Mother nature and the Master’s patrons

Augusta National is an environment of extreme artifice, a fantasia of the fifties, a Disneyclub amid the Georgia pines- the New Yorker

I like watching the “patrons” at the Masters – as much as the golf. I particularly enjoy it when an ill placed shot rolls into the crowd requiring patrons to take evasive action. As most of the patrons around greens have embedded themselves into fold up chairs, balls often end up caught in knapsacks or golf umbrellas while the bemused patron realises he or she is now a “temporary hazard”.

Augusta represents the American penchant for ordered nature with no “rough” and more pine needles than at a B&Q warehouse. Man it seems, has tamed nature and the 18 holes and surrounding par three and country club is a Disney-fied take on the great outdoors.

As a televised event, the Masters is peerless. You don’t have to be a golf fan to enjoy it, or to enjoy napping in front of it. The apparatus for all this footage—the camouflaged camera towers, the buried cables, the hidden microphones—is hardly noticeable – apparently even when you’re there.

And then this happens

Had those trees fallen on a patron, or on the green cameraman’s tent and had we had an injury or a fatality, these pictures would not be so readily available on websites. Augusta came within a few feet of killing someone.

If you went down to the woods yesterday, you’d be sure of a big surprise. You can tell nature what to do and call yourself Capability Brown,

but when the wind blows

and the trees sway,

if you’re a patron,

get out of the way.


Mother nature has its own rhythm, we are tenants not owners of the land.

About henry tapper

Founder of the Pension PlayPen,, partner of Stella, father of Olly . I am the Pension Plowman
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