A little over four years ago I took a puck to the jaw and found myself confined to the couch with metal threads running between my teeth, my mouth clamped shut and mind foggy with painkillers. I had been wired together, and I wasn’t going to be doing much for a while. I started writing.
When you first start your own blog, the freedom is overwhelming. Nobody is reading, nobody is editing, and your scope is vast. I chose to write about stand-up comedy, documentaries, and golf, an array of topics bound to attract roughly no one when mashed together potpourri-style. I sprinkled the blog with hockey for flavor (and the interest of some buddies), but I enjoyed nothing like I enjoyed writing about golf.
And lo, Why I Love The Masters was born.
I wrote it on February 23rd, 2009, to nobody, a stream-of-conscious pile of honesty that took me about ten minutes to hack out, and I’ve since linked to it approximately 11,000 times to explain a few of the things that make me love the Masters so much.
The Masters, Augusta National and all its layers aren’t perfect. But neither is the NCAA and March Madness. Neither is the NFL, neither is the NHL, and neither is Major League Baseball. Few things in life are. But for these four days in April, The Masters feels like it.