So we went to the Masters this weekend (and after what we just wrote, probably won't be invited back as credentialed media.) It went about as well as you could imagine that going, but we did get to do the following things:
- Drive a 707 hp car there and back
- Drive that 707 hp car past the gates of Augusta National revving it and generally acting like a blessed idiot
- Eat an egg salad sandwich
- Catch a glimpse of Dan Jenkins in his natural element
Most importantly, we saw Spurrier. He was standing at a green watching a tense putting scene, wearing a garnet and white striped golf shirt and a visor, and looking like he rolled straight out of the golf cart and into the car and onto the members' parking lot and onto the course.
Honestly it was like catching a Snow Leopard in its native environment. The guy we were with joked about writing a "Hatin' Ass Spurrier" post on the spot. A stranger in front of us looked back, and looked over at Spurrier, and did the math and suddenly--well shit, suddenly he did the triangulation and realized at least one avatar of fictional Hatin' Ass Spurrier and real Spurrier were in the same place.
And we could have gone over and said hi. Spurrier's super-approachable, and we've talked to him before, but this was different. He looked so happy and in his element, like a Snow Leopard dragging a mountain goat back to his den. Talking to him would have ruined the moment for him and me. There he was, in the Golf Vatican, and here we were, walking around in a place we did not feel to even an nth of a degree of feeling something. It would have felt totally and utterly wrong, like trying to as a person in the throes of tongue-speaking about information on their federal taxes.
P.S. You probably shouldn't go to the Masters if you don't like golf.
P.P.S. It's still a pretty good place to buy a hat for your dad, though.