It’s sort of like a cynical grownup version of hoops in the driveway and HE SHOOTS HE SCOOOORES!! We’re just four old guys playing golf with no stakes whatsoever and all we’ve been doing for three days before we went to an actual golf course to play is watch the Masters on our television sets.
It’s become a little bit of a tradition, a round of golf on the second Sunday of April while the DVR covers the morning shift ’til I get home and wield the fast-forward for the fellas.
We take the same shots as the players playing the Masters on a much different golf course with very different results, but we get to be snarky about the TV announcers even while taking their parts, just because we think we’re funny, in our own little docudramas.
It was hard to be cynical about the Masters this year. The golf was so good, the characters so compelling, the result so satisfying, that fast forward was an option barely used. The reality of televised golf is the cameras stay mainly on the leaders, so someone like Jordan Spieth, so vividly a part of the story on Thursday, Friday and Saturday, was an afterthought by the back nine Sunday. No matter — we had a Spaniard and an Englishman doing sporting battle on the best golf course in America.
There is a rightness to Sergio Garcia slipping into the green jacket, and there is no one better equipped than Justin Rose to finish second gracefully.
The crack Grey Goatee Research geeks tell me it’s 2,882 miles from Augusta, Ga., to our pre-Masters Sunday round at Capitol City Golf and Commentary, but somehow golf — and television — bridges the distance.
And now and then, one of us’ll make a putt … he shoots … HE SCOOOORES!