Bob Wisener
On second thought
People still watch the Masters on an April Sunday even if compelling reasons change over the years.
According to best information, Jack and Arnold no longer play at Augusta (may we briefly dispense with last names for winners of a combined 10 green jackets). Palmer, in fact, has joined a heavenly foursome likely to include Ben Hogan, Payne Stewart and a fourth player of your choice. (Golf, at least in earthly form, is often a haven for benders of the truth or a married man with issues at home. I laughed when a church I attended once thought about hosting a golf tournament, chiming in that is the game that someone shoots five, yells "Fore" and marks 3 on his scorecard.)
Some of the best golf writers are dead, with Dan Jenkins springing for refreshments on the 19th hole. No Arkansas spring was complete without Orville Henry filing copy from Augusta National Golf Club. "Ah, the greens," he might begin, and the reader could picture himself on Magnolia Lane with Georgia on his mind. (It was there that Frank Broyles, then the University of Arkansas athletic director, once received news that the school required a new men's basketball coach. Trust me, that search did not produce a John Calipari, like Hunter Yurachek's recent foray into the coaching workforce.)
Tiger and Phil, two other names in Masters lore, are still around but one would not expect either man to don another green jacket after a Sunday triumph. No, we make do with lesser, more brittle gods even if Scottie Scheffler, Jon Rahm and Brooks Koepka are coin of the realm. Rory McIlroy is taking forever to score a Masters victory, thus completing a career grand slam of the majors, but remember the perseverance of past winner Sergio Garcia. And, Sergio did it with his putter, long the weak club in the Spaniard's bag.
Patrick Reed claimed before the Masters one year that he was among the world's five best golfers, prompting a call to a Little Rock man who also pounded a typewriter but, unlike me, wielded a stick, for clarification. Reed won a Masters title (although perhaps not that year) and southpaw Bubba Watson, whose style was effective if hardly cerebral, won two, same as Seve Ballesteros and some others.
Greg Norman, famously, earned no green jacket. He became the Alf Landon, the Susan Lucci (although she did win a Daytime Emmy) of golfers, often with buzzard's luck on a major Sunday, his only two such titles coming in the British Open. Norman's 1996 final-round fade rates with the shower scene of "Psycho" as R-rated. The Shark became known for the Saturday Slam, blowing each major at least once after leading through 54 holes. Nick Faldo has Greg to thank for a third green jacket in '96, 10 years after Nicklaus won his record-extending sixth with a little help from the Australian.
It is perhaps forgotten that retiring commentator Verne Lundquist intoned, "Yes, sir!!!" after Norman, not just Nicklaus, holed out at No. 17 in 1986. Neither Greg nor Tom Kite could close the deal at the 72nd hole that day, and Nicklaus left bear tracks all over the lot.
The names on the marquee change but we still watch the Masters. As on the first Saturday in May at Churchill Downs, when the average American sees himself in the winner's circle after the Kentucky Derby, Joe Six Pack at home dreams of walking down the 18th at Augusta on Sunday with a two-stroke lead. The extra stroke presumably would come in handy if the player drives left into the sand bunker or misses the green right and has a tricky chip ahead.
All with Jim Nantz or someone reminding us that "60 Minutes" is next on CBS.