Sunday at the Masters

So a Sunday trip to the Masters fell into the lap courtesy of a good friend, and when that happens you tend to break the schedule.

Someone asked me yesterday which experience is cooler: going as a media member, or as a fan? It's a good question, one that requires some thought.

The press badge gets the edge based solely on access to the grill room and balcony of the clubhouse. There's just something amazing about sitting down to eat lunch and seeing Arnold Palmer stroll to the bar to order whatever it is he orders (an Arnold Palmer?) Or, late Sunday morning, sitting on the balcony and ordering peach cobbler and ice cream.

Going as a fan certainly has plenty of appeal, though. There's no stress of having to worry about writing something later on, and it's been scientifically proven that domestic draft beer tastes 28 percent better on the grounds of Augusta National than anywhere else -- one of many "how do they do that" phenomena of this toonamint.

But in covering this event four consecutive years from 2000 to 2003, I'd never spent much time walking the course on Sunday. You're usually pretty much walked out after spending the entire week traversing the grounds, and by that time the best place to be is in the media center watching the bank of televisions so you don't miss a key development.

Early yesterday afternoon we chose a perch to the right of the fifth fairway. Perhaps the least popular spot on the entire course, and that's one of the reasons we chose it. Most of the drives off the fifth tee tend to bleed right a little, which affords a really cool window into the interaction between golfer and caddie as they come upon the ball and discuss a difficult second shot -- 175 or so yards, swirling wind, severely undulating green.

We weren't far away from the No. 16 green, where Bo Van Pelt and Adam Scott recorded Sunday aces. You hear the building roar, then the explosion of cheers, and you know exactly what happened. A few minutes later, you hear another roar and you know it's the guy picking his ball out of the hole.

We also weren't far from the No. 2 green, where Louis Oosthuizen made the ground shake with the first double-eagle on No. 2. When the word spreads, everyone who didn't see it is trying to figure out how in the world someone holes out from more than 250 yards away.

And we could see the grandstand on No. 4 that ended up being Phil Mickelson's undoing. By the time he's walking up the fifth fairway, the word is being passed: "Phil ... triple-bogey on 4. Wha...?"

There were so many times yesterday that you heard about something happening elsewhere and had a sudden reflex to reach into the pocket for the cell phone. No phones are allowed, though, which means the leaderboards are the only way to follow it.

The leaderboards, and the Sunday roars. Doesn't get much better.

A few Monday links:

-- Here's the Washington Post's account of Bubba Watson's triumph.

-- In the AJC, a chronicling of the two aces on 16.

-- Mark Bradley of the AJC says we're about to see if a bad guy (Bobby Petrino) keeps his job because he's a good coach.

My take: He's gone. An extramarital affair, as bad as it is, is one thing. But the hire of a mistress, who happens to be the fiance of an athletics department employee, takes this one over the top.

-- Or maybe not: As this guy notes, Mike DuBose kept his job under similar circumstances ... until he started losing.

-- And we'll close with this really good take on Bubba Watson from Scott Michaux of The Augusta Chronicle:

Officially, Gerry Lester Watson Jr. won the Masters Tournament on Sunday. But it's Bubba who donned the green jacket.

He was bigger than life the day he was born, weighing 9.5 pounds. Ever since his father told his mother, Molly, “We got a Bubba instead of a baby,” he seemed destined to eventually own a car called the General Lee.

But serving barbecue at the Champions Dinner?

“I never got that far in my dreams,” Watson said just before the green jacket slipped onto his shoulders.



LW