Not Your Father's Masters

Everyone loves a great underdog story, and Zach Johnson winning the Masters is right up there with the best of them.

That's the positive spin.

By winning the Masters, Zach Johnson joins Charles Coody and Tommy Aaron in that elite group of professional golfers whose sole contribution to the history of golf was their unlikely Masters victory.

That's the mean-spirited version.

What I feel is somewhere in between. Zach, who I will freely admit to never having heard of until this past weekend, seems to be a good kid with a good head on his shoulders. On the other hand, it's clear that the true "winner" this weekend was Augusta National, which kicked everyone's butt, and I don't necessarily see that as a good thing at all.

The "Tiger-proofing" of Augusta National now appears to be complete. However, the absurdity of calling it that becomes plain when one realizes that only through a colossal fluke did Tiger not win the tournament. Barring another miracle, it's not as if the green-jacketed brain trust has done anything other than ensure that very few players other than Tiger can ever win this thing, as long as he's in his prime. The fact that Tiger played poorly for most of the weekend and still came within two strokes of winning is significant. And one thing is for certain - Tiger's play was as joyless an exercise as I've ever seen, in any professional sport. Frankly, it was excruciating to watch - he was clearly pissed off nearly the entire time, and should probably give that some thought once he cools down a bit.

Once upon a time, each of the major golf tournaments had their own identity. Thanks to Hootie Johnson and Tom Fazio, the Masters is perilously close to losing its identity. The course is still beautiful; the music still saccharine; the announcers still reverent. But in their decade-long quest to create the "perfect test of golf," the Masters has forgotten what it was all about. The Masters was about Palmer going birdie-birdie to win by a stroke. The Masters was Gary Player shooting 64 on the final day to shock the world. The Masters was Jack Nicklaus outdueling Tom Weiskopf and Johnny Miller by matching them, birdie for birdie and eagle for eagle. The Masters was that same Nicklaus, shooting 30 on the back nine to complete the single most exciting day in the history of professional golf. And yes, the Masters was Tiger Woods, annihilating the field and making the whole thing look easy.

Those days appear to be gone for good. One can argue whether or not the course is "better" than it used to be. That's a matter of opinion. But it is a fact that absent a retro movement in Augusta, the Masters stands to lose its identity - and become the U.S. Open, held in the Spring, with a more exclusive field, and on a prettier course. And that is truly sad.