Column: Beauty of Augusta National can't be overstated

If this comes off as a bit of a love letter, it sort of is.

I write in Louisiana, where the deer and gators play, where pines grow tall and rednecks of all shapes and sizes roam in a God-made sportsman’s paradise. I know about beauty and the outdoors.

But Augusta National Golf Club, even wind- and rain-beaten and azalea-less, is enough to make anyone’s head turn.

Wednesday was my first day on the course, and that’s after half a century of waiting. Thursday was my second. I think the place got even more impressive overnight.

Did I say “Thank you, Augus­ta,” yet?

One azalea behind the 15th green, that’s the only thing blooming. But not everybody needs makeup. This real estate has enough green and blue and history to carry the day, even without “flowers,” as I heard a girl from Scotland call the azaleas yesterday.

“I’m not a golfer,” she said, a bit overwhelmed by Augusta National, “but the Masters is so much more than just a game.”

Amen, sister, as we say in the South. Fore, please, and pass the majesty.

We’re talking Yellow Jasmine. Caro­lina Cherry. Amen Corner. Magnolia Lane. The Big Oak and Rae’s Creek and all that. They dip up lore by the buckets around here. Depth at the beauty position is what you have here.

And I haven’t even mentioned the egg salad sandwiches yet.

It’s easy to take a place for granted when you see it all the time.

Maybe Diamondhead turns into just a nice rise in the land when you’ve lived in Waikiki for a few years. The Grand Canyon is a big hole when it’s in your backyard, the Rockies another hill to climb for folks in Denver.

So if you come here every year and you haven’t looked around in a while, pretend again that it’s the first time. Not many things make our jaws drop anymore. This place will.

First thing Thursday, we watched champions with 13 Mas­ters wins between them tee off: Jack Nicklaus (6 green jackets), Ar­nold Palmer (4) and Gary Play­er (3). Then I walked the back nine with only a few hundred of my closest new friends while the first groups and big galleries went off the front.

Sweet.

Shady. Pine straw. The sand on 11. The narrow green on 12. The chute on 13. TV shows you a lot, but it can’t show you everything, such as the perspective from the fairway below the rise and facing the 15th green, or how much is demanded off the tee at 10 and 11, or how cozy the 18th green is, where another Mas­ters champion will earn a jacket Sunday – weather and golf gods permitting.

TV is good, just not totally true. Your children are always prettier in real life than they are in the pictures in your wallet.

It took me 15 hours to get here Tues­day from north Louisiana because half the trip was like driving in a clothes washing machine. But I’d sign up for the same duty again today if it meant making tomorrow’s tee times.

I don’t think people in Augus­ta take this place for granted. You’re proud of it, and it shows. When you signed on to help God cut this place, it was a good day’s work, for sure, and I thank you. Keep spreading the love; I’ll keep spreading the word.

A couple of weeks ago I told a golf pro and Masters veteran in Louisiana I might be coming to the tournament but wasn’t 100 percent sure.

“Are you crazy?” he said. “You’ve GOT to go.”

He’s right. I might be crazy, but I’m not stupid.