The 12th

There was absolute and funereal silence now. It's quiet at Amen Corner, anyway. The fans are kept about 20 yards behind the 12th tee. But now there was nothing. No groans, no tears, no muttering, no go-get-'ems—just dead, cold silence, the kind you would get in the car for about three miles after your dad blew up.

Weiskopf's forehead was so hot you could stir-fry on it. Drop again. Same spot again. Splash again. Hitting 11.

One person in the crowd began crying. It was Weiskopf's wife, Jeanne. You make big plans, rent a house, bring the kids, hire a nanny, fly to Augusta, go to all the pretournament parties, and then, in one two-minute span of golf, it all goes splerch. Standing next to Jeanne was their close friend Tom Culver. Culver hugged her and said, tenderly. "Jeanne..."

"Yes, Tom?" she said, choking on the heartache.

"You don't suppose he's using new balls, do you?"

Finally, Weiskopf hit his sixth ball to the back edge of the green, where, somehow, it stayed, and he two-putted for a 13, the highest score ever taken on any par-3, or par-4, in the history of the Masters. Tommy Nakajima had a 13 on number 13 in 1978, but at least that hole is a par-5.

If I were Weiskopf, here is how I would handle the obvious question the rest of my days. It's the way Palmer explained a 12 he made in the 1961 L.A. Open.

Q: "Thirteen? How the hell did you make 13 on a par-3?"

A: "Missed a 20-footer for 12."

When Weiskopf came to the hole the next day, he was mostly killing time until his plane left town. He had no choice but to go for the pin and try to make an eagle. He hit his first shot off the bank and into the water, and he chose not even to walk anywhere near the creek. He simply put another tee in the ground and hit again. "I thought my chances were better."