Hello, friends, and happy Masters week to all who celebrate! I am here on the grounds at Augusta National for the very first time (unless we’re counting the two hours I spent here in 2017 with my dad before the course closed due to rain.)
As perhaps you’ve heard, reaching Augusta is an odyssey in itself. I got here on Monday morning courtesy of a 4 a.m. wakeup, a 5:50 a.m. flight out of Boston and a two-plus-hour drive from Atlanta with my coworkers. I was considering filing a complaint about the early wake-up here, but I’ll spare you because the truth is that I was at the Masters by lunchtime, and that feels like a silly thing to complain about.
Allow me to catch you up on the last 36 hours here at Augusta National.
Monday
I arrived at the media center around 12:30 p.m. on Monday and found my seat. The media center is, as everyone says, awe-inspiring — reminiscent of the newest academic building at a well-endowed university. Through the front doors is a massive, dual staircase that leads to the main room. There are about 15 rows of workstations with 30 or so seats across. I’m seated towards the top of the bullpen in between my coworkers (and close personal friends) Zephyr Melton and Dylan Dethier and near the press center’s upstairs area. The second floor is home to quite the snack station: all the food you can buy at Augusta, plus candy, fruit, donuts, a barista, a sit-down restaurant and more. On the first floor is the press room, and just outside there’s a handful of golf carts ready to drive you up to the course. It’s about a two-minute drive to the first tee.
I arrived at the media center in need of lunch and caffeine. I had a chicken sandwich with potato chips, but wasn’t sure what to order for coffee. I panicked a little when asked what I wanted, mostly because I didn’t know what my options were. Before I could formulate a sentence, the barista answered for me.
“How about an iced vanilla latte?”
I don’t know if it was a lucky guess, a reflection of how basic I look, or just a touch of Masters magic, but that’s been my exact go-to coffee order since I tried it for the first time at Riviera in February. The people around me chuckled when I pulled out my wallet. I didn’t realize everything was free in here.
My favorite spot to hang
After getting properly settled in on Monday, I headed toward the course for the first time, but I didn’t get far before I was stopped by the best people-watching spot on the property: the massive oak tree in the shadow of the clubhouse.
I stood outside the clubhouse and watched Ben Crenshaw greet players and caddies. I saw members treat their families and friends to lunch and players’ wives grabbing drinks. I headed back there Tuesday morning and saw Joe LaCava, the Schefflers and Max Homa, who has recently started calling me “Claire the superstar” when he sees me, which is excessively kind and definitely horrible for my ego level. There’s no huge divide between patrons and players at Augusta National. I think it’s for two reasons. One is that we’re all equally excited to be there, and the other is because patrons can’t shove their phones in players’ faces. There’s a calmer vibe here at Augusta National than there is at other events, and I think those reasons definitely play into why that is.
Tuesday
After facing a good deal of Washington Road traffic, my coworkers and I got to the course at around 8 a.m. on Tuesday. As I headed back toward the snack area to grab something to eat, my coworkers informed me that we’d actually be eating at The Bartlett Lounge. That’s right folks, there’s a full-on restaurant inside the media center here at Augusta National.
I went with a sausage, egg and cheese on a biscuit with a side of hash browns. After that, I grabbed another iced latte and buckled in for a morning of press conferences.
I bounced back and forth between the interview room and my workstation because as much as I enjoy watching press conferences in the flesh, no phones are allowed in there and I’m a social media manager here at GOLF. I have to keep all of our loyal followers updated on what’s happening.
A few minutes later, I ran into Smylie Kaufman, Colt Knost and Drew Stoltz having breakfast, so I sat with them for a few minutes. As someone who once played in the final group on Sunday at the Masters and is here on the media side this week, I feel like there’s a chance that Kaufman knows Augusta National a lot better than the rest of us. Then I headed to the merchandise building.
Merchandise
Having a big family is awesome … until you go to the Masters. Before I even arrived on site at Augusta, I had texts from my dad with specific orders for each of my four siblings and messages from friends and extended family asking (very politely) to get them something. I was happy to do it, but the small fortune I spent in the merchandise tent pushed back my retirement age back by at least three years.
The line to get into the building moved pretty quickly, and once I got in, I was off to the races. The scene inside the merchandise tent reminded me of the Easter egg hunts I’d go on with my 30 first cousins as a kid. I felt like I was racing the people around me to find the best thing as fast as I could, even though there’s no running nor any shortage of merchandise at Augusta National.
I think I’m used to items selling out at other tournaments, but that’s certainly not the case with t-shirts here. Just like at the snack station in the media center, the second you take something for yourself, it’s replaced almost immediately. The piles of t-shirts stay stocked.
The only line I waited in all day at Augusta was by the kids’ merchandise area. For whatever reason, there was a serious hold-up in the children’s apparel section on Tuesday afternoon. I knew that my 11-year-old sister wanted a light blue t-shirt in size 10-12. The fathers around me could not say the same about their own kids.
I don’t blame the dads for their lack of foresight. Usually, you can text for sizing help on little Jimmy. But without a phone, these guys were at a complete loss. I truly cannot overstate just how panicked some of these parents were when it was their time to order. I watched a handful of them describe their children to the young adults behind the counter as the Masters employees tried to estimate the size of a seven-year-old, on the other side of the country, off of a vague two-sentence description.
Shoutout to my dad, who thought ahead and sent me all of my siblings’ sizes weeks ago. (And, also, shoutout to myself for writing all those sizes down on a piece of paper to bring with me as I shopped.)
Walking the first nine
After a long morning, I returned to the course around 3 p.m. All the players were either on the second nine or had finished practicing for the day, which meant the perfect opportunity to walk the first nine my favorite way: alone. As much as I adore walking the course with my friends and coworkers, I think the best way to see a golf course is on your own. This way you’re not poking through crowds trying to catch a glimpse of the fairway, and you can go at your own pace.
I know everyone talks about the undulation at Augusta National, so I’ll spare you the “it’s so hilly!” discourse. Instead, I’ll tell you how tackling those hills felt. Obviously, the course is visually stunning, and today I learned that if you can keep your heart rate below a certain level, the walk isn’t too tough. It’s hilly enough that I’m glad I walked it alone. Had I walked with my coworkers, I wouldn’t be so winded that I’d be unable to keep a conversation, but I’d be just out of breath enough to grow conscious of it and start comparing my own breathing to those around me. On a semi-warm day like Tuesday, you’d probably worry more about breaking a sweat on your walk more than you’d actually sweat.
Walking the course felt kind of like I’d been dropped into the middle of a movie set. I started to recognize spots where I’d seen Tiger hit shots on television. I was also surprised by a few things, like the fact that you cross over the ninth hole to get from the first green to the second tee.
I also found myself instinctively reaching to check my phone more often than I’d like to admit. It’s become an involuntary reflex that I should probably work on, but I also found myself smiling when I remembered I didn’t have it with me. There’s some serious freedom in that! The only other time I’ve been so in the dark about the passage of time is when I went on the Kairos Retreat in 2017 (my fellow Catholic college readers will know about that), where you step away from chronological time for a full weekend. Aaron Rodgers did a similar thing recently, though I can’t help but wonder why he didn’t just come to Augusta National instead.
My biggest takeaway from Monday and Tuesday here at Augusta National is that I’m all in on the no-phones thing. I’ve said hi to more people in the last 36 hours than I have in the last two weeks because I’m looking in front of me while I walk. I made conversation with people in the merchandise center instead of awkwardly checking for text messages. There’s none of the pressure to get “the perfect photo” that I feel at any (and possibly every) other event I go to, because it’s out of my hands. That, my friends, is extremely refreshing.