Getting tickets to The Masters (that’s a golf tournament, indoor kids) is about as hard as hitting a hole-in-one. This year, I had the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to attend through a family connection, and it will be an experience and an unphotographed memory (you can’t take pictures) that I will treasure forever.
I used to play golf, and I understand the pull of the game’s magic. There’s beauty in the silence, the precision, and the tradition. It’s a game whose origins go back to the 15th century, whereas football wasn’t even an idea until the late 19th century. Rory Mcllroy Grand Slam aside, I was just as intrigued by the concessions. And because we weren’t allowed to have phones (or even disposable cameras), I asked my fiance to open each wrapper as meticulously as possible so I could take pictures of the wrappers when we left.
He’s my fiance because he nodded and didn’t ask questions.
