I love the Masters.
I enjoy it far more than any Super Bowl and, I dare say, even more than the World Series.
And this from a guy who’s never touched a golf club.
Most of my adult life, but especially as I got into my 40s and 50s and 60s, I was asked all the time why I didn’t play golf. My flippant answer always was (and is) something like: I still play tennis. I’ll take up golf when I can’t run around any more.
But I’d often admit the real reason is that, even after more than 40 years, I still have not mastered tennis, and I didn’t need two sports to be frustrated about.
To me, golf seems impossible. Place a ball on a tee, hand me a bag of clubs, and tell me there’s a little hole in the ground 430 yards away and you’ll give me four shots to get the ball into that hole and I will fall on the ground laughing. You might as well give me a hundred shots. And even then I doubt I could do it.
And maybe that’s why I enjoy watching it so much. I marvel at the skills of these guys.
I also appreciate the “gentlemanlyness” of it all.
I suppose it sounds like old guy talk, and that’s because it is, but I’m kind of fed up with end zone celebrations, sack dances, bat flips, and slam dunks by a player who just took three steps in the lane.
Golf has none of that. The occasional putter tossed into the lake notwithstanding.
I could watch it for hours. Which I will all weekend.