Like many Australians who love golf, my earliest memories of The US Masters were formed on early Monday mornings. Before sunrise and over breakfast, I watched the CBS telecast of those impossibly verdant fairways. As a schoolboy on Masters morning, I would shower quickly during an ad break, and put my school uniform on in front of the TV, so as to not miss the action unfolding at Augusta.
I distinctly remember the day in the late 1990s that I naively phoned Augusta National Golf Club. I don’t recall how I’d found the number back in the days of rudimentary dial-up internet, or what I expected to hear on the other end of the phone line. I was well aware that tickets were scarce.
The Augusta National staff member with the lovely southern accent politely informed me that the waiting list for tournament badges had closed several decades prior, and would not open in the foreseeable future. They went on to tell me about the practice round ballot. I learned that it was possible to apply (along with hundreds of thousands of others) for a ticket to attend on Monday, Tuesday or Wednesday, and watch the players prepare for the tournament. They said that cameras were permitted on practice days, and assured me that pimento cheese sandwiches would be available. The chance to set foot on the course early in the week seemed like a wonderful opportunity, different but in some ways better than attending a tournament day.