Join the Club: YouTube Ignites Masters Memories
Augusta Today columnist John Patrick writes that looking back at the television coverage of past Masters rounds reminds him how the tournament has evolved over the years.
Seve Ballesteros of Spain plays from the trees during the Masters at the Augusta National Golf Club.
Allsport UK /AllsportI’m going to attribute this to age. That’s because at my age, I attribute everything to age.
The other night I fell down a YouTube rabbit hole. It would appear that Augusta National has posted almost all of the Masters final rounds. They’re wonderful and took me back to simpler times. I’m sorry, things were better “back then” (says the old guy).
Let’s start with the players. Although we didn’t know it at the time, they were so very accessible. They would talk to you not only about golf, but about a variety of topics. Not like the players today. They’re so guarded and afraid of saying anything that could jeopardize whatever relationship they’re cultivating with some new sponsor. And, as those players from those bygone years have aged, they’ve mellowed. They’re even better conversationalists than they were back then. Man, I miss a good scrum.
Then there’s the golf course itself. Was it beautiful forty-some years ago? Absolutely - and it all seemed so very natural. Looking at those telecasts there were many years with too few azaleas, especially on the 13th hole. The bunkers were a little unkempt – but just a little. As spectacular as the campus is today, there are times when it doesn’t even look real. I miss the various tones and colors in the grass.
Finally, there’s the announcing crew from back then. Vin Scully on the play-by-play and Pat Summerall calling the action from 18. Ken Venturi started the telecast by calling the action at 13 before joining Summerall for the conclusion. I watched the 1984 Masters, the first year I set foot on the grounds. Brent Musburger was anchoring the coverage, with those primitive but charming graphics of each hole. Bob Murphy at 10. A very young Verne Lundquist was out there. The late Ben Wright was at 15. Frank Glieber for God sakes. Who remembers Frank Glieber? This was all long before McCord and Feherty. Long before Nance and Faldo.
As we get ever closer to the 89th edition of this tournament, take a few minutes to relax and look back. Enjoy. Remember. Embrace it. I have a good friend who summed it up for me a couple of years ago.
“This tournament used to be beautiful and charming,” he said. “Now, it’s just beautiful.”
It’s still charming on YouTube, where the egg salad sandwiches are 75 cents, and the memories are priceless.
