practice green, I left my first putt five feet short but somehow managed to sink the next one for a bogey. I can't tell you how elated I was! I imagined Ken Venturi telling the CBS audience, "King makes bogey at No. 10."

I parred No. 11, where Al Tays of the Palm Beach Post made a 50-footer for birdie—the same putt I'd seen at least 30 pros miss the previous afternoon. Like Tiger Woods on the first day of the Masters, I found the water at No. 12 and made a triple bogey 6. I parred No. 13—giving me two pars through Amen Corner!—but then started leaking oil big-time. I made four consecutive double-bogeys—all caused by the severity of the greens and my lack of touch. My score on the back nine: a 12-over-par 48.

I ate a burger at the turn, which got my juices flowing. Missed a 10-footer for birdie at No. 3 and made par, then parred No. 4, despite another adventure in the woods. Using my putter to escape from the dogwoods, I coaxed the ball to within two inches of the cup! The caddies said they had never seen anyone hit such a shot.

Not Tiger. Not Arnie. Not Jack. But King, yes.

I went par, birdie, par on holes 7, 8, and 9—carding a three-over-par 39 on the front side and finishing this memorable day with an 18-hole score of 87. My unspoken goal that morning was to break 90. To say I was giddy would be an understatement.

For those of you who will never get to play Augusta National, take it from me—the course is even more wonderful than you imagine. Things I'll remember most:

Walking across Hogan's Bridge at No. 12.

Standing where Sarazen holed out for a double-eagle on No. 15 to win in '35.

Walking up the 18th fairway.

Stripping off my clothes and diving into Rae's Creek.

(Just kidding—I wanted to make sure you were still paying attention!)

By the way, did I mention that 39 on the front side? Years from now, when I tell my grandchildren about it, it'll have shrunk to even par.

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