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Right before the rains came, Vivian Fargason (left) and her brother Reid pose for a picture in front of the Augusta National clubhouse on April 9, 2019.
Friends, the greatest week of the year is finally upon us.
Later today, we’ll hear Jim Nantz of CBS Sports say the nine words that, to this day, still make me bawl like a small child:
“From the Augusta National Golf Club, in Augusta, Georgia…”
The moment someone says they’ve been inside the gates of the Augusta National Golf Club, home of this week’s Masters golf tournament, people begin rolling their eyes in envy.
I really can’t say I blame them. It’s a rare honor and a privilege to visit the greatest golf course on the planet which just happens to be located in the greatest state in our union.
So, when I preface this story by telling you all that I’ve had the opportunity to travel down Magnolia Lane a handful of times, you’ll no doubt shake your heads when I say that my family and I should receive a “mulligan visit.”
My fervor for heaven’s golf course was instilled in me by my father. As a child, he had the opportunity to drive from Savannah and attend countless tournaments in Augusta by walking up to the gate and buying a ticket. No waiting list or lottery required.
Times sure have changed. With the excessive demand for tickets, a trip to Augusta National nowadays could well be your last.
In 2019, the unthinkable happened. My family and I won the lottery for tickets to the Tuesday practice round. When the tickets arrived the mail, I was so happy I literally hugged the mailman.
While my son Reid and I had gone together before, those tickets gave me the opportunity to take my wife Renee and daughter Vivian. I was so excited to take them to see the place that brings me so much joy.
We walked through the gates that morning and around the back of the famed clubhouse, when all of a sudden, it started to rain.
We decided to make our way down to the famed Amen Corner, the moniker given to the eleventh, twelfth, and thirteenth holes.
Walking down the tenth fairway, we decided to stop at the green and snap a quick picture, when we heard the most annoying sound in the world: The dreaded weather horn.
Augusta National cleared the course and made all the patrons walk back to their cars due to lightning in the area.
We got back to our car at 9:00 a.m. For the next six hours we sat, ever impatient, waiting to get back on the course.
At 3:00 p.m., we walked back through the gate. We had just enough time to stop by the pro shop and buy a few trinkets before making the five hour drive back to our home in Tallahassee.
In the worst kind of irony, Renee and Vivian drove to Augusta, had tickets to The Masters, and only got to see one stinking hole.
It’s unfathomable to get lucky enough to be selected for the lottery, yet not have the chance to see all the things that make Augusta National, Augusta National. It’s heartbreaking to come that close and not touch it.
The only solace I have is the picture from that day of my two youngest, rain-soaked kids hanging on my wall, and it will one day go to the grave with me.
I get it, no one will feel sorry for me or my family. We walked through the gates when so many others can’t.
But, if Augusta National Chairman Fred Ridley is reading this, the Fargasons really do deserve a mulligan.