Tom Watson (Stats | Bio) was up at 5 a.m. sending an e-mail to Bruce Edwards that would never get a reply.

Watson knows, however, what his caddie would have told him.

"Go win the Masters for me."

Less than 10 hours after Edwards was honored in Augusta with the Ben Hogan Award for his courage, the long-time caddie for Watson died in his sleep Thursday morning at his home in Ponte Vedra Beach, Fla. It had been only 15 months since Edwards, 49, was diagnosed with ALS - amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, aka Lou Gehrig's Disease.

Hilary Watson delivered the news to her husband as he sat alone in the Champions Locker Room at Augusta National Golf Club at 6:30 a.m.

"Bruce didn't want to sit on the couch and watch the Masters," Hilary said. "He wanted to sit on your shoulder."

And so a devastated Watson went out at 8:44 a.m. with Edwards' yardage book in his pocket and his voice in his head. He walked slowly and mostly by himself. He was "out of whack" on his way to 76. At times he seemed on the edge of tears.

"With his yardage book in my hip pocket, I felt like he was with me," Watson said.

Watson's feelings for Edwards run deep after 31 years of friendship and brotherhood. The night before at the Golf Writers Association of America banquet, the two-time Masters Tournament champion implored everyone to refrain from long faces for a man who "could make you laugh at the worst of times." He wore a brave face on the course and in the media center Thursday.

Even as the bright lights caught the moisture on his lips and in his eyes, it was Watson's voice that ultimately froze the room.

"Damn this disease! Damn it!" Watson roared into the microphone. "They are going to find a cure. We don't have one right now."

Just as Watson and Edwards brought awareness to ALS after an emotional 65 that shared the first- round lead in the 2003 U.S. Open, Edwards' timing was impeccable to the end. Once again he brought the message out at one of golf's grandest stages.

"What we did in that first round, there was a reason for it - to get the word out," Edwards said after his final U.S. Open on Watson's bag. "If I use this podium properly, somebody might be saved, even if I'm not."

Watson has been his greatest advocate for finding a cure for the disease that kills too few Americans a year to be a high financial priority for the major research companies. Edwards, Watson said, helped "open my soul up a little bit."

On Thursday, for the first time since 1992, Watson played the Masters without Edwards by his side.

On Thursday morning, he picked up a local caddie, Gary Moore, a former assistant pro at Augusta Municipal. Moore simply carried the bag and left Watson alone with his thoughts.

"I felt for him," Moore said. "(Edwards) was on his mind."

For all the magic they made in one last go-round in 2003, Watson laments that he couldn't give Edwards a final thrill at Augusta National. He shot 75-77 and missed the cut.

"When I left Bruce last year, he was crying in the parking lot as he thought that was going to be his last Masters," Watson said. "Of course, it was."

They shared the major spotlight for the last time at the U.S. Open. They shared a beer together for the last time after the UBS Warburg Cup at Sea Island, Ga. They shared a bet together for the last time three weeks ago in Florida before Edwards' beloved Connecticut went on to win the NCAA title. They've shared only e-mails since, including one in which Edwards reminded Watson to bring his yardage book to Augusta.

"We talked about death," Watson said. "He said he was not afraid to die. And I said, you know, I'm not afraid either."

Edwards hoped to be in Augusta on Wednesday night to receive the Hogan Award. He couldn't make it, so his father accepted on his behalf with what Watson called a "wonderfully well-thought-out ode to his son."

"Our son is a very brave man," Dr. Jay Edwards said, acknowledging Watson and Bruce's wife, Marsha, as "saints and angels."

Now Watson carries on at the Masters just as he carries on the cause to makes sure Edwards' life and death are "not for naught."

Just no long faces.

"He would want you to laugh about some of the tough things he went through, not feel sorry for him," Watson said. "But always keep aware that maybe there is a cure out there."

This disease be damned.

Reach Scott Michaux at (706) 823-3219 or scott.michaux@augustachronicle.com.