The Masters: A Pretentious Tradition Unlike Any Other
It’s that time of year again. Yes, it’s golf porn this weekend on CBS. The Masters, played at Augusta National Golf Club, is the first of four major championships for professional golf played every year in early April. It’s one of the most pretentious sports spectacles you’ll see.
The Masters has been televised on CBS for longer than I’ve been on the planet. The telecast has almost as much sanctimonious drivel as a royal wedding. Sportscaster Jim Nantz heads the broadcast, raving about Rae’s Creek, Ike’s Pond and Nelson Bridge. Every hole has its own name. #1 is “Tea Olive”, #2 is Pink Dogwood”, #10 is Camellia… you wanna throw up yet? Then there’s the theme music… the gentle, breezy, piano-heavy “Augusta” by David Loggins, that is so gentle I want to get into a pillow fight with Fuzzy Zoeller.
Do yourself a favor and tune in to a bunch of lame guys in their knickers and polos trying to make their way around Amen Corner. Oh brother. And don’t get me started on the spectators. If you actually plan a trip to Augusta to watch other people hit a golf ball, I wish you would stop existing now.
Be careful... George uses bad language on this one.