Masters blasters

The character of the tournament has been lost

AUGUSTA, Ga. -- So I was having lunch Wednesday with all the swells on the back veranda of the clubhouse, and seated at the next table were two generations of iconic tour wife: Julie Crenshaw and Amy Mickelson , along with the better half (and I do mean better) of swing instructor Rick Smith . Naturally, I took the chair closest to their table so I could eavesdrop on their conversation. Eventually Amy sashayed over for some idle chit-chat, and for a change she asked me questions.

"Is that the first tee?" she gasped, motioning toward a distant patch of Earth that, only last year, had been the practice putting green. The first tee has been moved all the way back to downtown Augusta, more or less, completely altering the geography around the clubhouse. Squinting toward the horizon, Amy asked, "Where did they put the 10th tee? Is there any room over there?"

Remember, she has spent the better part of the past decade tromping around Augusta National, but even an astute fan like Phil 's Missus has been thrown for a loop by the seismic changes that have so altered the landscape of the Masters. Ever since I arrived here Tuesday afternoon I've felt this same weird sense of dislocation. Everything is just a little different around this event these days, and the course changes are only the most obvious manifestation of a tournament enduring an identity crisis.

Augusta National used to be an expansive canvas that rewarded freewheeling artistic expression. Seemingly overnight this risk-reward masterpiece famous for producing back-nine heroics has been reinvented as a long, tight, penal, U.S. Open-style track on which grinding for par is suddenly a game plan. It's not just the course that has been altered, but potentially the entire character of the competition.

More strange doings are afoot. Augusta National's hawkish chairman, Hootie Johnson , has been threatening to write his own rules. The Masters also disinvited (and dissed) a handful of its past champions, a shocking departure for a tournament that long has been a slave to its antiquated traditions. Jack Nicklaus was invited, but because of a bad back he's not playing, either.

Meanwhile, Byron Nelson , 90, declined to strike the ceremonial first tee shot for the first time in memory. (What a quitter.) So to recap, we've got a new course, no Jack, no Byron, and no chance to make eagle. How long will it be before the tournament moves to the TPC of Augusta and becomes the Hyundai Masters presented by Thighmaster? Is the winner suddenly going to get a flamingo-colored pair of Sansabelt slacks?

If it sounds like I've spent a little too much time stewing about all of this, well, I have, because long after Amy had departed from the veranda the boys and I were still waiting for our sandwiches. It took an hour and 20 minutes to get three junior clubs, an unheard lack of service in a clubhouse that usually runs like clockwork. Our waiter -- yes, this was his first Masters -- said that some new computers had malfunctioned, creating a backup in the kitchen. Egads. The Masters has always been a timeless institution, a beacon of tradition and consistency in a fast-food world. If all these changes constitute progress, you can have it.

Sports Illustrated senior writer Alan Shipnuck covers golf for the magazine and is in Augusta for the Masters.

 

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