I wasn't sure what to expect with the 1986 Masters memories contest, but I can say I didn't expect to shed a tear and laugh so hard all in the same thread of comments. You all came through with such a great mix of poignant, funny and sweet remembrances. And there were plenty more posts that added color to reinforce the power of that day, not to mention the power of the Masters when it was at its finest.
While we get to the committee's choices for finalists today, I will post a few citations tomorrow to help ease some guilt about only narrowing down to six when there were so many great submissions. But first, the finalists...it's a shame someone has to win, but I'll do my part to see that they all get a little something for taking the time to share their thoughts so eloquently.
My wife and I decided to take a European vacation in April (April in Paris?), never thinking about the Masters. Being young, we stayed in guest houses, and traveled without reservations. We stayed in places where no English was spoken, and no television was available until Sunday in Rotenberg, Germany. Our host spoke good English, and even moderated a "conversation club" so he and his friends could speak English. I asked him if he knew about the Masters. He said yes, he knew about Bernard Langer, but mostly watched football. He said he would try to find out for me.
After dinner we went to bed...still jet lagged....until there came a knock on the door late at night. It was our host, and the Masters was on TV. The US feed with German commentary. He went to bed, and my wife and I sat around in our underwear watching the tournament on TV in his living/dining room. When it looked like Jack was out of contention early in the back nine we decided to go back to bed, but we couldn't sleep, so a half hour or so later we went back and turned the set back on...just in time to see Jack's eagle on 15.
We sat around, trying not to wake up the rest of the guests as Jack finished, Seve hit it in the water at 15, Norman failed to par 18, and then Kite missed his putt on 18. We were elated, but the German TV didn't show Butler Cabin, so we went back to bed.
I was ten years old and just recently bitten by the golf bug. That April, the lucky few who had acquired one of those new-fangled satellite dishes would be able to watch the Masters telecast on Sky Channel. It’s hard to describe what the PGA Tour, not to mention the magical, mythical Augusta National and The Masters, represented to us living in cold Scandinavia, but let’s just say that it was big news when a Swedish collegiate player named Jesper Parnevik made the cut in a Florida mini-tour event that winter.
Alas, my family hadn’t yet bought one of those bowl-shaped portals to the holy grail, but a friend of my dad’s had, and wouldn’t you know it, he had a VCR too! I spent the entire weekend glued to the TV, endlessly watching the tapes of the early rounds over and over again. I was totally mesmerized by the course, and I knew there and then that I was laying the foundation for a lifelong, although distant, love affair with it.
Getting acquainted with the players was equally thrilling. The characters were like they were lifted from some comic-book adventure drama, from the macho heroes (Norman, Seve) to the exotic assassins (Chen, Nakajima) and the plain-clothes agents (Langer, Kite, Watson, Price). Then, of course, there was Jack Nicklaus, of whom I already knew that he was the greatest who ever lived but was now old and past his prime. Of course, I rooted for him from day one. Besides, how could you not root for a guy with such a cool putter?
Of course, my dad was equally bitten, and he couldn’t help but start watching the tape of the final round before I got home from school that Monday. I was furious when I heard the cheers from the living room as I entered the front door, but the anger disappeared quickly when I laid eyes on the TV screen and saw Nicklaus walking towards the 17th green against a backdrop of thousands of screaming spectators. Dad just said: “That guy’s tied for the lead”, knowing that I would go bananas. The rest is, of course, history. Peter Alliss’ muffled “it’s there” (he had Seve in the BBC office pool) didn’t have quite the same resonance as Verne Lundquist’s “Yes, sir!”, but the memory of seeing it find the cup still gives me goosebumps.
My story does have one final spoiler twist, but I was too young to understand it. It turned out that my mom (not bitten) had heard the result on the radio on her way home, and when she came into the living room and saw us transfixed to the screen, she blurted out “that Nicklaus has won quite a lot before, hasn’t he?”. To his credit, dad didn’t scold her there and then, because then I probably would have understood what would happen before Norman’s 4-iron sailed into oblivion and turned my bug bite into a flesh wound!
Back in 1986, each member of my foursome (Boom-Bah, Doctor B, Beavie and JJB) was a huge Nicklaus fan. We had spent Tuesday of Masters week in Augusta for a practice round (back when you could just drive up and buy practice-round tickets).
On Sunday, with a Seve/Shark duel looming and Jack seemingly out of it, we decided to stick a tape in the VCR and go play. It was a beautiful day in Greenville, SC (about 110 miles from Augusta), and golf fever was upon us.
Before leaving for our round, we called each of our friends and asked them to please honor our request not to call with the final results until we had looked at the tape on Sunday evening. So, at about 9 pm, a couple of hours after the tournament concluded, we sat down in front of the tube to see whether Norman, Ballesteros, or maybe Kite, would prevail.
The phone rang multiple times. Those were the days before caller ID, and we just let it ring, lest someone spoil our party.
Jack birdied 9 and our interest was piqued. Maybe another top 5 for the Bear? Then he birdied 10 and 11. We were getting excited until the bogey on 12. “That’s it, he’s toast,” said Doctor B. Let’s fast forward and get this over with. “Just one more hole,” said Boom-Bah. “If he doesn’t do anything on 13, we can wrap it up and all go home.” Jack birdied 13 and almost holed his chip on 14. Then came the incredible eagle on 15 and the nearly holed tee shot on 16. “Please, just fast forward and let’s see how this comes out,” Doctor B pleaded. But we persevered. We all jumped up and started yelling when the putt dropped on 17 and were hanging on the edges of our seats as the putt on 18 stopped just short. We all had a case of sudden-onset allergies – watery eyes, you know – when Jackie and Jack embraced and walked off the 18th green.
Despite the tremendous urge to hit the FF button as first Kite and then Norman played 18, we watched every minute in “real-time.” An added bonus was that our hometown boy, Jay Haas, posted a final-round 67 and finished 6th. The emotional high of the 1986 Masters stayed with us the rest of the season. I still have the tape, and occasionally put it in the only remaining VCR I have to relive what was, for me, the most incredible day in golf history.
Having been drawn into the magic allure of the Masters at a young age, I not surprisingly chose to do my medicine residency in Augusta. As it turned out my first year there became the most memorable year of my life. I attended the Wednesday practice round, saw the course live for the first time, the Par 3 contest and greats such as Gene Sarazen. 3 days later I received an even greater thrill when the residency chief announced that he had 3 badges for Sunday's round from friends going home early. I was able to go, along with another resident as well as my fiancé. We arrived and found a place to sit near the 12th tee just as Nicklaus was making a birdie on 10.
For a moment I thought that just maybe, he could muster some old magic and have a chance. This hope was seemingly dashed after seeing him bogey 12, but a short time later a deafening roar told us that he had at least birdied, if not eagled, 13. In anticipation, we headed over to 17 before it would get too crowded and luckily found a spot right behind the green. Over the next half hour or so we could sense what was happening by the dramatic and almost eerie silence which marked every time Nicklaus was about to make a shot, followed by an even more dramatic roar of the patrons when a birdie or eagle followed. We also quickly were informed of the misfortune of the leader, Seve, by a loud collective groan (unfortunately followed by a few cheers which to this day still bothers me) when he hit in the water at 15. Very soon after another roar from a birdie on 16, we saw Nicklaus hit a low approach from somewhere to the left of the 17th fairway that came to rest on the green no more than 15 feet from where we were standing. Long before it ever became common and trite, I joyously yelled out "it's in" as the putt tracked to the hole.
We quickly ran to 18 hoping to see him finish it off but unfortunately from the low left side of the green could only sense by patron reaction that he almost made a birdie. We waited out the final charges of Kite and Norman to make sure that the seemingly improbable Nicklaus finish would earn a Green Jacket, one that I could have never imagined at that point in his career. My fiancé and I were married a few months later, forever linking 1986 as a year I will never forget. How could I? Everyday looking at the picture over my office desk of the famous Jack Nicklaus scene on the 17th green, raising his putter and taking a step forward from his crouched putting position in anticipation of what turned out to be the defining moment of the greatest Masters ever played, I see our then younger faces in the background and realize just how lucky I was.
If you are reading all of these posts then God bless you as that proves you are as crazy as the rest of us! I will recap a small portion of that week for me as a 13 year old, otherwise 500 words isn't nearly enough.
My father was a lucky badge owner as his family had grown up in Augusta and were offered ownership of badges back in the 60's. I was a 13 year old boy who sparingly played golf but had really started to get into it the previous fall. The Masters was an annual trip for my father and any of the kids who were lucky enough to tag along to see other family members as it ultimately become the annual family reunion.
1986 was like every other year in that we planned the spring break trip to Augusta to see family and so dad could continue his Masters love affair. He told me stories for hours about the course, the history, the great champions, and everything he loved about that week. The difference this year was my father was cancer stricken. As a 13 year old boy I either chose to shelter those thoughts or just didn't realize the magnitude of what cancer was. My ah ha moment was on the road trip down from Kentucky we had a flat tire and my dad wasn't able to get out of the van and change the tire. I got my first experience of this with constant directions from my father. God knows he was scared to death I was going to hurt the van or worst make it tip over on the side of the highway!
When we got to Augusta, my father had become too weak to attend any of the days. More than anything I know this pissed him off more than missing a three footer! Which he did often. Of course my uncles and other family members used the badges for the first couple of days until my yfather had to be admitted into an area hospital. I knew he was sick but again the magnitude of the situation hadn't set in to me. I just knew I was going to Sunday at The Masters!
I got to The National as soon as I could get a ride that Sunday and couldn't wait to see all of the places and players my dad had always told me about. Even in 1986 the marshalls told patrons not to run. I was warned all day long. I didn't care. Dad had always taught me to watch golf was just like playing, you have to warm up first. So I went to the practice grounds to watch the greats. They were all Champions inn my eyes. However, I remember when Jack came out to warm up the aura was so much different. Even as a 13 year novice it was easy to recognize royalty and the greatest. I think people were just thrilled that he was playing well again and The National just seemed as comfortable as an old quilt to him. I finished watching The Golden Bear prepare for his round and scampered over to the first tee to wath him tee off. As a small 13 year old (who didn't care what people said to him) I was able to walk in between people until I got to the ropes where I could see. Jack teed off and I decided to go and see the rest of the course. Dad always talked about the risk reward greatness of #13 so I went down the hill and found a front row seat down by the green on the right. I hung out there all day long watching guys risk it all with little reward. The buzz had begun as guys started falling off the leaderboard and Jack had gotten into position for a back nine run. I wanted to get up and leave but a nice old man told me I would never get another seatt this good and that I should stay. Wise old man! So I watched as Jack and the roar that followed every shot started his march through the back nine.
I didn't really kknow what scores he was making, I just kept seeing his name get further and further up the old traditional Masters scoreboards. I wasn't listening to the old man now, I was going to follow The Golden Bear! So off I went knudging my way between anyone that was in front of me until I got a birds eye view of every shot he hit. I saw every shot from 13 in during that historic round. The best coming at 16 when I was perched to the right of the green by the walkway to the 17th tee. I bet I still have pine marks on my body as I was practically climbing a tree to see. He makes that putt on 16 and all I could think was get to the walkway, so I did. I was so excited as Jack walked by and gave me a high five as I said bring it home Jack! Ignorance is bliss, what can I say! So I finished the round with Jack up 18 and until he got to put on his green jacket.
My father passed away that next week but not before we could sit together and let me ramble on about everything he had taught me that I was able to experience. That experience led me to a life as a player, teacher, coach, and golf professional and most importantly a passion for this game and all that it can teach us. It is and always will be the greatest gift I will ever receive. Except my children of course!
Sorry I went over 500 words....
I was a freshman in college in April 1986. I was a pledge at a fraternity and that weekend was our biggest Spring weekend with a huge party on Saturday night...bands, beer truck out front, etc. Being a pledge, that meant my entire Sunday the day after the party was spent cleaning up the blowout from the night before.
During the party Saturday night, a girl from my dorm who I had asked out before (and got turned down) came to the party and I asked her again and she agreed to study and have dinner on Sunday. Mid-afternoon after finishing the house cleanup, I headed back to the dorm for a quick nap and shower before the date.
Fast forward, we are sitting outside the student union talking/studying and I hear a few loud yells coming from inside. A guy comes walking past us and I ask him what is going on and he said Jack Nicklaus just birded 16 to tie for the lead. I told my date that I had to go and I sprinted back to the fraternity house to watch the end. I think I might have said "sorry" or "I will call you later". Now if I told you that that date turned out to be my wife, I would win the contest for sure but she did not. That was our one and only date and I can say without a doubt, that I absolutely did the right thing.
Time to vote...I've allowed for multiple answers in case you (understandably) can't narrow it to one. Voting goes through the weekend and our winner is revealed Monday. Thanks again to everyone for posting!
**Voting Closed!
