My Masters

By Tim McManus
The Phanatic Magazine

I'm not a golf guy.

I'm horrible at it, I have only a vague grasp of its history, and I'm not versed at all in the current field assembled for the 2007 Masters.

But I have a pretty good story:

My ex-girlfriend's birthday is in early April, and happened to fall on the final round of the '05 Masters when her and I were in full relationship gear. We had been dating for about eight months at this point.

Her parents threw a party, and invited the entire family, myself and one of her best friends. It's a nice day out and most of the gathering had moved outside, while a few of the guys set up camp in the living room so they could catch some of the Sunday round, then would wander out onto the deck for a few minutes to stay civil.

Well it was my girl's birthday and I didn't really know anybody anyway, so I stayed by her side for the first hour or so. But at one point I found myself a bit uncomfortable, as she had been talking to her uncle and I was left in the 'tweener zone, so I decided to get up and check out the golf. Her friend, likely feeling the same pinch I was, decided to join me.

We sit down, and I'm surrounded by her pops, her uncle and a few of their friends. And I'm feeling pretty proud of myself: The first time I was ever at one of her family's parties, her and all the women went into the other room as is tradition, and all of the men stayed in the living room to watch football. I felt real awkward that day -- knowing not a soul -- but here I was branching out and feeling more at ease. Yeah, sure, grab me another beer.

The real story, meanwhile, is developing on the course.

Tiger Woods entered the round with a three-stroke lead and appeared poised to run away with this thing, but instead found himself locked in a battle with Chris DiMarco on the back nine. DiMarco's approach to the 14th rolled within two feet of the hole, and he tapped in for a birdie to get within one of the lead.

My interior alarm is going off, time to check on the birthday girl (Her friend gets up and follows, a development that would ruin me later).

OK, she's still locked in a conversation, boyfriend duty's taken care of, what's going on in the tournament?

DiMarco's still one back and hit his tee shot at 16 onto the green. Woods missed wide left.

Interesting.

If you don't know what happened next, I apologize to you for coming this far. Woods hits a chip shot all the way to the top of the green (What's he doing?!) the ball stops in its tracks, then begins trickling towards the hole like it has a tracking system in it (Oh!).

Everyone in the room is getting loud, louder, and in a near scream as the ball stops right on the lip, the Nike logo staring the camera right in the face as an Advertising Executive collapses in joy somewhere in the hills of California. The room inadvertently stomps in unison, trying to will the ball to move, and it works -- the logo begins creeping to the left before disappearing into the earth.

The greatest shot we'll ever see. We all knew it.

Everybody rips up from their seats, high-fiving every animate thing in site. We're locked in now. Let's see how this puppy works itself out!

We watched as Tiger bogeyed the final two holes to induce a playoff, then nailed a 14-foot putt for birdie in the first sudden-death hole to claim the green jacket. A pretty euphoric moment.

Little did I know that a storm was brewing around me all the while.

My girlfriend had been growing more and more angry the longer I stayed in the living room, and the problem was compounded ten-fold because her friend chose the same fate. Reacting to her poor state, the women around her began to question why the two of us were absent together, until finally, everyone agreed that there was an injustice going on, and on the poor girl's birthday.

Just as Tiger was crowned we all got up and started walking outside, as the mother came in, put her finger in my face, and screamed, "Doghouse!" over and over and over.

Uh-oh.

The birthday cake presentation was minutes later, with the entire female presence humming in disdain while shooting something a bit sharper than daggers at me with their eyes.

I was forced to spend the next couple of hours in a situation I sincerely hope no man has to ever go through again. I couldn't leave, or I'd be labeled both guilty, rude and a coward. And I could speak to no one -- all of the women hated me, and all of the men knew better than to associate with me. My only ally was her friend, and talking to her would have been the worst move of all. So I stood there, in silence, for an extended eternity, until finally I was granted my leave.

Needless to say, that relationship didn't work out so well.

The family ultimately realized that I wasn't the anti-Christ and we even vacationed together a few weeks later, but the girl and I broke up before summer's end.

And I’m not trying to suggest that the two were directly related, but it did reveal a couple of pure facts:

1) She doesn't have any appreciation for an historical sports moments and

2) She apparently thought that I was the kind of guy that would try to get with her friend, on her birthday, in front of her family.

Given my livelihood and my character, those are about as bright a red flags as you're going to wave.

So in the ensuing months when I was heartbroken and low, I could look back at that day, and remember in part why things didn't work out. And, I can say that she may have stomped my soul, but she didn't make me miss Tiger's chip.

At this time of year, all of it comes rushing back, and I can't help but sit back and reflect.

The Masters -- a tradition unlike any other.


Tim appears on this page every Thursday. You can contact him at tmcmanus@phanaticmag.com