So I just finished watching ESPN Films terrific special on Jack Nicklaus's 1986 Masters championship. The aging legend Nicklaus making one last stand at Augusta, fending off a younger blond bomber named Greg Norman to win his 6th and final green jacket.
Amidst all the sentimental goose bumps, I couldn't help but blurt out, "did Nicklaus have to go with the yellow shirt with plaid checkered pant combo that day?"
Like most of America, he probably didn't think anyone would notice. The Golden Bear was 46 at the time and had been written off by almost everyone.
It got me thinking of 1997, which was the one Masters I attended. I was working for a television station in Augusta, Georgia, WAGT Channel 26. I was a news reporter at the time, and had spent the week doing all sorts of stories on the economic impact of the Masters. Pretty dry stuff.
But Thursday, the first day of the tournament, I got my press badge. I was assigned to do a story on a man with terminal heart disease who as a dying wish, had requested to walk the hallowed grounds at Augusta National. His daughter had come through with the badge, and for at least that day, his ticker was as spry as a marathon runner. We witnessed Gene Sarazin hit the starter's ball early that morning and rubbed elbows with Arnold Palmer and Nicklaus, who were both still competing at the time.
There were so many sights and sounds that day. The green beauty of the azela trees, the scent of the perfectly-mowed grass, the look of pure joy on the face of this otherwise very sick man. I remember wondering how the heck i was going to tell this story in just one minute, thirty seconds, which was all the time my producer had given me for the piece. What was also digestible was a buzz around the course.
And it wasn't the stink bugs.
It was the chatter among the patrons about this 21-year-old wonderkid named Earl Tiger Woods. He had already made a little noise on tour, but this was the Masters, not the John Deere Classic. By the time we got to the par-5 15th hole to watch him hit into the green, he was playing pretty average up to that point in the round. We grabbed a spot just to the left of the green, behind the pond at the hole they call "Fire Thorn." We were a few rows back when we saw Tiger's approach bounce to just a few feet from the hole. He would eagle the hole, beginning a tear unseen in the history of the tournament. When it was over Sunday, Woods had won his first green jacket by a stunning 12 strokes.
As Tiger walked off the 15th, the man who I was profiling that day (who's name I do not remember) turned to me and cracked "so that's the next big thing, huh? I'm just glad I'm here to see it." I told him I wasn't all that impressed. Of course, I had the good fortune of knowing I would be able to watch and play all the golf I wanted to for years to come.
Months later I received a letter from the man's daughter. She thanked me for the story -- I was able to negotiate a little extra time from my producer for the piece. And If you know television producers, that's about as easy as extracting a piece of rope from a boy scout -- and told me her father had died peacefully a few weeks before.
It's been 14 years and a lot has happened to Tiger Woods. He's won several more Masters, earned millions, blew his marriage and lost his vice grip on the game of golf. I don't know whether he will regain his mojo this weekend. But a part of me hopes he eagles the 15th hole one day.
I know one other old soul who wishes the same.