Palmer striding onto the green made a spectacular view in color, and Bob Daley had it. Somehow, the lighting on Palmer, and the emerald turf mingling with the shade of the pines, and the pond and flowers in the background, combined to represent, in Chirkinian's mind, everything the Masters stood for.
"Good shot, Bob," Frank said. "Beautiful. Look at that Picasso!"
The director's ecstasy was interrupted by Yvonne Connors again knocking on the trailer door and peeking in.
"I don't know what to do," she said. " Mr. Roberts just called and said the TV set in his cottage isn't working right and he wants somebody over there to fix it immediately."
"Terrific," said Frank, glued to his screens.
MacPhail looked at Dolph. Dolph looked at MacPhail. They both turned and looked at Lou Scanna. "O.K.," said Lou, getting up. He edged toward the door, poked his head out and called to a technician, "Would you go over to Roberts' house and kick the set, or something?"
Jack Nicklaus, at the moment, was having worse problems. He was virtually out of sight in the woods on the 18th hole. Middlecoff's voice came into the truck. "Frank, we're gonna have to get big Jack in those woods. This is a real important shot."
"Thanks a lot, Cary," Frank said. "I'll tell you what I can do. I can hit a couple of trees with Armenian lightning."
As Nicklaus thrashed around in the woods, Palmer was preparing to putt for a birdie on the 16th. Chirkinian stood up.
"We need a little luck here, babies," he said.