You don’t know the pressure before you know the pressure of a master

Augusta National Master Sunday was a study of claustrophobia. Not in the psychiatric sense, although when the leader comes, if you are in the ocean of humanity behind the twelfth T-shirt, then you can get more flavor. More like this: Sunday in Augusta Country is Tighton both sides of the gallery rope. Even on the harsh guys – 11 green, 12 t-shirts, 13 fairways – the air is thin.

Fans and moments put players on the edge, and the players and moments return to favor. Bob Jones’ ghost puts everyone on the edge and shoots on an 18-year-old T-shirt and conducts a basement interview at Butler Cabin. The ghost lingers at the low point; the chute of 18 is thin. The basement became crowded.

This is Francesco Molinari on Sunday morning 2019, wearing work clothes with a two-shot lead. Dark pants, off-white shirt- This is not a flashy person. He looked at himself in a mirror, an involuntary question crossed his thoughts: How do these colors work with the world’s most famous green sports jacket? “Of course, you don’t want to think about that,” Molinari said in an interview a few months after that mastery. “But you do.”

You haven’t shot yet, the tournament is playing with your head.

For the participants’ players, claustrophobia can be placed on the first tee. No, before that. It can be placed on the practice green behind the first tee. No, even before that. It can start from the club. Yes, there. You can’t breathe, your skin is mushy, and the obsessed request is like the Norfolk Southern freight train running downtown Augusta: Please don’t look at me.

It’s not everyone, but early Sunday afternoon, it’s a few dozen players: you’ve been to range, and now you’re at the clubhouse, just using the toilet. The clock is ticking your serve time to Jim Nantz 60 minutesWhen this particular and delicate torture ends, the wait for next year will begin.

Now, there is a good club man in a green jacket. His wife is wearing her yellow floral shirt and looking at you the way. Their semi-grown children are marked like preparatory school mini-Matz. And your worst fear is coming: This guy is explain for you. He was talking about something very suitable, like: “Good luck there today. We are cheering for Ya.” You really don’t know or care what he is talking about. You are shrinking yourself.

You know who you are. You are Jordan Spieth, Rory McIlroy, Max Homa, various other in Category 1. I don’t have a bag Things are in your DNA. Or maybe you are in Category 2, like Tiger Woods and Scottie Scheffler and Bryson DeChambeau, as exciting and exciting as the brothers in C1, but more determined to hide it. You’re not in Category 3, Dustin Johnson and Brooks Koepka and Cameron Young and others can go from nine green to 10 Tee leaders in the parade, with little feeling.

But tiger, man-what gave? You have done 24 large-scale work on Sunday. On most Sundays, you have Being killed Your pre-warm. You look good on the putter. But then you walk that guy from practicing green to the first tee through that group and something happens.

We understand. It’s intimidating. you Surroundedon that t-shirt. The fairways are lined with fans on both sides, and some are binoculars, and they are staring at you. The meeting room stands and watches on the second floor porch with members and guests. You talked, we did get it. Really, the world of this scale is collapsing and has nowhere to hide. Your record, experience, model warm-up suddenly doesn’t mean anything. In this case, Tiger Woods will hit some of the craziest offline photos you can imagine on at least some of the memorable occasions. Sunday in Augusta. You can say this without a PhD in clinical psychology: It must be stress.

If you have one, like Bhrett McCabe, you can say more. McCabe, a psychologist, told golfers Jon Rahm, Sam Burns, Billy Horschel that they need to start thinking about Sunday long before the game begins. “By Sunday, it was too late,” McCabe said recently. “Sunday at the Masters was the Rose Bowl in Alabama and Michigan. It was a high experience.”

On the 6th hole (downhill) par 3, everyone – players, caddies, Pinkertons, fans, tournament officials, camera operators – come together in the name of awe in the air. The green is located 100 feet below the T-shirt and the pin is on the Wee shelf on the rear right. Face-to-face expressions are perfect, but that doesn’t matter, because the ball is now rooted in the air. About four seconds Thousands of There is no one talking about booing on a golf ball. “It’s totally silent,” Jim “Bones” Mackay, the recent caddie and now NBC sports journalist, said recently. “It’s so intense.” Yes. Everyone is in the moment. No cell phone. No interference. Except for the ball in the air.

The next 3rd stroke (Short 12) is even more intense because by now, it’s too late. The guy took off from the 11th green green (see now together) to see what Flag 12 is doing. What players No All I want to do is just take a look at the twelfth tee. That’s because the box is small and the crowd is dense. Strong respect: Opera drums from competitors and past champions, the silence of death when players beat the ball. You don’t like T-shirts, but you real Don’t want to start over. Nervous will mess with you. “Twelve is the most nervous shot on the golf course,” Tom Watson said. Does Tom Watson use you as the kind of person who casually uses the word?

Then there are two beautiful moments of privacy, the twelfth green and the 13th tee for the players and their caddies. At 12 o’clock, you can actually hear a birdie putter (rare) enter. This is because the nearest cheering audience is nearly 200 yards away from the hotel and their hysteria will take a second to get to you.

Then, your last break in the day, at the back of the 13th tee. You can almost shout to someone next door to the country club and ask for a hot dog. There is a bathroom there, which is the last best of the day. There is a bench. Waiting often. You might eat something, drink something, do something deep. You are actually in the shadow. There is a short short section where no one can see you. You will then reappear in the afternoon sun. You’re on display for the rest of the day, just like movie stars at awards ceremony. This is screened, Augusta-style.

You flush one thing into the 15th green, the gallery of the stands offers a sad occasion-by-scene chorus, hopefully falling into despair: oh! Oh, oh, oh? urrrrrrr.

Sometimes – sometimes – Players become fans. Players, everyone will grow up watching the game. They know what it is like to be a fan. At the Masters on Sunday, they heard what the audience heard. Brooks Koepka, Ian Poulter and Webb Simpson were on the 17th tee when Woods hit his tee in the 3rd 16 when Woods competed for his fifth largest coat. Verne called on Grammy to call on CBS at home while lanky retired swimmer Michael Phelps was about six feet next to the first row of Woods, separated from the action with a string in the first row of viewers. The tiger’s ball grabbed the green slope and began to drip from the hills, looking and sounding after a while might go in. Koepka walked down 17 and said, “That’s amazing.” Koepka. You won’t think so.

Woods won that year six years ago. This is done every year. One person wins. Other players walked out almost quickly, returning to their lives and regrets, leading the crowd, leaving behind hysteria.

Until next April.