By the time we reached the 12th—Golden Bell, one of the all-time great par-3s—I had adjusted to Scotty’s irons a bit, particularly with attempts at shorter back swings. From 145 yards on the Member tee I had nothing to lose with a three-quarter six-iron. I nearly got it just right, aiming over the front bunker—as Nicklaus and Bernhard Langer, among others, always do—and my ball soared high, and while it looked for a moment that it might reach safety, the ball faded and dropped into the same spot of Rae’s Creek that Jordan Spieth found on his first attempt in the previous day’s final round. Admittedly, Spieth’s ball bounced back off the bank whereas mine was a slam-dunk. Minor detail. And Isaak wails: “It hurts so bad when you finally know just how low, low, low, low, low she’ll go.” Yet the truth is I have never been less disappointed to find water off the tee. If it’s good enough for Spieth, it’s good enough for me (and the young Texan would hate that). It was not until I crossed the Ben Hogan bridge and approached my second ball—over the green, back right— that I got a true realization of how small the 12th green is. You hear the pros going on about it, but credit where it’s due. There is nothing of it, so little wonder that despite being the shortest par-3 at Augusta, it has inflicted an average score of 3.23 over Masters all-time history. Similarly to the first tee, for golfers like me who opt for a 3-wood off the Member tee on 13 (Azalea) there is more space that you would imagine. A hook should result in a ball lost among the azaleas (unless you hit a left-handed “slap cut,” as Bubba Watson calls them, 366 yards onto the fairway, as he did in the final round in 2014 on his way to a second Green Jacket), but the high fade I struck had all the fairway in the world. After a grass-cutting hybrid, I hit a 6-iron onto the 13th green from the left of the fairway to snag another cherished moment. But that 13th green is long, and while my ball was front-left, the pin was back-right, 50 feet away.
Robin and his caddie Charles on the 12th tee, and [right] a close-up of the Masters trophy in the clubhouse, with some familiar names
86
SPRING 2017
“This putt is shaped like a candy cane,” explained Charles as he paced it out. “You need to putt the ball past the hole before it turns right around back towards the hole.” That was a read I would never have seen. Slightly downhill, with a ridge to cross, I hit the putt pretty hard to make sure it rolled clear past the hole and Charles liked its chances. As the ball slowed down past the hole, as if pulled by a magnetic force, it turned around in a 180-degree loop and started a new course straight for the hole. It would be stretching editorial license too far to say I holed it—no fake news here—but it stopped less than a foot shy of the cup for a tap-in par. I won’t forget the candy cane putt. Another cut-down 6-iron found the 16th green and left me the only genuine birdie chance of my round from 12 feet, with a hint of right-to-left. With that back-left pin position my putt was one all Masters viewers have watched a million times. I had a clear vision of how the ball would turn into the hole, but it wasn’t to be. It wasn’t a bad putt but it skirted around the lip for another tap-in par. I was moderately ecstatic but tried to keep it contained. This was the only round when I wanted pace of play to slow down. I didn’t want it to end and could not believe it as we marched up the 18th (which, as you may know, really is much steeper than in the pictures). But the round did end, and I walked back up to the Champions’ Locker Room with a single, clear thought: now I wanted to play the course again more than I did in the first place. Augusta National had not been brutal after all. It was the golfing experience of my lifetime—but in future I will pack my own clubs for the Masters, just in case.
This was the only round when I wanted pace of play to slow down. I didn’t want it to end