THE 18TH AT AUGUSTA

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted April 8, 2005)

My golf knowledge (and ability) may be limited, but my favorite golf shot of all time was made on the 18th at Augusta National..... by me.

The year was 1965, forty years ago. Some of my friends at WRDW-TV in Augusta convinced me to play in a press tournament the Augusta National held every year following the Masters. (I don't think they do it anymore).

Back then, when you played the Augusta National -- whether you were invited by a private member, or playing in a press tournament, or playing in the Masters Tournament, your bags were carried by club caddies.
Not even Jack Nicklaus or Arnold Palmer could bring their own caddies.

And here's something else....
Look at old film of any Masters Tournament before 1983, and you'll notice that all the caddies are black, because every club caddie working there was black.

That was the tradition. And those guys knew every blade of grass on that course.

Anyhow, back to my game. Off the first tee, I hit a screaming shot, straight down the middle. At that moment, anyone who didn't know me might have assumed that I actually knew what I was doing.

Following our initial tee shots, through a formula known only to them, the caddies would activate some kind of wager among themselves on the golfers they were carrying for.
My caddie apparently thought he had a winner.

But when my next shot went sideways, into the woods, he quickly realized he was carrying for a hacker, and that this would be a long, frustrating and unprofitable day for him. In fact, he actually abandoned me after about 9 holes and left another caddie carrying two sets of bags.

Now, I must tell you that those club caddies knew their stuff.
If I had somehow been able to put the ball where my caddie said to put it, I could have owned that course. But alas, that's the hard part about golf.... putting the ball where it's supposed to go.
Fortunately, I completely missed the ball only a few times, (a practice swing, of course).

Several hours later -- after becoming quite familiar with the woods and water that lined the beautiful course -- I approached the world famous 18th (par 4).
My third shot had somehow miraculously landed pin high, only about 25 feet from the green....... not 25 feet from the hole, 25 feet from the edge of the massive green. Still, it was a spectacular shot for me. And there I was, walking up to the 18th at Augusta. This was the stuff dreams are made of.

At this point, my hope was simply to get the ball on the green and perhaps -- with two putts -- I could make a double bogey.... which could have been my best hole of the day.

I chipped toward the green and, somehow, as though the ball had eyes, it rolled closer and closer to the hole.
And then -- miracle of miracles -- plunk... into the hole.

My final score, 116. My head was in the clouds. I had walked in the footsteps of the legends, and I had parred the 18th at Augusta.

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