The Masters is a golfer’s mecca. They don’t have a wait-list anymore because it was decades long.
Somehow people I know find their way there. Every year. They have the correct ticket, passkey, or TSA Brain Scan to gain entrance. They are post-boomer age widows. I know they aren’t going there for the golf (even though they both play 3 times a week) they are going their to cruise guys.
BIL works at the Masters and hires his kids and kid’s friends to do stuff. Pretty neat gig. His work doesn’t require him to do anything, just to be there if needed.
I would love to go. Even work.
But I should never succumb to the lure.
I am a fan.
The Masters wants patrons.
I have a problem with authority assigned because of a one connection to the ultimate authority. Money. “Inherited authority.” Most places these golf nazies are called marshals.
All golf tournaments have that same “inherited authority. I’ve behaved myself at PGA tournaments. Even when the marshal standing 100 yards away from the golfer raises his “STFU” frat-boy hazing paddle, I stop talking or at least whisper.
For example, have you noticed the nazies standing behind the tee box or around the green? They will raise their STFU board before the shot (correct) but then don’t lower it until after the ball is way out of range – either down the fairway, or in the hole.
Even when the guy yells “get in the hole” the golf nazi will be standing with the STFU paddle raised in the air.
They are everywhere. “Walk/Don’t Walk” “Walk Here” “Quiet” “Don’t Piss on that Tree” “Stop Farting” “Don’t Burp” “No Smoking” “Wear Shoes” “Wear collared shirt” “Wear pants.”
Tiger farts, why can’t I? Tiger and David Feherty, a CBC commentator have a farting contest. After Tiger’s 50th win…
…he came out of the scorer’s tent, I offered him my hand, which he grasped, and I heard an almost imperceptible squeak. He looked me in the eye, and deadpanned, I win’.
Rules. Arbitrary Rules. Snooty Rules. Illegal Rules (no women members allowed.)
After two hours I’m sure I would pop off to one of the ancient tallywhackers and would get tossed. Perhaps even arrested.
The nazies let barefoot kids run amok on their precious course but I guarantee you, if I picked an azalea I would be pounced on like lawyers on a asteroid impact.
If I ever get a chance to go to theBig Tournament Where Women Never Tee Off I’m taking General Petraeus with me – in his fatigues. Then we see who as problems with authority.