Finally, the answer to the question is, “Yes. I have played Augusta National.”
For the previous 28 Masters which I’ve covered as a journalist, each morning the drive on Washington Road would always involve me passing Magnolia Lane – Gate Number 3 as it is in Masters week – to enter the property by the media entrance and drive again back by it later in the night – but never down the most famous entrance road in golf, reserved only for players and members.
Masters number 29 for me, though, will be remembered not just for Rory McIlroy’s masterful back-to-back win, but also for being one of the lucky few to come out of the annual media lottery. My name hadn’t been posted on the digital screen in the media centre when the draw was made on the Friday afternoon.
However, on Sunday evening, just as McIlroy was on the closing stretch of his historic successful defence, a spot became available for the Monday tee-times. One person’s misfortune became my stroke of good fortune. The printed invitation to play from Augusta National Golf Club advised a 12.10pm arrival for a 1.10pm tee time. It was real.
READ MORE
What was surreal was actually turning right in to Magnolia Lane for the first time, my registration plate checked for entry by security, the invitation card double-checked, and then being told to drive on. Large magnolia trees dating back to the 1850s line the lane which measures just 330 yards and my short journey was to the accompaniment of Kingfishr’s Killeagh. I know, no accounting for taste, but there was no wife or children with me to object this time. I was on my own, my special time. My choice.
The short drive down Magnolia Lane to the Founders Circle was over in jig-time and my new reality met me at Founders Circle – where yellow pansies vibrantly display the Masters logo and where the plaques dedicated to the founding members Bobby Jones and Clifford Roberts are located at the foot of the flagpole – as a valet attendant took my car keys and the golf bag was removed and carted away to the driving range.
So it was that I entered the clubhouse, just myself and my golf shoes, with directions up to the Champions Locker Room. I had been allocated to share the locker of Tom Watson and Bubba Watson, their name plates on the door, as had a CBS researcher, Reed (first name), who was just as excited and nervous. The Watsons and the Reid/Reed(s).
Our 1.10pm tee time was the final slot on the sheet. Just like McIlroy, huh! Before that, however, was an invite to eat in the grill room and the surreal moments kept on coming – before even setting foot on the golf course – as actor Mark Wahlberg came in having finished his round to sit at the table next to us.
The range at Augusta National is out of limits to working press during the week of the tournament but not on this special occasion. I arrive to a pyramid of Titleist ProV1 golf balls, my clubs placed behind the work of art and my caddie smiling.
“Hi, I’m Lisa, and I’ll be your caddie today.”
Lisa is the poor unfortunate who has got this P. Reid – definitely not the Masters champion P. Reed – for the day but the smile is a constant presence throughout the round. She has been caddying at Augusta National for three years, having previously carried bags at Pinehurst in North Carolina, before relocating to Augusta, and is a mine of information on lines and angles and encouragement.
So, what do you do on the range? Hit balls. The only previous time I’d been this nervous was when getting to play the Dunhill Links – after my name was pulled out of a hat, literally, by Ernie Els – at St Andrews, Kingsbarns and Carnoustie. That was 2002. And I’d broken the habit of a lifetime in hitting balls on the range on the Old Course.
I was far more nervous this time. The range at Augusta National is pristine, even after the Masters week and the countless thousands of balls that Rory & Co. had propelled down towards the media centre at the far end. Wedge. 5-iron. Driver.
And on to the putting green.
“You’re a good putter,” says Lisa after observing 15 or so putts with my Odyssey White Hot Versa (yes, for the first time I had brought my own golf clubs on the off chance of manifesting being drawn – and it worked!).
“God, you’ll soon discover,” I thought to myself.
And before we knew it, it was time. On the first tee, I got to meet my fellow travellers on the journey of a lifetime. Reed, from CBS, who I’d met and dined with. Blake, a content creator for masters.com. Bill, a long-time golf magazine editor now working for masters.com.
This pinch-me moment had arrived, hitting a drive off the first tee at Augusta National – into the trees right, if you must know – and onwards for what would be just under four and a half hours of an unbelievable golfing experience made all the more memorable for coming less than 24 hours after McIlroy had walked the same fairways.
No, we didn’t play off the same tournament tees as the world’s greatest golfers.
While the Masters course stretches to over 7,500 yards, we mere mortals played off the members tees measuring 6,365 yards and, in a very nice touch, each of us were applauded off the first tee after hitting our drives by officials of the Masters and Augusta National who had organised the media lottery.
In truth, getting to play Augusta National was magical, most probably a once-in-a-lifetime experience and most certainly a top-end bucket list item ticked.
The first hole is one of the toughest of all opening holes, but the walk from the first up the fairway – with a slight detour into the trees to play the recovery – was like walking on air.
“Just play back out,” says Lisa pointing back to a spot on the fairway.
But you only live once. I was sure I had a gap to advance it further up the fairway, and duly knocked it into the fairway bunker.
Lisa smiled, her silence understandable.
Still, we were off and walking – no running at Augusta National – and a bunker shot to 65 yards and a pitch to 12 feet held out the prospect of a bogey. The greens, even watered and not quite as fast as Masters Sunday, are as slick as you imagine but that’s hard to tell the brain. Two putts, an opening six.
Each hole has its own captivation, and memory. But the quest to find pars, never mind birdies, would prove a hole-by-hole task in its own spellbinding way. The way the ball runs back down the slope after the approach on the third. I end up with a five – the first of nine bogeys – and we move onwards with nobody behind us to see us in our own little world.
I don’t think I’ve ever had as many three-putts in my life, although Lisa’s encouragement and professionalism remained focused and always with an accompanying smile.
On the par 3 fourth, my 5-wood tee-shot finished pin-high off the green (okay helped by hitting the underfencing of the grandstand there) but the putter that worked so well on the putting green had gone. Three-putt, bogey four.
On the par 3 sixth where I’d stood behind the tee box on the Saturday and watched Shane Lowry hole out for an ace, my 5-iron found the top tier where the flag was. An actual birdie putt from 20 feet. Three putt, bogey four.
Yet, there was no sense of disappointment on this day of days, the experience more rewarding and enjoyable than whatever score went into the box on the scorecard.
Unfortunately, some of those were marked with a x. Like on the par 3 12th.
“I don’t want you aiming at the flag,” advises Lisa. “Just go over the left side of the bunker.”
And that’s where the ball went until it caught the lip of the famous sand trap and fell into the immaculate white sand. Three unsuccessful attempts to splash out meant picking up for the first time. But not the last.
On the par 5 13th, a drive to the corner and a 5-wood lay-up left me in prime position for the approach. If it weren’t for the tributary to Rae’s Creek. Just as McIlroy had done in the final round of his 2025 win, the ball hit the green but rolled back into the water. A dropped ball, and the same result. You know when enough is enough.
Still, there were better moments. Like on the par 5 15th where a drive and 5-iron had me over the pedestrian walkway and a 9-iron to 20 feet. For a birdie. Then five feet (short, criminally) for a par. Then a tap-in bogey.
“This 15th green is soooo difficult,” says one of the other caddies in sympathy.
And, by journey’s end, on the 18th – with the giant white leaderboard still showing the names of the players and their scores from the day before, headed by McIlroy’s – the pity was that it was all over. The time had flown by.
One of the perks of playing on the Monday is being allowed access to the pro shop and getting to purchase the Augusta National Golf Club merchandise (quarter-zip, shirt, cap if you must know) before the reality of life outside the bubble is brought back with the valet’s handing over of the car keys.
Then the drive back down Magnolia Lane – for the one and only time – on to Washington Road and a stop just down the road to contact family and friends about the experience. Except, I couldn’t. The no-phones policy at Augusta National had meant leaving the mobile phone in the car ... and the battery had drained completely in the heat of the day.
You can’t have it every way.
