Souhan: Masters moments, big and small, are to be treasured
AUGUSTA, Ga. — The woman in the hat was in the way.
I was standing behind the first green at Augusta National Golf Club on Sunday afternoon. Jon Rahm was putting. A tall woman wearing a large, black hat was standing in front of me. If a plane had landed on the green, I would not have seen it.
Five hours later, Rahm, having won The Masters, walked off the 18th green and into the arms of a tall woman wearing a large, black hat.
What's it like to cover The Masters?
Like that.
The Masters is the rare major golf event — maybe the only one — that doesn't feel like a carnival. There aren't tents everywhere, and the concessions stands that do exist are tastefully placed and decorated, to blend in with the green-on-green theme, and the prices are reasonable.
Golf is the only major sporting event where the attendees don't know where to stand, or look, and perhaps the only event where the celebrities in attendance walk around with us mortals — like those old ESPN commercials in which the athletes, mascots and anchors all bumble around the office.
There are no luxury suites or media areas on the course, and writers can't get inside the ropes, as they can for other tournaments.
So standing behind a champions' wife isn't unusual. In years past, I've walked by Larry Fitzgerald, Jr., Adam Thielen, Steve Hutchinson, Lindsey Vonn, and Tom Lehman, just hanging around like everyone else.
Standing behind Kelly Cahill and her hat on Sunday reminded me of my few personal favorite moments at Augusta National:
It was 2005, my first Masters. I was following Tiger Woods during an early round.
Off the second tee, he hit a dead pull, clipping a branch and leaving him with what had to be one of the shortest and worst drives of his life. He was behind a tree, not far down the fairway, and he tried for a hero shot but blocked it into the trees on the other side of the fairway.
His then-wife, Elin Nordegren, was walking along with the rest of us, and she was emoting in two languages, saying something like, "Oh, no, Tiger, oh, no.''
Then Woods punched out to the fairway, hit it tight and made par.
On Sunday in 2005, I was again following Tiger as he dueled with Chris DiMarco on the back nine. Guessing that the 18th hole would be pivotal, I left the 16th green after Woods hit a poor tee shot. As I got halfway up the hill, I heard a roar unlike any other. Woods had chipped in. I had missed it.It's hard for most of us to relate to the world's best golfers, which is why covering Minnesota's Sammy Schmitz when he won the Mid-Am and qualified for the Masters in 2016 was enlightening and rewarding.
Schmitz played well until the 12th hole of his second round, and missed the cut, but I got to walk along and watch as a tremendous player tried to navigate a course that often befuddles the greats, and his instructor, Joe Gruepner of Braemar, made me feel like I was inside the ropes the whole time.
Last year, I was following Tom Hoge of Fargo in his first Masters, and he hit a shot to the right of the second green. Suddenly, The Masters felt like the 3M Open.
Jim Lehman, Tom's brother and Hoge's agent, showed up with a bunch of Minnesota golf fans. Hoge asked for a ruling, and the rules official turned out to be former Vikings linebacker Mark Dusbabek, one of the first athletes I met when I moved to Minnesota.
Hoge got up and down.
There used to be media seating in a small grandstand next to the 12th tee. There were days when I would spend as much time as I could sitting there, watching the 11th green, 12th hole and 13th tee shots. Patrons and reporters are not allowed to carry phones, so Amen Corner was silent unless the fans decided to cheer.
It was heaven — assuming heaven bans cell phones.
