It’s funny. When you are at Augusta National nothing in the outside world matters. Perhaps the powers that be here want it that way, consumed inside this azalea scented bubble what happens beyond the gates of Magnolia Lane is immaterial.
Didn’t Donald Trump threaten World War III by blowing Iran to smithereens? Not a dicky bird about it here and I’m in the country for God’s sake. No, we must stick to traditions here. No phones at Augusta, no running at Augusta and no talk of war at Augusta. Tom McKibbin was given refuge from Dubai via Jon Rahm’s private jet but not even he would go there when asked about a potential return to the UAE.
Augusta National and Basil Fawlty – don’t mention the war.
Masters week has been a hive of activity, 12-14 hour days that have passed in a flash. My runners have become worn at the soles from all of the walking and Rory McIlroy has delivered in spades. It has been wake up and get to the Press Building for 6.30am, get breakfast and go about your business for the day. Today, Saturday, feels different. A later bed time on Friday was supposed to be met with a lie in this morning. The jet lag put paid to that but I still made it in before 8am so it’s a later start than usual.
The road in is as quiet as it has ever been, I won’t take it for granted that the usually 15-20 minute journey took ten minutes this morning as I know that 20 minute trips have been taking up to two hours back home.
Today there isn’t much to be done, McIlroy isn’t out until 2.50pm local time, almost seven hours to wait. The Press Building is quiet, without the usual hum of activity that has made time to quickly. Some of the early starters begin to flock in at around 11am local time. If ever there was a chance to reconnect with the outside world it is now.
So, what to do when waiting for McIlroy to tee off? The allure of Premier League football is too much and since my desk for the week is beside an Arsenal fan I took the opportunity to linger over his laptop in case of any comedic outcome. There was. And so came the first bit of electricity in the Press Building as the English golf writers began to giggle. McIlroy surely won’t bottle his record 36-hole lead of six shots but the same can’t be said of Mikel Arteta and his misfiring gunners. My mind wanders to what will happen first, will Jordan Spieth hole a putt or will Arsenal score a goal from open play?
There are some Irish smiles for Paul Townend at the Aintree Grand National before things lull again and the journalist beside me remarks “three more hours before the Paddies go out, it’s a long day isn’t it?” The small talk for the day is “it’s a long day of waiting.”
Scottie Scheffler’s eagle on the par-5 2nd is played on the big screen and draws the odd hmmmm and raised eyebrow. “If he can shoot two 65s he could still win this.” Imagine.
After a half hour of deliberating why rugby can’t possibly be a real sport if a country like Ireland considers themselves as World Cup contenders in a competition played by a handful of teams, and watching Liverpool somehow go 2-0 up over Fulham at half time, it’s time for lunch before heading down to the driving range to cast an eye over Rory.
We will know almost instantly whether he is feeling it with the driver or not, he can often look agitated when he is not on the ball and despite his record lead it will be interesting to see if his waywardness off the tee will be punished today. If it was anyone else you would say it was unsustainable. Afterwards it’ll be time to watch Shane Lowry for a couple of holes before assuming the positions for Rory watch.
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