Amen Corner part of sports mythology
Web posted 04/13/97
``We kept looking for the signs,'' one of them said apologetically, but deadly serious. ``But we didn't see any. And nobody could tell us where it was.''
Amen Corner is merely the most famous confluence of three golf holes in the world. They felt pretty stupid about asking for directions.
When I could finally stop laughing, I began to realize they had been victimized by sports mythology.
There really IS no Amen Corner at Augusta National.
Just like there is no Hot Corner in baseball, no real national championship in college football or no real city of Tampa Bay.
Amen Corner is the figment of New York golf writer Herbert Warren Wind's imagination, which is why he lifted the line from an old African-American jazz tune called Shoutin' Around Amen Corner to describe the emotions of the players and spectators while overlooking the 11th green, 12th hole and 13th tee box.
Amen Corner has very precise mythical coordinates. It has a beginning, a middle and an end: Holes number 11, 12 and 13.
Why, then, can't anybody determine exactly when or where the Masters became bigger than life? If we can ask directions to Amen Corner, then we should be able to pinpoint the defining moment in Masters popularity. I went in search of that answer.
My first instinct was to reflect back to 1960 when Arnold Palmer birdied 17 and 18 for his second Masters victory, became the blue collar darling of American golf by winning in the U.S. Open in dramatic fashion at Cherry Hills and began appearing in national photos with the golf-playing president, Dwight D. Eisenhower.
``Maybe,'' said Palmer, agreeing only somewhat about his 1960 performance. ``I think fans enjoyed the way I won in '60. But I also think it may have started two years earlier when I won here in 1958.''
Palmer took the game to the masses (does that sound familiar?).
The Masters burst into further prominence because of golf's ascent in popularlity and the color telecasts of CBS.
Aw, pshaw, said noted golf scholar, author and journalist Dan Jenkins. ``The Masters started with Gene Sarazen's double eagle in '35. And I can remember covering Ben Hogan and Sam Snead in the early '50s when there were so many people at the golf course you could hardly move,'' Jenkins said.
True, Mr. Hisownself. But not that many Americans were privileged to see the beauty of Augusta National in all its colorful array until TV provided it.
My theory is that Palmer launched the rocket in '58 and '60, then Jack Nicklaus came along in 1963 as a 23-year-old whipper-snapper to put Augusta National in orbit. His record score of 271 in 1965 even had Bobby Jones gagging for words about Jack's unfamiliar, alien-like ability.
Was that the start of it all?
``Oh, I don't know,'' Nicklaus said. ``The Masters started a long time before that. And I think it has benefitted from the growth in popularity of golf.''
The Palmer-Nicklaus confrontations helped. The young villian and the older hero would have fit today's WWF scenario perfectly as Bad Guy vs. Good Guy.
Finally, the ugly duckling evolved into the beautiful swan. Jack lost the weight, found the new hairstyle and wardrobe, became immensely popular and dominated golf like nobody in an other sport has since. His 1986 Sunday performance remains the paragon of excellence for exciting finishes.
Was THAT the defining moment for the Masters?
In 30 years we will look back to April 1997, and probably say that Tiger Woods took the Masters to a zenith never believed possible.
So when did the Masters get bigger than life its ownself?
It is an answer that can only be found in the mysterious vagaries of Augusta National, written in the winds that swirl down there on Amen Corner. Even if it's not really there.
