What's happening at the Master's this ye ar

“Hey Tilt, need an update!”

“I went down to the practice round yesterday, and it was great. Burk dropped the protest this year, so as far as I know there is none of that going on.”

“Surely Jessie Jackson came?
That defender of the downtrodden.
Must no be many TV cameras.”

“no=not”

“I didn't see him....he may have had some previous commitments that were more amorous in nature :)”

“Golf is a pretentious game requiring unnatural movements played in haughty surroundings by elitest snobs interested more in the social standing of fellow participants than in the sport itself.

Give me backpacking or kayaking anyday over stupid golf.”

“For Watson's Caddie, It's More Than a Game

By DAVE ANDERSON

Published: April 8, 2004

http://www.nytimes.com/2004/04/08/sports/golf/08ANDE.html


AUGUSTA, Ga.
CADDIES usually trudge in the shadows of their golfers. But in the last year, for all the wrong reasons, one caddie emerged from those shadows.

In the excitement of Tom Watson's 65 in last year's United States Open, his longtime caddie, Bruce Edwards, was asked how that round rated with Watson's memorable chip-in from the rough at the 17th hole that won the 1982 Open at Pebble Beach.

"It was just a game back then," Edwards replied. "It's a lot more than a game now."

It's being afflicted with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, known as Lou Gehrig's disease.
"If I go in a year or less, I've had a wonderful life," Edwards said that week at the Open. "I've been lucky. I had one of the greatest golfers in the world. I've had a wonderful ride, a lot of wins, a lot of great moments."
And last night, on the eve of the Masters, another great moment occurred for the 49-year-old Bruce Edwards.

He was honored with the Ben Hogan award, given annually by the Golf Writers Association of America to an individual who continued to be active in golf despite a physical handicap or serious illness. Among the previous recipients was Lee Trevino in 1980 for his comeback from spinal surgery.

"It's a beautiful trophy," Trevino said at the time. "Years ago my wife told me, `You've got to win that trophy,' and I told her: `You know what you have to do to win that trophy? You have to get hit by a bus!' "

Trevino was joking. Ben Hogan, the best golfer of his era, nearly died in 1949 when his Cadillac had a head-on collision with a bus that pulled out into an oncoming lane on a foggy Texas highway. Despite battered legs, he returned to win six majors — three United States Opens, two Masters and one British Open as well as an unmatched sweep of all three in 1953.

Bruce Edwards, of course, was hit by something even deadlier than a bus: an incurable illness.

But throughout his travels with Watson last year, he never stopped smiling, never stopped being himself. When he was told early last year at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minn., that he had one to three years to live, he was on the phone with Watson saying, "It could be worse," as reported by John Feinstein in his book, "Caddy for Life — The Bruce Edwards Story."

"Worse?" Watson said.

Edwards then explained that it would be worse if he had a disease that was not named after such a well-respected player. "At least Lou Gehrig was a great athlete," Edwards said, referring to the Yankees slugger who died in 1941.
With Bruce too ill to leave his Ponte Vedra Beach, Fla., home, his father, Jay, accepted the award at last night's G.W.A.A. dinner. In praising Bruce's courage, he said, "Two people have been saints in all of this — his wife, Marsha, and his boss, Tom Watson."

Edwards's struggle inspired Watson to have the best year a 53-year-old golfer ever had: the winner of two senior majors (British Open and the Tradition) along with $1.8 million in prize money and being named the player of the year on the Champions Tour. Watson also earned a $1 million tax-deferred annuity that he donated to A.L.S.-related charities, notably the Driving4Life, A.L.S. Therapy Development Foundation in Cambridge, Mass. The 4 represents Gehrig's uniform number.

With most golfers, caddies come and go. But except for three years spent with Greg Norman at Watson's suggestion, Edwards had been Watson's caddie since 1973.

Growing up in Wethersfield, Conn., Edwards had disappointed his parents by forsaking college to be a caddie. In Feinstein's book, he recalled his parents' proudest moment: when a spectator pointed to Watson during the 1984 Open and said, "It's him."

Overhearing that, Edwards turned and said: "Not it's him. It's he," then glanced at his parents and said, "I bet you never thought you'd hear that from a caddie."
Through most of three decades as a caddie for Watson in what Edwards called "a traveling neighborhood," he was, as Phil Mickelson's caddie, Jim Mackay, who is known as Bones, said, "our Arnold Palmer." And the only caddie ever honored with the Ben Hogan Award.



Bruce Edwards passed away in his sleep early Thursday morning at the age of 49 from complications due to ALS.

It cast something of a pall over the folks at the course, I hear. It was already shaping up to be a bittersweet day, with Arnold Palmer playing in his last tournament, his 50th.”

“This is the official website: Masters.org


On a Lighter Note -----

Here's a little something from the April Fools Edition of our free weekly, the Metro Spirit....


The Secret of Martha and Hootie
By Colin Almen

This week, the national press was stunned to discover Martha Burk, chair of the National Council of Women’s Organizations and leader of last year’s protest of the Augusta National Golf Club’s all-male membership, sharing a round of golf at the National with club chairman Hootie Johnson.

When first spotted on the course, the two attempted to hide behind the 100-year-old Eisenhower Tree located on the 17th hole, but quickly realized there was no escaping members of the press who had been invited to view the course that day.

“I cannot believe you forgot it was Media Day,” Burk said to Johnson in disgust. “It’s a good thing that I didn’t mount a real campaign against you last year or this entire club would have looked like fools.”

“Would you shut up,” Johnson snapped back, but it was too late. The media had overheard Burk’s comments and began asking Johnson what she meant by a “real campaign.”

“Nothing. Nothing,” Johnson quickly replied. “You know how women get easily confused and irritated. I think Mrs. Burk is just suffering from a hot flash or maybe her blood sugar is low. We just need to get her a little snack. Maybe a nice egg salad on white?”

Burk swung her golf bag at Johnson, knocking him into a sand trap.

“That’s it. Nothing is worth you talking to me like that,” Burk said, turning to the media. “I’ll tell you what’s going on. Last year, Hootie Johnson told me that ever since Tiger Woods started experiencing a losing streak, golf’s popularity has been suffering. So, he promised me that if I stirred up all this controversy and attention that he would make me a member of the Augusta National.”

Shocked reporters began asking Johnson why he chose Burk to become the club’s first female member.

“Would you please shut up, woman!” Johnson yelled at Burk, as he climbed out of the sand trap and brushed off his crisp, white pants.

“Woman?” Burk said, laughing hysterically. “Who are you calling woman?”

Just then, Burk reached into her shirt, pulled out two water balloons and threw them at Johnson.

“You guys get it now?” Burk screamed at reporters. “I wasn’t going to be the club’s first female member. My name is Martin, not Martha and I’m not a woman. I’m a man.”

Johnson turned ghostly pale and stumbled backwards a few steps.

“Oh, God,” he mumbled, as he turned and began slowly walking toward the Bobby Jones Cottage. “Cliff Roberts is going to strike me down dead.”

April Fool!”