Trip to The Masters takes care of one of life’s many goals

Ask any self-help guru or motivational speaker, and they’ll tell you to make a list of your goals. Your parents and teachers probably stressed the same thing when you were young.

Set up things you want to do in the next week, the next year, in your lifetime. A list of goals, whether it consists of places to visit or tasks to accomplish, helps keep you on track and focused, maintains a sense of order or creates a feeling of fulfillment. Goals prevent you from becoming stagnant, stale or otherwise lacking in motivation.

Whatever the case may be, I don’t have a list of goals. I’ll take this time to apologize to a couple of teachers for such an admission. I do, however, have goals. There are things I want to do with my life, whether they’re before lunch or before I turn 40. They don’t need to be on paper. But they’re buried in my head, where I can ponder them sitting in traffic and swearing at people on the Edens.

And one of those goals, being a sports fan and an avid golfer since I was old enough to hold a club, was to visit Augusta National, site of The Masters.

And earlier this month, I was lucky enough to scratch it off that list in my noggin. My dad won a lottery for tickets to the Wednesday practice round, so we road-tripped it south some 13 hours for basically one day of watching pro golfers practice. But unlike other PGA tournaments, this wasn’t about the golfers. It was about the course. So it was actually 13 hours of driving each way to see a golf course. Eighteen holes of grass, sand, water and trees. And it was phenomenal.

Augusta National, which is like a fenced-in oasis amidst the otherwise forgettable town of Augusta, is the very definition of pristine. It’s immaculate. It’s gorgeous.

They take such pride in the aesthetics of their course that the wrappers for sandwiches are green at The Masters. That way, if one escapes in the breeze, it will be camouflaged against the grass and won’t stand out on TV.

For all you golfers out there, think about the most perfectly manicured fairway you’ve ever played. Now multiply it by 10. And I’m just talking about what the fans walk on beyond the ropes. Seriously, the area where we walked and stood but no golf ball would frequent all week, better known as the far rough, was the nicest grass I’ve ever seen. It looked like Astro Turf on a football field.

The colors at The Masters are intoxicating. The blue skies in early April combined with the Georgia pines, white sands and blooming azaleas and magnolias made it easy to wander about almost aimlessly, just soaking it all in. How the golfers can concentrate on the job at hand, I’ll never know.

The course is littered with tradition. So many memories from the most prestigious tournament on the face of the earth. As I walked, I remembered where certain clutch shots had been hit over the years, where green jackets were won, dreams realized or dashed. I could almost hear the roar of past galleries echo through the pines. To walk alongside the game’s best players and living legends as they practiced was impressive, sure, but ultimately, we were there for the course, and it did not disappoint. To take in the sights with my dad made it even more memorable.

On my way back to Chicago, I kept picturing in my mind what it would be like to actually play at Augusta. My rusty golf game won’t get me there, and it’s far too restrictive a club to ever expect an invite. But a guy can dream, can’t he?

When you travel 1,700 miles round trip to see a golf course for a day, some people would consider you crazy. But I’m just a man with a few goals, who happened to go out of his way to meet one of them. And enjoyed every minute of it.

Trent Modglin
Publisher
The Real Chicago
Trent@TheRealChicago.org

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