Us Masters

Look at the embedded video below. Not a leaf out of place. Not an errant grain of sand in the perfectly tended bunkers. Not a single majestic magnolia daring to burst forth in anything but full bloom. And classical music. Always with the classical music. Who knew Yo-Yo Ma was a golf fan?

Now, if you can bear it, take a quick squizz at the Masters theme song video. It’s basically more of the same. One of the commenters on YouTube says it’s the music they want at their wedding. Music for a funeral, more like.

Held in America’s Deep South in Augusta, Georgia each April, the Masters is the world’s most prestigious golf tournament. I’ve never been, but from where I sit, it has always looked like a good excuse for crusty old men to get bleary-eyed about the good old days, when lawns were always neatly cut, walls were not grafittied and everyone had three or four of those nice helpful slaves to help pick the cotton.

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Pssst, Tiges. I know you’re busy with the Masters starting tonight and all, but I’ve got this ripper idea I want you to hear. You might’ve thought car park sex with cocktail waitresses was mind-blowing, but forget it. This is the real deal.

Anyway, here’s the idea. Be yourself. That’s it. I could go on all day, but that’s the guts of it. Be the guy you really are. Or the guy you were, before the advisers and minders hooked their manicured claws into you.

Fact is Tiger, since you burst onto the world stage winning your first Masters in 1997, your golf has been dynamic as your off-course persona has been as dull. We fans have always kinda felt that if we were going to have a good time at an American billionaire’s BBQ, we’d try Warren Buffet’s house before we rocked up with a six-pack to the Woods mansion.

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