VERY disturbing column! Maybe it’s because you are so young and callous, or maybe because you’re still peeved about the Steelers parody? How, could anyone in their right mind suggest that watching the Masters from his/her couch is better than watching it live and in person?

IF I were sitting on my couch on that Thursday morning in 1999, would Sal and I have been able to see Gene Sarazen, Byron Nelson and Sam Snead tee off as the Honorary Starters? Watch Snead rip one down the right side of the 1st fairway, into perfect position for his approach to the 1st green? (A better first swing than 80% of the Tour players we watched that day!) Then listen to him, as he acknowledged the crowd, call out his home phone number and offer, “Anyone wants a game, give me a call.” Both he and Sarazen would be dead before the year was over.

Sitting on my couch, could I watch as a single marshall, without any sort of uniform or sign, hold up his hand and silence 15,000 people? Or listen to him admonish a patron who stood to see a shot from the 10th fairway, “Sir, ya’ll in a sit’in area, If’n you’d like to stand, please move behind the ropes.” The man sat, and no one stood for the rest of the time we were there.

Sitting on the couch, could you walk across the 17th fairway on Thursday morning, after hearing and reading about the new “rough,” that was to punish the golfers for the low scores posted in ‘98? Stop, stick you finger into the “rough,” and have it come up to the 2nd knuckle of your index finger? I said to Sal, “Damn, they think this is “rough? What would happen if they tried to hit out of the cabbage around the 15th at New Bedford?”

Sitting on my couch, I couldn’t walk into one of the concession tents, buy a egg salad and pimento sandwich, a bag of chips and a large lemonade, all for under $5.00? (I couldn’t make it home for that money!)

Laying on the couch, could I feel the anxiety, and I mean feel it, as the best players in the world looked at the 11th green, from the tee box. trying to summon the nerve to hit a ball 160 yds, across Rae’s Creek, between the bunkers, into the back to front sloping green?

Slumped on the couch, you CANNOT appreciate the fact that there are 66,000 people walking around Augusta National each day. And not once did you hear a, “YOU DA MAN!” or any sort of loud voice. There wasn’t any pushing and shoving at the turnstiles every morning. Men allowed women to proceed them, whenever paths crossed. Young people said, “Yes Sir and no Madam,” to their elders, and it wasn’t phony. Southern hospitality as it’s best.

Feet on the arm, could you listen as a member described the greens? Forget, “Bikini wax,” this guy offered to bet anyone standing within earshot, that he would place your ball on every green, 0 shots, and you couldn’t break par. $1,000.00 that you wouldn’t take less than 72 putts! He found no takers.

Curled up on the couch, would you get a shiver down your spine, as you stood at the 18th green, watching DL3 finish his round, and then hear a tremendous roar echo up from valley, knowing it was, “The Shark?”
You didn’t have to look at the scoreboard to know that he’d just eagled 13, and was within one of Olezabal. Then, a moment later, a second roar, as Ole dropped a bird on top of Greg’s ball, to regain the two stroke advantage.

Standing and stretching, after getting off the couch, early Sunday evening, the tournament over, Could you stand there in amazement, looking at the departing 66,000 people, and not see one paper cup, not one napkin, not one sandwich wrapper, NOTHING on the ground but grass?

And finally, there is no way that you could ever experience, from your couch, the thrill of standing on the 18th green of a beautiful course in Aiken, SC, after rolling in a snake of a downhill 30 footer, and have the Japanese gentleman, who,13 holes earlier, had called you, “Robster belly,” and you had turned to Sal and said, “Remind me when we get back to the room to call General LeMay and find out how we missed this guy,” run up and hug you! Hugging isn’t that big in Japan, but ball busting is universal. I guess he enjoyed the job Sal and I had done on him.

Sorry John, bad advise in this column!