It was 1961 when I watched my first Masters broadcast with my dad on a little black-and-white TV (aluminum foil wrapping the “ears”), and the 16th, 17th, and 18th holes were all CBS covered. A guy named Player was at the top of the leader board, and Arnold Palmer’s name was right under his. As a naive kid of 13 knowing nothing about golf, I thought Arnie was leading because I assumed “Player” was the name of the column and therefore Palmer was at the top of the column!

Anyway, that was 58 years ago and I have not missed a Masters since. As a PGA member, I’ve been fortunate to attend the event several times, but other than those years, I have always arranged my weekend schedule to be sitting in front a TV screen from Holy Thursday to Masters Sunday.

This week, I won’t get any older (I’m actually 70 weeks younger than my 70 years). Oh, I’m not fearful of aging, or the fact that I’m a lot closer to the 18th green than the first tee, but this week I just kind of doubt the reality of all that. I’m all too aware of how fast this whole thing is going by, but this week it slows down just enough that the inevitable trickles instead of flies. Because now it’s springtime in the valley in Augusta, Georgia, and the annual rite of passage into spring is mercifully upon us.

I’m a big fan of tradition — I’m not afraid to admit it, and in the Masters we have “a tradition unlike any other.” What makes it such a tradition? Well for one, whoever puts this whole thing together has channeled their elders and has had the great sense and the courage to leave the damn thing alone. In this crazy, hectic, chaotic world, I need something, anything, that stops changing every time I look up or turn a page.  As a golfer, that thing is the Masters in April in Augusta.

The grass will be just as green this week, the holes will be cut in the same places they’ve always been, the pimento and cheese sandwiches will still be wrapped in the little green bags and still sell for a buck fifty, the back nine will still decide the winner, “fore, please!” will still be Augusta-speak for play away, there will still be limited commercial messages during the broadcast, 30,000 “patrons” will still walk the hallowed ground each day, the azaleas will be as gorgeous as always, the spirits of Bobby Jones and Cliff Roberts will still come alive, and we all will feel, in the words of Bob Dylan, forever young!

The Crow’s Nest, the Butler Cabin, Rae’s Creek, The Hogan Bridge, Sarazen’s double eagle, Arnie’s Army, the honorary starters… There’s nowhere else we know the players and events, the thrilling victories, the tragic defeats like we do at Augusta. Everyone is familiar with everything because it stays the same.

“The Masters,” was a name for the event Bobby Jones was reluctant to use because it seemed a bit precocious. Jones didn’t make many mistakes when designing this “toonament,” but I’m really glad he dropped “The Augusta National Invitational” tag. Oh, and he decided to reverse the nines.  Can you even imagine this event, with the most famous back nine in golfdom, being played as the first nine? Horrors!

Every first full week of April, we get to wipe the slate clean and start all over again. The weather is getting warmer, the days are getting longer, we dust off the sticks and head to links. But this week we stand in awe of the sporting spectacle we know as the Masters. Anyway, let the show is about to begin. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I do. I’d like to add one final note to the younger readers and maybe first time attendees at the event: If golf is in your soul, treasure every moment this week because the memories will last a lifetime, and you’ll appreciate it more with each passing year.  Believe me, b there will come a time when you drag your feet just to slow the passage of time, and there is no better time to do so than this week.