I Went to the Masters For the First Time. Here’s What I’ll Always Remember

Max Schreiber expands on what his first time at the Masters was like, from a hectic Uber ride, dropping some cash in the golf shop and meeting a childhood hero.

My first-ever week in Augusta was surely one I'll never forget. | Katie Goodale-Imagn Images

AUGUSTA — Why did you click on this story? 

Who the heck am I? Some kid (well, young man, technically) who has written golf articles for the past few years, and usually does it as images of Derek Jeter and Eli Manning hoisting the Lombardi Trophy hang on my wall and gawk at me as I punch my keyboard. 

This week was different, though. I had the chance to finally attend the Masters. The iconic images that I’ve only ever seen digitally or in picture frames came to life in front of my very eyes. 

It started with a hectic Uber ride. Getting to the course was no walk in the park (or ride down Magnolia Lane, especially not for this golfer who just wants to break 100 each time he tees it up). The driver, an out-of-towner who was spending the week in Augusta (asking a girl he went on a date with a decade ago if he could crash at her place) because Uber had an extra incentive for escorting patrons to Augusta National Golf Club, wasn’t aware of where the ride share lot was. Finally, I just got out on the street and walked in myself. 

When I made my long-awaited voyage to the course, I was struck by the simplicity and nostalgic feel. As you’re probably aware, since you’re taking time out of your life to read this piece of golf content, there are no electronics on the course. Yes, of course, phones aren’t permitted. But also, no electronic scoreboards. Look at images of Augusta National from decades-old Masters: it’s almost identical to today, aside from the patrons’ style, now decked out in polyester, pattern-littered golf polos (myself included). The players are, too, with sponsor logos pasted all over them, resembling a NASCAR driver. Gene Sarazen and Ben Hogan couldn’t fathom today’s fashion. 

Yes, for those wondering, I tried the pimento cheese sandwich as soon as I could. I had never had it before. It wasn’t bad, but it seems more like a dip, rather than something that should be on an entire sandwich. Am I wrong?

The only photo of myself I can receive is the one taken by Masters staff on Magnolia Lane. | Courtesy of Augusta National Golf Club

As for the golf, it’s watched differently than any other tournament in the world. As patrons circle every hole, it’s difficult to see each shot. Instead, with no phone, you’re just soaking up the vibes. The cheers reverberate through the pine trees, unlike any other course. Oh, a roar! Did it come from the par-3 6th? Then, you stare at the famed manual scoreboards and see Shane Lowry went from 6 under to 8 under. A hole in one! 

That can cause some anxiety, though. Wanting to follow as much as possible, you’re wondering why Rory McIlroy went from 13 under to 11 under on the 11th hole. Did he dump one in the water? Probably. But maybe he three-putted, hit a wayward tee shot, or failed to get up and down. On the flip side, you hear a rumble from the patrons on the par-5 15th, where Scottie Scheffler was playing. Was it a birdie or eagle? You must wait for the number to flash on the leaderboard. 

And if you want to see the final putt drop on No. 18 Sunday … fuhgeddaboudit (unless you claim a spot beside the green hours in advance). 

Luckily, every shot is on Masters.com. But that’s for after the sun has set. 

As much as I wanted to watch the golf, frankly, I was just as excited, maybe even more, to wait an absurd amount of time to go to the golf shop (that mirrors a golf-infused Macy’s) and spend a foolish amount of money. Now, I can flex on my friends that I have an Augusta National exclusive polo, T-shirt and headcover. But to strangers, I’ll be a tad more humble about my Masters experience. 

However, more anxiety ensued when I discovered it would cost more to ship my coveted gnome home than it did to buy it. Maybe I’ll lug it on the plane? And have strangers gaze at it as I put it on my lap like it’s my child (for now, it is). Decisions, decisions … (I shipped it). 

I clearly wasn’t alone. As I stood near the 13th green on Sunday, two patrons were talking behind me (with no cell phone to bury your nose into between shots, strangers often strike up a conversation). One man, from Colorado, said, “I told my wife I need to get to the Masters before I die. Then, I called her from a courtesy phone and she said, You better die while you’re there, because I’ve been tracking your credit card and when you get home, I’m going to kill you.”

That was a prime illustration of the magic of the Masters. Everyone is present, without an electronic device in their hands, exhorting the same giddiness of being in Augusta. For example, standing next to the 18th hole on Friday was Peyton Manning, wearing a green jacket. Many people turned their heads, but, unable to snap a picture, went back to watching those inside the ropes finish their rounds. In that moment, Peyton was just one of us.

Earlier in the day, though, his brother, Eli, was wandering near the clubhouse, chumming it up with some patrons. So, this Giants fan walked up to him, shook his hand, and thanked him for some of the greatest moments of my life (18-1!). 

Little does he know he’s been staring me down for years. 

Now, are you happy you read this?