I Played Augusta National Without My Best Stuff

After a highlight week at the Masters – not only as a member of the incredible Fried Egg Golf team, but as a golf fan – I was lucky enough to win the media lottery and play a Monday round at Augusta National. I’ll get it out of the way early: I did not play particularly well, so this will be more of a holistic overview of my day at one of golf’s great championship venues. We’ve also been particularly charmed as a company recently with both Andy and Brendan playing the last two years.

After sitting in my car across the street for at least 20 minutes, waiting until the exact moment I could make golf’s grandest entrance, I made the slow procession towards the clubhouse at the end of Magnolia Lane. The building is modest, an antidote to the exciting but exceptional scale that the modern tournament has become. A small, twisting staircase takes you up the Champions Locker Room, where you try to take as many mental snapshots as possible. Shared lockers of all the past champions ring the room; Scottie Scheffler’s green jacket hangs behind a glass case. I looked to see if they’d already given Rory McIlroy his place, but I guess they were waiting until Tuesday.

Monday’s conditions would have made for a fun tournament round — warm temps and a steady, significant breeze. Standing on the first tee, with the flags flapping on the nearby ninth and 18th greens, it was difficult not to think twelve holes ahead. The day got off to only a slightly better start than Rory’s — a two-putt bogey at the first to the challenging back-left pin. After a really poor swing on the second, it was clear that I did not have my best stuff. Although it was disappointing to miss out on hitting some of the approaches you’ve imagined in your head hundreds of times, seeing much of the course from less-than-ideal positions was still educational.

If there was one overarching realization that I came away with, it’s how relentless Augusta National is. We’ve said it a thousand times, but small misses can turn tap-ins into three-putts — or worse. Every single approach shot, pitch, and chip is layered with the dizzying variance of outcomes that make this game so addictive. If you’re striking the ball well, we’ve seen how the course rewards you. This week was a prime example of how thin the margins are, just look at Nick Dunlap’s birdie-less 90 on Thursday and bounceback Friday 71. Brilliant shotmaking is rewarded, but turning off for just a moment can spell disaster.

Hole after hole, the brilliance of Alister MacKenzie and Perry Maxwell shines through, asking relentlessly engaging questions and daring you to bite off more than you can chew. In many cases, the strategy feels simple — “If I can just keep this left it’ll open up the approach,” or “If I can just catch this ridge it will feed to the hole.” But the moment you get greedy or lose patience, feeder slopes quickly turn into rejectors and the course bites back. A punch-out on the second put me much farther right than I had hoped, and the green contour that works as a bowl when approached from the left is now simply a backstop sitting just a couple of paces over the bunker, shrinking the margin for error to almost zero. After giving my wedge a little too much oomph, I landed on the back edge and skipped through the green.

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On the third, with Sunday’s diabolical pin tucked hard to the left, tee shots that can hang right enlarge the effective size of the minuscule green. From my position left of the bunkers, the only play was to aim 40 feet right. When that shot came up just a little short, the ball rolled all the way down the hill, leaving one of the most difficult chip shots on earth. After a few of these miscues, the mind starts to pick up on all potential outcomes and disasters. Runoffs begin to grow in size, and slopes feel like they will carry your ball so far away that you may never finish the hole.

But it’s this tension that makes for great golf, and it’s why Augusta National is so fun to watch, even when we see it every single year. One of the highlights of my round came at the fifth, where the members’ tee allows a good drive to carry the bunkers down the left (which really is the point of the hole), setting up a nice approach to one of the most raucous greens on the course. The Sunday pin sits way back and right, dangling a few paces from a cliff’s edge, on a green perched at the end of a ridge line the hole plays on top of. From 150 yards – and after four poorly played holes to start the round – I hit a perfect iron shot and watched my ball pitch a few paces beyond the slope and feed to 15 feet, where I knocked in my first of three birdies. It was a feeling of elation that has been matched only once or twice in my life.

The second nine was a mixed bag in terms of the golf, but getting to experience Amen Corner from the player’s perspective was possibly the most surreal, out-of-body experience I’ve ever had. As patrons or press, those holes are only viewable from one side. When you are able to perceive them from the fairways through the greens, spots that you’ve seen literally thousands of times feel completely foreign. When we crossed Hogan’s Bridge to access the 12th green, the sensation felt like I was smack dab in the middle of a simulation. That feeling continued down the 13th fairway, where you could hear Rae’s Creek moving along the rocks; I’d been here before, but not like this.

The round really took a dark turn score-wise around this point – I’ll blame the many miles of walking I did during the tournament – but after a few visits to multiple firethorn bushes left of 14, I was determined to at least hit a shot into that green. After yet another punch-out caught a tree limb, I was left with a 70-yard pitch to that now-classic Sunday pin. I nipped it perfectly, carrying it over the false front with plenty of spin, which it utilized perfectly, spinning off the backstop left of the flag and nearly into the hole. No. 15 was another messy few minutes, but getting to walk into the arena that was stuffed with tens of thousands of patrons roaring after Rory’s towering Sunday 7-iron the day before was another highlight. The later tee time and slow opening nine meant the shadows were crossing the low point of the property, giving off that afternoon look we’re so used to seeing at the Masters. The 16th was not the typical funnel pin near the bunker, instead sitting on the back-right shelf. Some of the caddies were almost apologizing for it, but I actually think it’s a great flag and I wish they’d use it more frequently for final rounds. The hole looked good to my eye, and I hit my last great shot of the day, chipping a flighted iron short and right of the hole, and letting it release up to three feet.

It’s difficult to say whether my round was a dream come true. Until we were granted press credentials just a couple of years ago, I don’t believe it was ever a place I even let myself dream about. It’s a course we all feel strangely familiar with. Even as press members, where inside the ropes access is not granted, we feel like we’re close enough to touch it, but never able to do so. To get that chance, to scale the hills and feel the green contours under your feet is for lack of a better term, really fucking cool. It’s crazy where this game can take you.