The spectacle that is The Masters is almost indescribable. Said to be "the toughest ticket in sports"...I believe it, especially when the game’s best are at their best, and history seems at our fingertips. I made it back home fine (though exhausted) and Rory collapsed as I expected. Jordan Spieth almost pulled off a miraculous comeback...almost beat Patrick Reed, but the local boy pulled through and won me $10 (which is good because I went a little bit over budget).
Augusta National—the course—is unbelievable...definitely worthy of being America’s No. 1. It’s a pipe dream of mine to play it with my son one day, considering I’m still a nobody with no money, but...who knows...maybe someday Tom Brady or David McLay Kidd will let me pen their autobiography and take me there to play as part of the payment. Me and my son. A guy can dream, right? I mean, it took me 15,265 days to get there...but this one day in Augusta was living proof that SOME dreams DO come true! (Can I get an Amen Corner to that?)
We all have friends who promise then never deliver. We don’t need more friends like that. But then we have friends who promise nothing but deliver huge—like Ann. Masters tickets aside (given all the generous contributions she makes to foundations and charities), we all could use more friends like Ann Liguori.