It’s official, folks. I have Masters fever.
This time of year brings a certain buzz to my city, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t get into it like a kid gets into Christmas. With the tournament comes crazy traffic, crowded restaurants, national news crews, and a mass exodus of locals who rent their homes to excited golf patrons.
As a child, my “spring break” was always Masters week, (schools still do that, of course) so I think my anticipation of the tournament is fairly deep-rooted. I went to my first Masters Tournament as a kid in 1990, on a Sunday with my dad. He insisted I wear my Sunday dress and take a hat, and he donned a spring sport coat and slacks. I’ve been lucky enough to attend the tournament many times since then, but I’ll never forget that first visit to the Augusta National with him – eating egg salad sandwiches, watching Nick Faldo win the green jacket and falling asleep on the way home. A perfect Masters Sunday.
In a few short weeks, the flowers will be blooming (and pollen will be everywhere), the temperatures will rise, and we’ll all start to change out our winter wear for tournament worthy attire. All Augustans will feel the spotlight that the Augusta National brings to our city. We’ll walk amongst those lucky enough to have the “badge” that gets them inside the gates. They will experience our southern hospitality – our polite nature. On their way to “the course” they’ll see the manicured lawns of Summerville, a neighborhood known for its historic stately homes and charming bungalows. We’ll show them why Augusta is special and why we love it here. And in just a few short days of visiting, they’ll love it, too. (Heck, even Sherman, who burned most of the South, left Augusta be. If we could win him over, we’re pretty much good-to-go.)
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