What The Masters Means to Me, Now
Ten years ago I wrote an article on this website describing what The Masters means to me. I don’t know what made me look it up this morning, interrupting my normal coffee routine of obsessing over web metrics and social media followers. But I did, and I’m glad I did, because re-reading it reminded me of a person that no longer exists but whom I’d very much like to see again.
The photos placed in that article no longer display — a common occurrence in the world of online publishing — and the prose is spotty at best. I’d like to think my writing has improved since then, but who knows? Does it even matter? Adam at 30 was much different from today’s 40-year-old version. I think most of us are.
What remains consistent is the origin story of my love affair with The Masters Tournament: Tiger Woods. As I described in the original article, my father and I found common ground rooting for Tiger. My budding fandom of golf would eventually turn into an obsession, but in 1997 the teenaged version of myself was just happy to find a connection with my dad.
Our family unit wouldn’t last much longer — mom and dad divorced around that same time, the exact dates escape me — but Augusta National remained consistent, along with the opportunity to cheer for Tiger and remember a time when the Fonseca Family would eat dinner together.
If I’m being honest with myself, this memory is at the core of why I adopted The Masters as “my Super Bowl.” I took pride in telling friends (and anyone who would listen) how much I loved the tournament, searching for some unique quality that would make me seem interesting. To further stress the point, I began wearing Masters apparel every day during the tournament and making my own pimento cheese sandwiches despite having never visited Georgia, let alone Augusta.
I’d eventually convince my wife, Kristen, that I was a Masters Superfan. We married in 2010, some 13 years deep into my love affair with a golf course and tournament I’ve never seen in person. She is my world, there is no doubt; however every April she became a bystander to her husband’s eccentricities. She, too, would catch the bug, if nothing else to find common ground with me just as I had with Dad years prior.
By the time I wrote that article in 2013, I had fully convinced everyone around me, including the person I loved most, that the Masters was “my thing.” That it was a personality trait of some sort, or a phantom twin that only those closest to me could see.
And then it went away.
I don’t know why my enjoyment of the Masters changed. Perhaps it was around the time when Tiger stopped winning, then stopped playing well, then stopped playing altogether. Maybe it was my growing obsession with my career, or with this website, or with my wife’s health, or any number of things life throws at you. All I know is that at some point, I no longer loved the Masters as much as I once did.
The lowest point for me came in 2020, as it did for so many. A global pandemic has a tendency to do that, it appears. The mindset of the world changed seemingly overnight. Many panicked while others chose to ignore. Everything — every, single, thing — became politicized. I fell into that trap like everyone else I knew. Friendships and family members were lost, either by a virus or by differences that simply became too much to overcome.
But in November 2020, The Masters continued. It remained defiant. Meant to be a beacon of hope and tradition came off, to me at least, as elitist and irrational. I feigned interest, speaking highly of it as if I was trying to avoid angering a family member while behind its back ridiculed it for poor decisions.
I hated how my mind changed but couldn’t control the negativity that had replaced a passion for Augusta.
And then I met my friend, Nikki.
As fans of GU know, Nikki Dunagan came on board in 2022 to help with content. She and I connected via a group text thread during the pandemic as a way to talk golf with other sickos. I learned she lived in the Atlanta area with her husband, Johnathan, and their son. She also had a deep love of the Masters unlike anyone else I had ever met. Last year, she even mailed me a Masters-themed baby outfit for my newborn nephew that her son once wore.
Last year Nikki started a podcast miniseries called ‘Memoirs from Magnolia Lane’, which welcomed former patrons of Augusta to tell their stories about the tournament. She shared her story in the first episode, detailing how as a child she’d attend the tournament every year with her grandfather. You can listen to all episodes of season one here.
Editing each episode that Nikki records has been a joy, because while I’m supposed to be looking for anything to be cleaned up, I realize I’m being reintroduced to an old friend. Season two of the miniseries releases next week (subscribe here), and in the first episode Nikki interviews her cousin, musician Nick Williams.
I won’t spoil the episode here, but hearing the two of them recall childhood memories from Augusta was astounding. It felt as if I was at the dinner table at a family barbecue, eavesdropping on a conversation not involving me but meant entirely for anyone listening. Hearing the love those two had for the Masters and their grandfather was incredible, while somehow reminding me of a connection to the tournament I once had.
There was a moment while editing that I had to stop, sit back, and realize that I was doing something for the first time in a long time.
I was thinking about the Masters and I was smiling.
I often joke about “growing older” as a way to mask my true anxiety around doing exactly that. It’s probably a defense mechanism of some sort. I don’t feel “old,” but the funny thing is to act like it now that I’m over 40.
What I do know is that I’ve been running GU for a long time and that I’m older than 98% of other golf media types who host podcasts and publish websites. Admittedly, I am shocked that I continue to do it.
Had it not been for my love of the Masters established over 23 years ago as a means to connect with Dad, I would have never become a Tiger Woods fan. Had it not been because of Tiger Woods, I would have never wanted to play the game. Had it not been for my love of the game, I would have never started GU.
This entire time, without fail, one thing has remained consistent: the Masters.
In my 2013 article, I write: “[f]or me, The Masters signifies a time in my childhood that I will never forget. The love I felt while watching a sporting event with my dad sprung a love of a game that will never leave. It can't leave; it's a part of me now. My only hope is that one day, a few Aprils from now, I'll be able to watch The Masters through the eyes of my child as he or she takes in the yellows, greens, and Azalea purples for the first time.”
For reasons I won’t go into here, my wife and I probably will not have children. We’re fine with that. We understand. Sometimes, we both accept it.
Over the years I have learned that in this life you are presented opportunities every single day. The opportunity to remember. The opportunity to forget. The opportunity to be angry, hateful, sad or depressed. The opportunity to overcome.
To me now, the Masters is an opportunity to start again. It’s an invitation — not one in a green envelope, but still as important — to reset and remember where you are and how you got there. It’s a chance to celebrate, to find commonality, and to be grateful for maintaining those connections for as long as you can.
I don’t know if there is anything magical about the Masters and Augusta National.
But I do know, for the first time in years, that I have my tournament outfits chosen for each tournament day.
