Getting to the Masters

by Jay Nordlinger

Some readers have said, “Jay, you gotta comment on this story!” Okay, I will: A man’s dog ate his Masters tickets. No, not his master’s tickets. (Ha, ha, ha.) The dog ate the tickets of his owner to the Masters golf tournament, in Augusta, Ga. So, what did the man do? Well, he made his dog cough ’em up, essentially — which the dear animal did. The man, who is from Seattle, was not shut out of the Masters.

To read about it, go here. And for my own piece on the Masters — describing a visit three years ago — go here.

Question: What would I have done, if my dog had eaten my Masters tickets? I’m not really sure. Say “Bad dog”? Call a veterinarian? It’s really hard to keep a guy from the Masters, if he has a chance to go. And I have to tell you that, for the umpteenth straight year, I was not invited to play in the tournament. What are they afraid of?

Enough about the Masters, on to the Nobel Peace Prize: For K-Lo’s Q&A with me on the prize, appearing on today’s homepage, go here. A golfer has not yet won the peace prize. In my experience, golf is generally more destructive to peace than helpful to it.

Two quick stories, one true, one a legend: An old friend of mine came off the golf course one afternoon — hot, sweaty, bedraggled, demoralized, defeated. He said, “I’ve played this game for 30 years and hated every minute of it. What’s our tee time tomorrow?” The legend comes from Scotland — about the man who, in frustration, threw his clubs into the sea. And then drowned trying to retrieve them.

That’s golf, for many. 

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