The wonder of the US Masters

NINE years ago this week, I stood next to Corey Pavin and Curtis Strange at the airport.
I remembered Pavin’s punch-thumping antics from the ‘War on the Shore’ Ryder Cup battle at Kiawah Island.
He was small, smaller than me and that’s small. Strange was a good few inches taller.
We had just flown in from Atlanta and the three of us were waiting on our golf-bags.
When the carousel clicked into motion, two overbags with Corey Pavin and Cutis Strange, professionals golfs and their sponsors names inscribed on the sides, burst into view.
The pair nodded to their lackies, who hauled them off the carousel.
Mine wasn’t far behind. It was the one with black bin-liner tied with string covering the top.
I looked around and when no-one was looking, pulled them off and quietly headed for the door.
Outside, the star and stripes blowing from the flagpole was as big as a football pitch, or so it seemed.
My landlord for the week stood next to his pick-up. The registration plate screamed in loud red lettering ‘Jesus Saves’.
To be fair, even though he was a real-life preacher he never once mentioned religion during the whole week I stayed at Indian Creek.
I had arrived in Augusta, the home of the US Masters, and it was going to lead to an extraordinary week.