AUGUSTA, Ga. — Not like this.
Not at his knees.
Early Friday afternoon, on Augusta National’s 2nd hole, Bernhard Langer slapped his tee ball ahead, then creaked himself left, begging for more. He needed it. The hole is 575 yards long. And at 67 years young, he focused on only the last word of the last sentence. Long. Playing his final Masters this week, after 40 previous starts and green jackets in 1985 and 1993, the German earnestly revealed earlier in the week that ANGC was too brawny for him now — and that he actually should’ve tapped out a while ago.
“I think the goal,” Langer said, “if I’m not mistaken, is to have the players hit similar irons into the green as they did in the 1960s or ’80s or 2000, whenever it was. They probably are very, very close to that. Not for me, though.
“I realized again yesterday, I probably should have quit several years ago.”
Finality. The thought comes for us all at some point, sometimes at our own discretion, sometimes not. Reflection follows, via a most existential question, one that’s under our own control — but determined by everyone else.
How will I be remembered?
At the Masters, how would Langer?
Like this, actually.
REMEMBER THAT TEE SHOT ON NO. 2? Seconds after he’d hit it, near his bag, to his ball and anyone who’d listen, Langer whispered, “Hit a sprinkler head — or two.” Langer’s always been like that. Self-deprecating. Self-effacing. It comes from where he comes from. Born in a village of 800. Son of Erwin, a bricklayer, and Wally, a waitress. Taught himself golf early on, on a range where his brother had been a caddie. They found a member’s discarded clubs. They had bamboo shafts, which probably aren’t on the rack at Golf Galaxy. Langer fell in love, though.
But what was a Masters?
“You know, I don’t recall the exact day or year when I heard about the Masters Tournament,” Langer said, “but it was certainly not easy. It was not on television when I was a child. Actually, we didn’t even have a television until I was about 12 years old, I think. My dad couldn’t afford one. Then it only had three channels. I’m sure the Masters wasn’t on one of those three channels.
“Eventually, when I was an assistant pro, I probably got a hold of some golf magazines at the club where I worked, and in April, the Masters, I’m sure somebody reported about it, so it must have happened then. But it was this far out there — America was far away. American golfers were supposed to be the greatest and the best. It was all kind of a dream. I didn’t even know I was going to become a tournament player. My goals were just to be good in Europe.
“Then as I became one of the better Europeans, obviously my dream stretched out and my goals went across the ocean, as well.”
His trophy case is as golden as his still-mostly-blond hair. Forty-two wins on the formerly named European Tour. The two Masters wins. A record 47 victories on the PGA Tour Champions circuit. Four times, he overcame the putting yips, too. Monday, he shared that he once hit 33 of 36 greens in a tournament, only to shoot 11 over, miss the cut and question whether he was done.
To that last note, there’s at least some irony in the fact that on Friday morning, about 15 minutes before his 11:49 Augusta National tee time, Langer signed yellow Masters flags for a group of kids near the practice green adjacent to the driving range. One walked away toward his family holding the flag tightly.
REMEMBER THAT SECOND HOLE? Langer had the honors there after a par on 1. He had the honors on 3 after another par on 2. He had the honors on 4 after a birdie on 3, via a lovely short iron to 8 feet. Thursday, during the first round, he’d shot a two-over 72. Now he was one-over. His goodbye day was looking more like just a good day, with byes on delay. Weekend at Bernie’s? That would include a tee time. He bogeyed No. 4. But he birdied No. 8, another monster par-5. Drive, fairway metal, wedge, putt. Four.
Langer then birdied No. 12, the middle of the Amen Corner triumvirate.
Even par. The cut was projected to be two-over.
Family members walked quickly along the rope line. They weren’t hard to spot. They all wore hats. Some marked the years Langer won the Masters. Some said “Langer Liker.” That’s a nice alliteration. Ken Griffey Jr. was following along, too. The baseball Hall-of-Famer is shooting photos for Getty this week. Cool gig. On the practice putting green, Langer posed for him. He parred 13 and 14. On 15, he found the fairway from the tee. He found it again with his second shot. He found water with his third. “He worked so hard,” a family member said. Langer’s ball yo-yo’ed backward and off the green, only he’d actually flighted his ball in to avoid the string pull.
“I would do the very same thing again,” he said. “I thought I had the perfect club.”
He was on the cut line.
Langer parred 16, after an aggressive tee shot to a pin tucked into the right-front corner. Langer parred 17. On to 18. Maybe his last-ever Masters hole. Maybe not. Georgia breezes were blowing left to right. Langer yawned. Yawned! Ho-hum. Maybe his last-ever tee shot was accurate, but lacking. He hit it 275 yards. Two-hundred and seventy remained. From there, Langer hit a 3-hybrid that kicked left of the green. He’d hoped for a gust that never came. He needed an up-and-down.
The ‘up,’ from left of the green, came up short. The ‘down’ touched the right side of the hole, but nothing more. The patrons clapped. Playing partners Will Zalatoris, age 28, and Noah Kent, age 20, shook Langer’s hand. They’d nearly collapsed at the missed putt. Langer saluted the 1,000 or so patrons around the 18th green. Near the TV tower, his wife, Vikki, joined him and they walked to scoring.
