My first journey to the Sand Hills of Nebraska was twenty years in the making and I was only going to embark on the trek with my best friend in life. On the Sunday afternoon of our first day at the mecca built and designed by the team of Coore & Crenshaw we found ourselves sitting on Ben’s porch, affectionately named after one of the co-designers. The founder and visionary of the club, Dick Youngscap, had come out to the club that Sunday afternoon and he asked us to join him and his wife for lunch. Dick’s story and the construction of Sand Hills is a screenplay, and the 18-hole course signified a real change in the future of design and golf clubs. On 8,000 acres in what is truly the most fertile and holistic terrain I’d ever seen in the United States was 18 pristine holes. Among the many questions I asked Mr. Youngscap in that hour lunch was simply why not more holes. His answer, which I assume was not orchestrated or premeditated, was the most eloquent, colloquial and succinct response I had ever received from someone in my career. He started by asking me a question. “Gary, do you know what we do out here?” To which I responded, “no sir, I do not.”. He followed with, “Well, we are simple people, and we build fences. This is my land; this is your land and when I think about Yankee Stadium I think of four bases and when I think about the Boston Garden I think of two rims. Golf is 18 holes. Sand Hills is 18 holes.”
As we prepare for golf’s global renewal at Augusta National, I am reminded of the uncomplicated things, the proper things and the little things. Sand Hills was open almost 60 years after Augusta National, but it leans on the experience it provides and trusts that the things that were then, can still be valued now. Sand Hills could have 150 holes and a short course and posh cottages, but it doesn’t need it. Augusta National and the Masters could have television partners who would gladly show every shot struck from the ceremonial first tee shot to the last putt holed each day. The market for hospitality experiences for a small percentage of Masters partners led to the creation of Berckmans Place which is the most refined onsite, yet completely secluded, hospitality venue in golf history. Beyond that, everyone on the grounds essentially has the same experience down to the continued placement of lawn chairs around greens early in the morning. Lawn chairs? In 2023 the dignified placement of a 15-dollar lawn chair will ensure hundreds of people a seat to watch the most famous golf tournament in the world. It’s possible that concessions this year may challenge the long-standing theory that two beverages, two sandwiches and two bags of chips still produces change from a twenty-dollar bill. Even if it doesn’t, the simplicity of the transaction and the modesty of the tariff required for purchase makes it a relic in today’s high-end sports experiences. The U.S. Open tennis tournament is everything the Masters is not. Concessions that border on extortion and a viewing experience which feels disorienting from the noise to the behavior.
Stubbornness is a challenging quality to navigate be it with an individual or an organization and plenty of people may call Augusta National stubborn as it relates to the no cell phone policy on the property to the broadcast windows to the green jacket ceremony in Butler cabin. I heard for years that the broadcast times were to ensure that those on the grounds were getting something that the viewing audience could not get. If you put every shot on television what’s the motivation for those with badges to be on the property all day? Fair point, but the Masters created the finest digital experience well before their fellow major championships and it hasn’t deterred anyone from getting there early and staying late. The no cell phone policy is something that would truly keep many people from going to any sporting event, let alone a golf tournament, but Augusta National won’t cave to modern convenience. Can you imagine fans being told they could not bring their phones into the Super Bowl, The World Cup final or the Kentucky Derby? I know, golf is quiet, and silence is inherent to the execution of golf shots. Yet phones can be silenced, and all other golf tournaments permit them, but not Augusta National. Because the experience is supposed to be special, and it’s intended to be singular and different. We g
o through life telling others how great every moment is through text or Instagram while we are taking time away from that experience to talk about that experience. At the Masters, you walk with your head up, you watch golf shots not record them and then you talk about the shots you just witnessed with the people you are with. Yes, talk, and when you get home you don’t show people your pictures or videos you took while not watching golf, you talk to them about the shots you saw. Not to mention the people you ran into while you were there because your head was up, and you made eye contact. Yes, eye contact with an old friend as opposed to running into the sign indicating where Amen Corner is while trying to send a photo. It’s amazing how busy we all are that we must be on our phones every waking moment until the invite to the Masters comes and suddenly our pseudo oxygen supply can be cut off for eight hours. Not eight minutes, but an entire day.
In the fall of 1990, I was newly graduated from college and was going on a trip with my parents and we were sitting in the Newark airport when my Dad told me that he was taking me to the Masters the next spring. I cried. I wasn’t necessarily a grown man, but I was old enough that the news of attending a sporting event seven months in the future shouldn’t have reduced me to tears. I was emotionally and intellectually invested in golf in ways others weren’t but Augusta National and the Masters Tournament were mythical to me. I expected to be somewhat deflated because of the buildup, but I wasn’t. Hand-operated scoreboards, simple and economical concessions, grounds where the “Get in the Hole Guy” is an extinct species, and the view of Amen Corner from the top of the hill on 11 for the first time or the thirtieth is majestic. Way too much today is oversold and habitually under-delivers but the Masters still provides an experience that is not only redeemable but memorable. It holds tight to tradition while evolving in logistical and technological ways that are industry-defining, but they adhere to the little things that will always separate it from too many sporting events that have made staying home a bonafide option.