By Amy Nutt
Sports Illustrated

"How Green Was My Valet" or Please Pass the MasterCard

The color green is to Augusta National and its environs what red is to Nebraska and its Cornhuskers. It is everywhere, from green-jacketed hotel parking valets to the green plastic packaging for the Augusta National's cheese and pimento sandwiches.

Sitting in traffic on my way to the Masters on Thursday morning, a sign in front of a Bojangles restaurant catches my eye, advertising, in big green letters, "Masters Special, 99 cents." I think to myself, no doubt hoping vainly: Green eggs and ham? It's a tough decision, but I opt against stopping. It is much too important to get to the course today. Not for the first round of the 1996 Masters. For the shopping.

You probably didn't know this, but there are really two sporting activities during Masters week. One is played with a set of clubs, the other with a fistful of dollars--or credit cards, or travelers' checks. Augusta National's golf store is only five years old, but it has seen a lot of green since 1991. Club officials won't release any dollar figures, and they won't tell you how many people come through their store's portals, but rest assured Augusta's shoppers number in the hundreds of thousands and their credit card bills, all totaled, must reach into the millions.

Not wanting to be left out of any Master's experience, when I get to the course I head immediately for the golf store and decide to deliberate carefully before adding my meager contribution to Augusta's coffers.

After a cursory perusal, the obvious choice would appear to be some sort of article of clothing--a tee shirt, a hat, perhaps even a windbreaker. The windbreaker, of course, is out--it's a patch of nylon so thin you can roll it up and stuff it into the toe of your sneaker...and it costs $53. Excuse me?

I could go, of course, for the $20 tee. Where else can you buy a green cotton tee shirt emblazoned with the ugliest logo in golf--a yellow map of the United States with a red flag stuck in its southeastern corner? Nah. I may be an Oscar Madison look-alike, but I do have some fashion standards.

You can really get just about anything at Augusta's golf store--for the beach, for camping, for work, for a wine and cheese party, for your computer, for making phone calls, for sitting, or standing, or lounging, or for that matter, for playing golf. And there is absolutely every conceivable kind of leather, canvas, and nylon bag, including: satchels, backpacks, fanny packs, golf packs, makeup cases, briefcases, shoulder bags, golf bags and gym bags. You can even buy baby clothes with the Masters logo, though exactly what it would mean to a two-year-old, I have no idea. Thankfully, the $24 infant-sized golf shoes, complete with tiny spikes, do not seem to be jumping off the counter this morning.

There are at least 200 people squeezed into this basketball court-sized store and no one is going anywhere--they can't. Many customers seem to be buying in bulk. When I ask one of the women working the 18 registers what kind of numbers she's been ringing up, she replies, "We're not allowed to say." Instead I ask a nearby Pinkerton security guard who is very accommodating. She saw a man on Monday purchase $3,000 worth of ties and belts alone and later that day watched another man rack up a cool $15,000 worth of Masters' merchandise. But the guard says that that's nothing compared to what people will be buying today and during the next three days of the tournament.

I continue my search, chastened, but resolved to find something I can actually afford. The white terry-cloth robe for $90 seems out. As does the set of four brass-edged coasters which is going for a jaw-dropping 173 bucks. The set of six wine glasses, however, seems a bargain at $30.

Unwilling to settle on anything yet, I forge onward, arriving at the items kept under glass. While I'm trying to figure out exactly why someone would buy a 14k-gold ball marker for $130 a pop, I overhear a middle-aged man ask a stocky red-headed kid next to him how old he is. Red-headed kid: "Eighteen." Middle-aged man: "Perfect. Same age as my son. Can I borrow you for a minute to ask you something? It's a coolness thing."

Hmmm. The coolness thing. This could be a problem. I may need to start eliminating some possible items. I'm thinking the green and black checked hats are out of the question. So are the green-and-white golf saddle shoes, and probably the green cardigan sweater vest. I'm thinking now maybe the mousepad, at least it's practical. Or the bookmark, subtle. Or even the Masters phone card. Of course there are all those golf items, too: a sleeve of balls (yikes, nine bucks!), a towel, a yardage book. Boring.

I watch dozens of other buyers, their green, hand-held shopping baskets filled to the brim with assorted hats and pins and shirts and ties and I wonder what's wrong with me that I can't decide. Then, all of a sudden, as I begin to make my way forlornly to the exit, I see it. I see what I want. It's perfect. Aesthetically pleasing, yet practical. Small, but unique. And only six dollars. How can I go wrong? I pick up the white and green plastic container. Yep, perfect. Masters Sun-Block.