AUGUSTA — In his lowest moments, Brooks Koepka thought seriously about quitting.

Golf was his job, not his obsession, and for an 18-month stretch, his job was making him miserable. His body was a wreck, his confidence was depleted, and when he stood over the ball, he felt lost. He was embarrassed and in pain, physical and emotional, to the point where he felt like he was going to snap.


When he missed the cut at the Masters in 2022, Koepka signed his scorecard, walked into the player’s parking lot at Augusta, and in brief a fit of rage, he tried to put his fist through the back window of his courtesy car.

“Not once, but twice,” Kopeka said Friday. “First time didn't go, so figured try it again.”


“Wasn’t strong enough, I guess,” Koepka said. “The ride home was pretty silent. Just a lot of frustration. I guess Mercedes makes a pretty good back window.”

Koepka shared that story not long after shooting 67 in the second round of the Masters, a tournament he now leads by four shots going into the weekend. It was his second straight round that felt like a throwback to a different time, a time when he seemed like a boa constrictor in major championships, slowly squeezing the life out of other golfers with a quiet intensity of an apex predator.


There was a time when it seemed unlikely we’d ever see this version of Koepka again. Now it seems we’ll spend the weekend pondering if he’s about to pass Rory McIlroy in total majors.

“If I wasn't going to be able to move the way I wanted to, I didn't want to play the game anymore,” Koepka said, detailing how injuries to his knee and hip had him pondering retirement. “It's just that simple. There was definitely moments of that. Last year was pretty tough. Just a lot of frustration.”

Koepka has been, from the beginning, an integral cog in LIV’s plan to upend the world of professional golf. His signing last year after the U.S. Open was one of the bigger surprises and one of Greg Norman’s biggest coups. But it has been interesting, in recent months, to see Koepka offering LIV a lukewarm endorsement in public while rumors percolate that he has some regrets, even though he is contractually bound to LIV for the foreseeable future. He played a practice round with Rory McIlroy on Tuesday and made it clear they communicate regularly. Asked directly after his round if his decision to join LIV would have been harder if he’d been healthy, Koepka didn’t exactly give the kind of answer Norman would like to boast about.

“Honestly, yeah, probably, if I'm being completely honest,” Koepka said. “I think it would have been. But I'm happy with the decision I made.”

Whatever the future of LIV is, and however you feel about sportswashing (and hypocrisy, and the torture and murder of journalists, and What About China, et cetera, et cetera…) the last two days at Augusta have made it clear that golf is a lot more interesting when Koepka is in the mix, throwing darts with his irons and delivering little digs in press conferences.

He is the best kind of rogue in a sport where politeness typically rules the roost. Koepka spends a lot of time trying to convince people he doesn’t love golf, and that he’s too cool for this shit. And perhaps that is true, and what makes him unlikeable in some circles. He has a way of seeming dismissive and dickish when he’s trying to be honest, like 

when he told Golf Digest he didn’t get the fuss over the Ryder Cup

 and thought the event took him too much out of his regular routine. Paul Azinger said he thought Koepka should give up his spot on the team if he wasn’t all in. Masters champion 

Ian Woosnam blasted him as “arrogant” and insisted he “Get a life!”

But I’ve always had a soft spot for him. It’s fun for the drama of the sport when he punches back and shows what a dominant force he can be when healthy. It’s fun when he backs up his tough guy bravado, not by punching out windows but by stunting on fields full of shrinking violets.

I thought it was an eye-rolling decision when he played in the 2021 Masters just 19 days after he underwent surgery for a shattered kneecap and damaged ligaments. What was he trying to prove, other than he was a hardo? But from Koepka’s perspective, I was looking at it the wrong way. All of us were. He might not love golf, but he loved majors.

“I've missed enough majors,” Koepka said. “I missed this one in … I think it was the year P-Reed won. I missed the major Bryson won. I missed like three or four through that whole stretch of 2016 to 2020. I missed a good bit of them. I was, I don't know, just tired of it. I felt like glass that was always breaking. It's not fun. But I feel a lot better now. To be here is special. It's a special event.”

Getting back required not only a lot of rehab work on his body but also swallowing a good amount of pride. Koepka fired his instructor Claude Harmon III in March of 2021 after eight years together, convinced he needed to hear a different voice in his ear as he struggled to find his game. But after several frustrating finishes during LIV’s 2022 season, he felt like he’d bottomed out.

“I think I got probably to the low point when we were at Trump's place in Bedminster,” Koepka said. “Walked in the locker room, and I think my physio Marc Wahl was waiting for that true low point to hit. I said, ‘I think I need to go back to Claude and start working with Claude again. Doing it on my own wasn't working for me.’ ”

In the midst of it all, Koepka agreed to participate in the first season of Full Swing on Netflix, a decision that many people in golf have been wondering if he regretted once his episode came out. Quite the opposite, Koepka says.

“People probably don't think I'm as open as what I really am,” he said. “I'll tell you exactly how I'm feeling at the time, how I'm feeling in the moment, and that's -- I'm pretty vulnerable, too, away from the golf course. I've always said what you see on the golf course isn't what you get behind closed doors.”

If Koepka does win the Masters, it would be a great outcome for LIV Golf, but it would also be an entertaining outcome for golf in general. Koepka and Patrick Reed play the heel far better than some of their co-workers, and while Koepka is infinitely more talented than Reed, if the two of them have a lifetime exemption into the Masters, it would make for a tasty decade of potential party crashing.

Even this year’s Masters has managed to produce a little controversy for Koepka, as rules officials from the tournament have twice called he and playing partner Gary Woodland in to review an incident from Thursday’s round where Koepka’s caddie appeared to be signaling to Woodland’s caddie Brennan “Butch” Little what club Koepka hit into 15 green. That’s a two-shot penalty under the rules of golf, but both players have been adamant that wasn’t the case.

“I asked Butchy if he saw what he hit. He said no,” Woodland said. “Luckily for us because Brooks ended up hitting 5-iron. I hit 5-iron. I asked Butchy what the club was, and he said it's a choked-up perfect 5. I hit my shot. When we were walking down, I asked Brooks what he hit, and he said 5. If I would have known that, I probably would have hit 6-iron, and I would have hit 6-iron in the middle of the water. Luckily for me, I didn't know what he hit. That's the end of it.”

Koepka told a similar story and added that he was called in a second time by rules officials to testify whether he’d flashed five fingers with his left hand. He insisted he had not.

“I don't know if you're supposed to take your glove off with your fist closed or what now,” Koepka said.

Koepka, of all people, knows how important club selection at Augusta National can be. He might have a Masters already if he’d know what club to hit into No. 12 on Sunday in 2019, when he and Francesco Molinari and Tony Finau all hit the ball into the water and Tiger Woods found the center of the green on his way to a fifth green jacket. Making hard choices about the wind and the carry distance is an essential part of golf, as we were reminded that day. Player and caddie ought to make that decision alone, as Woods and Joe LaCava did at that moment.

Would Brooks feel differently about those kinds of scenarios if Woods had asked Molinari what club he’d just dunked in the water so he could club off that decision? It’s impossible to say. But a stroke on Thursday can have the same meaning on Sunday when they’re added up in the final tally.

If nothing else, it makes Koepka’s weekend rounds all the more interesting. It’s possible a Ball Don’t Lie situation looms. It’s also possible that it won’t matter, and the controversy will be forgotten by Sunday afternoon as Koepka marches to victory.

He has a way of smashing narratives with his best golf, which is a lot more fun and rewarding than trying to smash car windows.

Kevin Van Valkenburg is the Editorial Director of No Laying Up.

Brooks Koepka (tries to) smash windows, smashes expectations

AUGUSTA — Phil Mickelson showed up this week to play the Masters for the first time in two years and proceeded to behave like he was attending a funeral.


He seemed somber. Every interaction was muted. For the first time in 30 years of playing in this tournament, he had almost nothing to say in the build-up. Fuzzy Zoeller and Tommy Aaron told the Augusta Chronicle that Mickelson was essentially silent during the Champions Dinner, quietly eating his meal but not engaging anyone in conversation.

For someone who radiated joy every time he drove through the gates of Augusta National — including the time in 2019 when he recorded a video on his phone as he drove down Magnolia Lane and declared he was going to “hit bombs” all weekend — it felt strange to see him behave so differently at a place so familiar. However you feel about Mickelson’s decision to join LIV Golf and the relationships it strained, there was something sad about seeing him like this.

When he walked to the first tee just after noon on Thursday, the reaction from the patrons could best be described as subdued. He offered a few courtesy nods of appreciation, then a limp thumbs up, but his gallery felt thinner than it had in at least two decades. He still had a smattering of support, but nothing like it once was.


“He looks weird,” said one person in the crowd, leaning toward a friend.

“Yeah I think it’s a health thing,” the friend replied. “Isn’t he in those commercials for osteoporosis? Or wait, that’s not it. I think it’s that thing you get when you type too much. Carpal tunnel.”


“He looks good,” whispered an older patron as Mickelson teed up his ball. “He’s just lost that pot belly he used to have.”

It’s easy to feel like you’re in a bubble sometimes in golf media, where opinions and hot takes tend to blend together and bounce off one another on Twitter or podcasts, so I decided to spend the day in Mickelson’s gallery watching him navigate one of his favorite playgrounds while listening to the chatter of the people in attendance.


Over the course of the day, I heard a broad spectrum of opinions. I also watched Mickelson come alive for the first time in months.

“Hey Phil!” one man yelled as Mickelson made his way up the first fairway. “We have the same handicap!”

“Yeah, and it’s gambling,” his buddy replied, sending their friend group into a fit of laughter.

“You’re not allowed to yell at LIV players,” another gentleman whispered, elbowing his pal as they watched Mickelson fly his approach long of No. 1. “They’re real serious about that.”

At times, the commentary was friendly. And at times it didn’t make much logical sense.

“Phil we missed you this year in Jacksonville, hope you can defend your title next year!” one patron yells as Mickelson made his way to the second hole. I couldn’t tell if he meant the PGA Championship, which was played at Southern Hills in Tulsa, or The Players Championship, an event Mickelson won in 2007 but will almost certainly never appear in again, but the sentiment seemed sincere. Mickelson smiled and nodded as he walked by.


“What is that logo on his hat?” a woman asked her husband. “Is that the Hy Flyers logo? I really like it.”

On No. 2, when he hooked his drive well into the woods on the right, someone from well behind him called out just loud enough to be heard: “I bet LIV wants their money back!” which drew a few snickers. But when Mickelson ventured outside the ropes to find his ball, it turned into a priceless opportunity to pinch in close and listen to Mickelson debate with his caddie and brother, Tim, about how he might escape from jail.

“Oh shit, he’s gonna hit driver!” whispered someone as Mickelson pulled off his headcover.

It was a classic Mickelson gamble, deciding to hit a driver off the pine straw on the second hole of the tournament, but perhaps to no one’s surprise he (kind of) pulled it off, clipping a branch but also blasting the ball 223 yards across the fairway and into the woods on the left side of No. 2. From there the ball found a cart path and trickled to a stop eventually, a position Mickelson somehow made birdie from after a delicate pitch from across the green.

“That was insane!” one man recounted to his buddy as Mickelson loped after his ball. “As soon as I saw driver come out, the crowd just parted like the Red Sea! He sees all the angles!”


“I bet Phil could hit a flop shot with a 3 wood,” an older gentleman said, as Mickelson sized up his approach.

“I bet he thinks he could for sure,” joked his friend.

As his round went on, Mickelson seemed to draw energy from the circus. He was back in his element. He kept his head down early on, but as the day went on, he frequently responded with a limp thumbs up to those pleading for acknowledgment.

“I think he looks fit,” a woman mentioned to her friend on the 7th hole.

“I think he looks awful,” said a man nearby.

“Nah, he looks good,” she said. “I wish I could look that good.”

Mickelson’s round found its true spark on the 8th hole. After a good drive in the middle of the fairway, he chose to hit driver off the deck for the second time, smashing the kind of shot he once described as a hellacious seed toward the green. It was such a sensational shot, it was a fun reminder that, for all his blunders, few players have ever made golf on a razor’s edge as fun to watch. His shot chased onto the front of the green and ran a foot by the hole before it stopped on the back fringe to set up his second birdie.


“Salty,” Mickelson said when asked after the round what that shot felt like. “Really salty.”

Mickelson had been curt with reporters early in the week. But as he recounted some of his shots after the round, a flicker of the old Playful Phil couldn’t resist returning. When I nudged him into sharing more about the difficulty of that shot into No. 8, he proceeded to deliver a master class on how to attack that hole.

“That's a really hard second shot,” Mickelson said, breaking into a grin for one of the first times all week in front of the media. “I came out here a week or two ago and spent -- you know, hit ten balls, went and picked them up, hit ten balls again. I was trying different clubs for that shot. Because if you've got an uphill lie, you're going to pull draw. That's the tendency, right? So if you're a right-handed player, you're going to have that uphill lie, and it's going to shape it right up that green, and the draw's going to run. If I'm hitting a cut, that's a lot harder shot because, if I pull it right to the right pins, I'm not getting that up and down. I'm going to have a 50, 60-footer, and I'm fighting for par. If I come out and miss it left, it's a potential double over there with the trees and the flowers.

“And I've seen it all. I've been there. I can tell you. But if I pull that shot off, all of a sudden I've got birdie and almost made eagle. So that was a really hard shot that I ended up pulling off, and it allowed me to make a 4 when, if I didn't pull it off, there's no way I'm going to make a 4.”

The rest of the round was just as eventful. It was quintessential Mickelson. He birdied No. 9, but then made a double bogey from the middle of the fairway on No. 11. He hit an incredible shot into No. 12 to make a bounce-back birdie, then birdied both the 13th and 15th holes. In between, he hit an 8-iron right-handed after his drive landed near a tree. He hit a decent shot but still made bogey.

“I had like a leaf that I practice swung, and I was like, all right, if I can hit this leaf, I can hit the ball,” Mickelson said, explaining his thinking behind the decision. “If you ever watched Dodgeball, if you can dodge a wrench, you can dodge a ball. I thought, if I can hit this leaf, I can hit a ball. I hit the leaf and did it twice, and I'm like, all right, I can do it. Let's go do it.”

As he made his way around the back 9, I heard plenty of cheers but also endless debates about LIV and whether Mickelson had made the right decision.

“You could buy a yacht with the bag he got,” said one man as they watched Mickelson bogey 16.

“You could buy four or five yachts,” his friend replied.

When Mickelson sprayed his drive left of 17, another discussion broke out about his fitness as he sized up his approach.

“There is less of him for me to not like,” one man mumbled. “I don’t like the rest either.”

“Money motivates everybody,” one man said to his wife as they watched Mickelson stare down a par putt. “For $100 million, I’d do pretty much anything. Hell, I’d push you down the stairs for $100 million.”

“You would, huh?” she said (mostly) laughing.

“Yeah, it ain’t like there is anybody out here recording me,” he said.

When the round ended, a wild and memorable 71, Mickelson handed out fist bumps along the rope line as he made his way into scoring, then reemerged several minutes later and hugged his wife, Amy, who had walked much of the round in the gallery. It was the first time in several years Amy Mickelson had attended a tournament. The couple embraced and chatted for a few seconds before Mickelson made his way toward reporters. He’d recently updated his Twitter profile to include the word “Husband” before the words “Lefty” and “LIV. Golfer.,” something that wasn’t there back in January.

“I was actually enjoying it and appreciative of the opportunity to be here,” Mickelson said when asked about the emotion of his round. “There was a lot of talk a year ago guys wouldn't be able to be here, and I'm very grateful for the opportunity to play and compete here and be a part of it.”

With his mood seemingly chipper, I couldn’t resist asking one of the questions on everyone’s mind: What led to the decision to lose so much weight?

“I needed something different, and I'm having a lot of fun having three teammates and having a different energy and a fun environment, and I want to play and compete at that level,” he said.

Sure, I said, but you’re skinnier than you’ve ever been.

“Thank you,” Mickelson said. “I stopped eating food, that was a big help.”

After a few more questions, Mickelson thanked the media and slipped away. He looked different, certainly, but for the first time in a long time, he sounded like his old self.

The Things People Say About Phil Mickelson

Welcome back to the No Laying Up mailbag! It’s a special Masters edition, which means we split it into two parts. This is Part 2. If you missed Part 1, 

A quick reminder: You need to be a member of The Nest to submit a question to the mailbag, but the mailbag itself will be free to read (as long as you behave yourselves). Most of our questions are submitted via our message board, The Refuge, but if you’re not a message board person, please send me an email at kvv@nolayingup.com with your Nest handle and your question. If your question gets picked, we’ll send you a free NLU towel.

TheKid33: Which Masters traditions/customs are the most underrated, overrated and properly rated?

A good question that is almost certain to cause some controversy, but let me start out by saying I think the Champion’s Dinner is a little overrated. It’s a little weird to me how much we obsess over a bunch of rich guys having dinner together, anticipating what kind of meal the winner from the previous year might serve. It would be one thing if Scottie Scheffler was actually in the kitchen whipping up Texas ribeyes and blackened redfish. But all he’s really doing is putting together a menu, and the previous champions don’t even have to eat it if they don’t want to. I like the aspect of past champions feeling like they’re still welcome in that room decades after they won, but I’m not sure why those of us who will never be invited treat what’s going to be served like such an important matter. It did, however, inspire one of my first Twitter threads, 

about Rory McIlroy and carrot cake if you’re so inclined.

Properly rated? I think skipping shots across the pond on 16 during practice rounds – a relatively new tradition – is properly rated. It’s a delight, and every few years when a player makes a hole-in-one like Jon Rahm did in 2020, it only adds to the joy of the tradition. Everyone should try it.

Underrated? The unspoken agreement is that you can set up your folding chair in just about any spot on the course as long as you get there first, but if you aren’t occupying it, it’s communal property. Anyone can sit there. That idea doesn’t really exist in other American sports. If you are at an NBA game and you get up to walk around and someone takes your sets for a few minutes, most fans are going to be annoyed when they return, as if something has been taken from them. There is a gentleman’s agreement at the Masters that this is not the way to behave. The people who violate that agreement and act huffy do not grasp the good elements of southern hospitality that are supposedly part of the tournament’s ethos. Thankfully, they are few and far between.

CKaneb: KVV, If you played in a match from the Master’s Tees in your current state vs 87 year old Gary Player from the Member’s tees do you think you would win the match?

I’m going to be brutally honest and say I think Gary would beat me handily. And it would be humiliating, but I’m fairly certain he’d clean my clock. It’s important to remember that, even though Gary Player is 87 years old and his antics have become comedy fodder for people like me who were not around for his prime, he really is one of the greatest players ever. The fact that it’s impossible to parody the man because some of his takes are so absurd shouldn’t diminish the fact that nothing about a match with me, a 10-handicap, would make him even a little nervous.

When I see how far back the Masters tees are on some holes compared to the Members’ tees, it makes me even more skeptical of my chances in this scenario.

Let’s say Gary hits the ball 200 yards. There are going to be holes where, even if I hit it 270, I’m going to be well behind him. He’s one of the greatest short game and bunker players of all time. On the flip side, there are a couple holes (No. 7 and No. 9 come to mind) where I’d be better off trying to hit my approach into a bunker than trying to hold the green because at least then the ball wouldn’t roll 100 yards away when I missed.

In summary, he’d destroy me. He would whip me even if we flipped tees.

I promise you, however, I would talk massive amounts of shit just to try and make it interesting. I would distract him by telling him Chambers Bay is my favorite U.S. Open course. (A lie, but I could sell it.) I would mention that it’s a shame his son couldn’t join us because of his lifetime ban. I would go down fighting, which I think Gary would respect. But I’d be lucky to shoot 100 from the Masters tees. He’d be sprinting up the hill on No. 8 while I huffed and puffed, and he’d let me know I make Harry Higgs look like Joaquin Neimann.

Waver82: How does (or does it) the no one behind the ropes rule help/hurt how you shape your stories/writing at Augusta?

It definitely forces you to get creative, because you don’t get to hear conversations between caddie and player, and it’s harder to see facial expressions or overheard comments you think will enhance your story. When I’m inside the ropes at a PGA Tour event or a major, there are plenty of times when McIlroy or Max Homa will see me and say hello, and they often seem to appreciate that you’re willing to march along with them to watch their golf and then ask questions about it as opposed to just camping out in the media center. So you don’t have that intimacy at the Masters. But it’s also refreshing in some ways because you get to feel the energy of the crowd more. And you never know who you’re going to end up standing next to. In 2016, Kyle Porter and I were right next to Jordan Spieth’s parents when he hit two balls in the water on No. 12. They didn’t say anything, and we weren’t going to ask them anything, but it looked like they’d seen a ghost. It helped me understand, immediately, how big a moment it was.

Tdulmage: Does Augusta allowing past champions to “compete” well past their prime (Sandy Lyle, Larry Mize, Olazabal etc) lessen the tournament in any way? For a major with a sub 100 person field, having multiple guys in their 60’s struggling to break 80 out there every single year just seems unnecessary for what is supposed to be “the best golf tournament of the year.”

One thing that’s important to remember here is the Masters doesn’t have a set number that it has to hit to fill out its field. Lyle and Mize and Olazabal aren’t taking a spot from someone, they’re merely exercising a lifetime exemption into the tournament that they earned. Personally, I love seeing the old guys grind and try to turn back time. When Larry Mize beats Bryson DeChambeau, despite being 70 yards shorter off the tee, it’s a great reminder that brawn can still be felled by brains in golf. Part of what makes Augusta National a great golf course is it punishes those who try to overpower it unless they also apply strategy. Let’s also not forget that Jack Nicklaus had 

a legitimate chance to win the tournament in 1998 at age 58

, a year after a 21-year-old named Tiger Woods set the Masters scoring record.


Therealmarkymark: You alluded to it on the preview pod but what do you think the Masters will “be” in the next 10-15 years? Seeing them embrace video games with the event this year and letting Dude Perfect film an all sports battle with Bryson last year on 13, what do you think ANGC is trying to accomplish in the coming years?

I think Augusta’s leadership has begun to understand that the warm feelings a lot of people have about their golf tournament aren’t guaranteed to carry over to future generations. The Masters, for a long time, reveled in its insularity. These days, they are trying to look 30-50 years into the future and imagine what their appeal will be to my eventual grandkids, kids who won't have fuzzy memories of Jack Nicklaus and Tiger Woods to draw upon. The Open Championship has, for a century and a half, been the beacon that every golfer who grew up outside the United States felt drawn to. Its brand has always been global, whereas, for a long time, the Masters attitude and approach to everything they did was regional. (It’s wild to think about the fact that, when Tiger Woods won the Masters in 1997, they were still 

refusing to let CBS broadcast the front nine

.) A lot has changed in the last 10 years. The Masters has lapped the other three majors in terms of its digital innovation, and now you can watch every shot, on every hole, whether you live in Athens, GA or Auckland, New Zealand. Can the Masters maintain its identity, and its soul, as it grows into a global brand? That’s the delicate balance that’s going to be hard to maintain.

Tchap80: If you had to par a single hole at ANGC with your life riding on the line, which hole would you pick?

I think the clear answer would be No. 2. For starters, the fairway is huge as long as you miss the right bunker. I think you have to pick a Par 5 because if you hit a bad drive, you still have a chance to recover with your second shot. Dan Jenkins used to say if you hit left into the woods on No. 2, you were in the Delta Counter because you might as well call Delta to change your flight, you weren’t making the cut. But I rarely hit the ball left so I think I’m good there. I’d have no chance to hit the green in two, but I could imagine skulling a long iron down to a flat spot where I might be able to wedge my way onto the green and two-putt. It’s no sure thing, but it probably gives me my best chance to survive.

I’m fairly certain I could play the 9th hole a dozen times and never once make a par, and the same feels true of the 7th.


MikeRevak: What would you say are some of the oddest details or Truman Show-like aspects of being on the grounds at Augusta? Things that may strike you as innocuous at first but begin to truly become unsettling after repeat visits.

The lack of squirrels on the property. I’m not even kidding. It’s an enormous piece of land, filled with majestic trees, and yet in four Masters trips, I’ve seen exactly one squirrel, and I’m one of the only writers who can attest to seeing one. It was sprinting through the flower beds near the clubhouse, then suddenly it was gone.


Now, do I think they are rounding up squirrels and taking them to a squirrel sanctuary during Masters week? Dear reader, I cannot make that allegation. But wherever the squirrels are, I wish them well. 

Gary Player knows what it’s like to feel unwelcome here too

KVV Mailbag: Masters Part Two

For the majority of Tiger Woods’ competitive life, he was not interested in nostalgia.


If you asked him a question about the past — about any of his previous triumphs — he would almost always deflect and pivot to the future. He was too focused on chasing all that was still ahead of him. One day, perhaps, he would indulge the world in a game of Remember When. But for the longest time, reminiscing held no allure.

There has, however, been a subtle shift in recent years. The deeper Woods gets into his 40s, the more willing he is to ruminate on specific yesterdays. Augusta National brings out his sentimental side.

On Tuesday, Woods used the word “memories” seven times in a 30-minute press conference. He talked about playing in the Par 3 contest with Arnold Palmer and Jack Nicklaus. He referenced a practice round he’d played early in his career with Fred Couples and Ray Floyd, one where Floyd taught him how to chip with a 4-iron, and how to get to a back left pin on No. 2 when you had little green to work with.

“Well, you hit it right over at [the gallery], and right before it lands, you yell ‘fore,’ ” Woods said, recounting Floyd’s advice.


The room erupted in laughter. Woods broke into a grin. It was clear he was enjoying the stroll down memory lane. Several minutes later, he volunteered another story. During Monday’s practice round, he reached into his bag and pulled out a couple balata balls. He’d brought them with him from Florida with a purpose. He tossed them to Rory McIlroy, then told his friend to hit a few putts with them. He wanted McIlroy to know what it was like to putt Masters greens in the days of his youth, now half a lifetime ago.

“[Rory] said ‘Oh my god,” Woods said. “And I said, ‘Yes. Exactly.’ ”

Woods’ recent fondness for days gone by got me thinking about a question I’ve wanted to ask him for years: Had he ever, even in a practice round, tried to recreate the chip he made in 2005 on the 16th hole, a shot that — I would argue — is now the most famous shot in Masters history?


It’s a shot I think about more often than I should, a little piece of artistry and magic that I watch every spring in anticipation of the Masters. When Verne Lundquist asks, so memorably on the CBS broadcast, “In your life have you seen anything like that?” it still makes me smile every time, because my answer at age 45 is the same as it was at 27.


I have not, before or since, seen anything like that.


It is a gentle reminder that even though speed and strength are the engines that make great golf possible, it is imagination and creativity that give golf its soul. If you want to help someone fall in love with the game, you don’t show them a drive that flies 350 yards, you show them a moment when gravity and grass helped write a piece of history.

That chip turns 18 this year. If it was a living thing instead of a memory, it would now be an adult. It’s easy to forget the context, but Woods might not have won the 2005 Masters without it. It helped him hold off Chris DiMarco that Sunday to secure his 4th green jacket. Woods bogeyed the final two holes after that chip went in, a piece of the legend many forget. But he won in a playoff, his first major in more than two years. It was a victory that, for a long time, seemed like it would be his last at Augusta.

Had Woods ever, perhaps at the behest of his son, Charlie, or even at the urging of friends like McIlroy or Justin Thomas, stood in that same spot and tried to recreate the golf equivalent of the Sistine Chapel?

“No,” Woods admitted. He had never tried it.

I couldn’t resist the most obvious follow-up: Why?

“They have since redesigned that hole, that green,” Woods said. “So it’s not how it used to be over there.”


When I prodded him one last time, curious about what he remembered the most about that moment, he gave the quintessential answer of a perfectionist.

“I did not draw a bad lie on that tee shot to hit it that bad,” Woods said. “If you want to go back and see the chip went in, okay, that’s cool. But to hit an 8-iron that bad and that far off line, and I had a perfect lie, that’s not very good.”

When his press conference ended, I took a walk. There are so many places at Augusta where you can reconstruct a moment you witnessed on TV, but most must happen from afar. Only players and caddies are allowed inside the ropes, meaning you could never stand where Jack Nicklaus stood when he made a birdie on 17 green in 1986, or where Phil Mickelson lashed a 6-iron between two trees to reach the 13th green in two in 2010.

But you can stand right about where Woods stood in 2005 as he stared down that impossible chip. The gallery ropes are closer now than they were 18 years ago. I planted my feet near that piece of holy ground and watched a few groups pass through.

Woods is correct, of course. (He usually is on those matters.) The slope of 16 green isn’t as severe as it once was. It would be harder to ask gravity to do what it did 18 years ago if he found himself long and left this Easter Sunday.

A part of me would still love to see him try. I suspect he’d be pissed about the 8 iron that once again betrayed him, putting him in a spot where he needed to reconstruct a miracle. The rest of us would be riveted. Augusta has changed in subtle and dramatic fashion in the last 18 years, and so has Tiger Woods. But this is still a canvas where he can stare down the unlikely and see possibility.

A Newly Nostalgic Tiger Woods Remembers His Epic Chip on No. 16

Welcome back to the No Laying Up mailbag! It’s a special Masters edition, which means we’re splitting it into two parts. Look for Part Two on Wednesday.

Bfrosty: KVV, I’m going to my very first Masters this year (Monday practice round)! Any advice?? What to do, not do, etc.

There are a few places that live up to the hype, and I think a first visit to the Masters is one of them. Not sure if you’ll see this in time, Mr. Frosty, but for anyone else, my best advice is to walk down 10 (pausing to look at the coolest bunker on the course) and then head down 11 to Amen Corner. People have been writing melodramatic things about it for half a century, but it really is cool to stand there and see 11, 12 and 13 and realize you’re not looking at a painting. Also, it will help you grasp something about Augusta National that television truly cannot convey: The elevation changes! Supposedly, from where the clubhouse sits to where 12 green sits is a drop about the equivalent of the Statue of Liberty. That’s pretty cool.

As for what else to do, I’ve always loved sitting on 15 and watching players try to hit that green, whether it’s with a wedge or a long iron. Ian Poulter once told me it was like trying to land on a golf ball on two ping-pong tables that had been strapped together.

Do check out the merchandise tent at some point, but don’t go bonkers. Pick something that will last, not something you’ll throw away in a year.

Don’t, under any circumstances, run. They don’t like that. Don’t say anything moronic like “Mashed potatoes!” or “Get in the hole!” when someone is hitting driver on a 500-yard par 4. That’s a great way to get booted. I’m not kidding either.

Do try a pimento cheese sandwich. I’m not a fan but I try one every time I go, just to see if my taste buds have come around. Grab a cheap beer and find a player you feel invested in and follow them for a few holes. Feel the freedom that comes with not being tethered to technology for a few hours. At first, you might feel FOMO. But then a calm will wash over you and you’ll realize how pleasant life is without a tiny computer in your pocket that can teleport all the world’s miseries right into your fingertips. Make jokes with your friends and people-watch. I once saw Arnold Palmer drinking an Arnold Palmer on the veranda. It would be hard to top that one, but I hope you get your own memory to file away forever.

Jwfickett: Very stupid thought exercise for you… A generous benefactor has donated a blank check to the NLU slush fund, sufficient to cover a sky-writer who can deliver any message 12 words or fewer to the patrons and greencoats below, converging on the sacred grounds of Augusta National on Saturday afternoon. As the company wordsmith, KVV is designated to draft the message.

What message are you sending to the club, to the golfers, to the patrons, or to the world?

I gave this considerable thought, but before I came up with an answer, I had to ponder: Is there a skywriting school? Do you have to get licensed? Is there a skywriters union? I’m not sure skywriting is a particularly effective way to deliver a message these days. I would also be worried that Augusta has its own missile defense system at this point and our fearless skywriter would get taken out well before he finished. Joel Beall’s fascinating article that 

detailed the 30-year plan for Augusta National

 didn’t include ballistic missiles, but I wouldn’t rule anything out. (Except maybe a waterslide. Augusta is way too classy to build a waterslide; that’s more the 

As for a message, I have settled on this: I would ask the skywriter to write some lyrics from the Quad City DJs classic tome “C’Mon ‘n Ride It (The Train).”

Why would I pick such an insane thing? Well, 

it’s the song that Tiger blasted in his car driving down Magnolia Lane in 1997

 when he won The Masters. This is his 25th appearance at Augusta. I feel like it would be a nice callback and an Easter Egg for him (literally on Easter weekend) that would perhaps help him channel some of that magic.

The baffled look on people’s faces would be a delight. But I like to imagine Tiger humming “C’mon ride the train, hey, ride it” as he plays the back nine on Saturday, almost like it’s a time machine.

FisherM24: Alright KVV, you’ve won the Masters, what are we getting at your Champions Dinner?

I struggled with this answer because I wanted to pay homage to my home state of Montana, but I also wanted something more interesting than just steaks, which is the most Montana meal I can think of. My wife is of Mexican heritage, and I’m a huge fan of Chef José Andrés — both his food and who he is as a person — so I’d ask Augusta National if I could hire him for the evening to prepare a meal made up of ceviches and tacos and tortas. I would want a couple of bottles of Pappy Van Winkle bourbon to pass around, and then I think I’d serve my mom’s banana oatmeal cookies with ice cream as dessert. I feel like that would cover all the things I love and want to represent me.

While there is no risk of me ever winning The Masters, I do like it when golfers get creative with their meals. Supposedly, Vijay Singh’s spicy Thai food-themed Champion’s Dinner was a huge hit, even though Gary Player said he spent the next 24 hours on the loo after the meal. (I did not make that up, it’s a real quote from Player 

JDGafflin: Please give us your personal rankings of the 4 majors and give a brief synopsis of why you’ve ranked them in those spots.

The Open is the best major because it usually asks players to be creative artists instead of robots. I appreciate that the bad bounces and bad weather are part of the deal, you don’t cry about it, you just try to overcome it. Spieth’s win at Royal Birkdale is probably my favorite major I’ve attended in person. I love that it stays light out until 10 p.m. I love that there is usually a pub somewhere after the round where people are telling stories, I love that it’s a little less crass and commercial than the other majors (even if that’s changing). I love the venues and the towns. I also love watching it on TV when I’m not there, even if that means getting up at 3 a.m.

One element that makes golf unique as a sport is that so much of the joy you derive from it is based on anticipation. I know every hole at Augusta National, and I know that whoever wins this year, they’re going to have to hit great shots on 12, 13 and 15. I can spend hours thinking about those shots, hoping Rory will execute them or that someone else will fail to execute them. That’s part of what makes the Masters great. In football, I can anticipate a long touchdown pass. In baseball, I can anticipate a home run, but it’s possible neither will occur. I KNOW Jordan Spieth has to hit a shot into No. 12, and I’m guaranteed that entertainment. That’s why the Masters returning to the same course every year is so compelling. Even if I love a shot at Pinehurst or Pebble Beach, I might have to wait five years before I see it happen again in a major. Throw in the fact that Masters rarely gets the spectator experience wrong and it’s hard to beat.

 I do enjoy it when the U.S. Open drives players a little crazy, but I don’t love it when you basically have to hack out sideways if you miss a fairway. I like it when there is danger lurking, but recoveries are possible. I wish the U.S. Open would (or could) go to more venues. In my perfect world, every state would get to host a U.S. Open, making it a true national championship. Sure, you could return to Pinehurst or Pebble every five years, but in the other four years, I would love to see them play a U.S. Open at Seminole (Florida) or Crystal Downs (Michigan) or Pacific Dunes (Oregon) or Rock Creek Cattle Company (Montana). Could you fit the infrastructure of the tournament into those places, the parking, the corporate tents, the hospitality? Absolutely not. Could you play some of them without a Model Local Rule ball? Again, probably not. But I like the idea golf is a universal sport that can be played anywhere, and we should test our best players by going to places that represent different elements of golf.

 The poor PGA. I sometimes feel bad that it gets ranked in this spot by everyone who isn’t Gary Player. I do think it would be easier for the event to have its own identity if it were match play, but I don’t see that ever happening. It would be cool if you could come up with a compromise though. Play the first two days as stroke play to determine seeding, and keep the 16 best players around for the weekend, then go match play from there. Imagine how intense the fight for that 16th spot would be on Friday! It would be provocative. Alas, that’s little more than a fantasy. One frustrating element about the PGA is that the venues on tap are so uninteresting. Why are we going back to Quail Hollow in 2025? And what about Valhalla (2024) is interesting without Tiger Woods and Bob May dueling with a Tiger Slam on the line? I have some hope for Aronimink (2026) and Frisco (2027) just because we haven’t seen them before, but Baltusrol in 2029 holds very little appeal.

Hreilly27: You have been granted the power to change the outcome of a single stroke in any Masters tournament in history, except for the 2016 tournament. What do you change and why?

The short eagle putt on No. 2 that Rory missed in 2018 would have tied him for the lead with Patrick Reed. I think that would have given Rory the bounce and swagger that might have changed that entire round for him. Rory has always been at his best when he feels like he’s strutting and front-running. Instead, he looked deflated after he missed, like he was reminded that Augusta put a little hex on him in 2010 that he’s never been able to escape. I have some other answers that would make for fun “What ifs.” Namely, I wish Kenny Perry could have made that putt on 18 that would have won him the tournament and then we would not have a convicted criminal in Angel Cabrera as a Masters winner. Watching Perry’s kids cry as they hugged their dad afterward is one of my most haunting golf memories.

Kornwhalice: Power Rank the following Masters winner, feasibility aside, from a more dramatic story perspective:

 If this happens, I will no longer be sad that I missed 2019. I will no longer believe in anything, really, except the Church of Tiger Woods. I actually don’t think it’s THAT far-fetched, considering how he looked at Riviera. I think it would be, in some ways, more fun if he won an Open Championship at Liverpool this summer because it would show a different element of his genius. But none of the other scenarios really compares to what a sixth green jacket would feel like. It would probably be the most memorable golf event in history, especially if it came on a dramatic birdie on the 72nd hole.

I think considering how much he’s stuck his neck out and tried to symbolize what he thinks is right for the sport, and how long it’s been since he won a major, it would be second only to Tiger. You could even talk me into Rory being a more interesting story, just not a bigger one. Tiger has shown us that he’s capable of anything at the Masters. Rory has seen mostly disappointment here, except for last year. I do know one thing: It would mean he needs to come on the Trap Draw before every major to talk about a TV show. I’m dying to get his thoughts on Derry Girls, which was one of my favorite series in recent years.

 I had to think about this one for a bit. If you don’t count Tiger (1997), the realistic possibilities here are Fred Couples (1992) and Bernhard Langer (1985, 1993). I don’t think Sandy Lyle, Jose Maria Olazabal or Larry Mize has any kind of shot. But you could talk me into a scenario where Couples or Langer pulls a Tom Watson at Turnberry and shocks the world by being in contention. Now, would that be a bigger story than Tiger or Rory? I actually don’t think so. It would be huge in the world of golf, but I think it would almost be laughed at by people outside the sport. A 65-year-old wins the world’s most famous tournament? I think people would struggle to grasp how insane it would be. They might just use it as fodder to dismiss golf even further. I still think Tiger or Rory would have a larger cultural impact.

I actually think this scenario would be the funniest, watching Phil go full troll and tie Arnold Palmer with seven majors would be incredibly entertaining. This also feels like the least likely scenario since he can’t seem to break 70 on the LIV Tour, but Kiawah proved he possesses the ultimate gambler’s mentality. As long as he still has chips, he’s not leaving the table.

 This would be cool, but again, it would not really blow up beyond the world of golf. Let’s say, for example, that Sam Bennett played the tournament of his life and won the Masters. Would that come close to capturing people’s interest like the previous four scenarios? No chance. It seems like Bennett has a chance to be a solid professional golfer soon. So would it really be THAT shocking? Not to people who barely follow golf. Unless the amateur winner was Mathew McClean — an optometrist from Northern Ireland who got in by winning the U.S. Mid-Am — I don't know that anyone would truly see it as a Cinderella story. They’d see it as the next good player going on a heater. I actually 

covered the Masters where Bryson DeChambeau got himself into contention through two days as an amateur

 and I’ll say this: No one thought that was a better story than Jordan Spieth potentially winning back-to-back Masters. It would be compelling, but I’d still rank it last in these scenarios.

FrequentFader: You won the Masters ticket lottery and have one ticket to sell: what is your asking price for that ticket? Hypothetically, of course

I feel like this one is pretty simple. I wouldn’t sell it at all.

I’d fly my kid down and spend the day walking around with her. I’d nudge her to the front of the rope line and I’d spend half my day looking at the smile on her face. That might sound cornball, but what difference is $3000 — or whatever that ticket could fetch — going to make for me financially? Probably not a lot.

But walking around with someone who loves golf as much as I do, someone who will remember that day forever?

KVV Mailbag: Masters Part One

Editor’s Note: We’ve heard a lot in recent years about how much middle-aged sportswriters are infatuated with Bruce Springsteen, so when our own middle-aged sportswriter KVV (something of a Springsteen agnostic) joined Casey Landman and her husband Jon for one of Springsteen’s performances in Philadelphia, we sent him to the show with an assignment. Write about what Bruce means to you, and explain why so many weirdos of your generation (and so many Big-Js in your profession) adore this man, even if you’re not exactly one of them.

I can’t say why, exactly, just that he’s never been a mythic figure to me. Yes, I’m familiar with the standards. I vaguely remember Ronald Reagan’s campaign misusing “Born In The USA,” thinking (like many who weren’t listening to the lyrics) that it was uplifting and patriotic instead of a broken man’s wail; a lament about feeling left behind. I laughed when The Sopranos slipped in a line from “Born to Run” and made Stevie Van Zandt sit there stone-faced. I have, when I was a cosmic kid in full costume dress, left a bar at 2 am with friends and walked the streets while belting out some mangled, not-sober version of “Thunder Road.” But I can’t name most of the albums. I have never 

pulled over to the side of the road and cried during the saxophone solo in “Jungleland.”

 I know sportswriters of a certain age are supposed to treat Springsteen’s songs the way orthodox scholars treat the study of the Talmud. It has become one of those cliches that is grounded in a lot of truth, but it has never fit in my case. I have friends who write (brilliantly) to his music, who would skip their kid’s birthday party to see him play in a football stadium. I’ve had bosses who have spent more time in the front row of Bruce’s shows than some of his roadies. It’s just never been my thing.

I am not indifferent — I enjoy The Boss for all the reasons you are supposed to enjoy him — but I have a theory that we only love the artists who find us at the right time, the right age, the midst of the right angst or heartbreak. For whatever reason, Bruce Springsteen missed me when I probably needed him the most.

I became a Jason Isbell person, which is a little like saying you prefer Max Homa to Tiger Woods. The whole world knows who Bruce and Tiger are. They are important pieces of Americana, icons to even casual observers of culture. Isbell and Homa are the artists you feel like you discovered when no one was there, and now you still feel a little protective of them, proud they climbed the ladder to find mainstream success, but deep down you’re a little annoyed you have to share them with the world. You were there when shit was bleak, but it still felt like they were speaking to you.

Some people may have that connection with Bruce, but I take a contrarian pride in the fact that I’m not one of them.

2. When my friend Jon texted me to say he had an extra ticket to Bruce’s show in Philadelphia, I couldn’t resist saying yes, despite all the words I typed in the previous section.

It was not a cheap ticket, even with Jon acquiring it at face value through his work in the industry. But there is something to be said, I think, about choosing to spend your money on experiences instead of items. Someday Bruce Springsteen will be gone, much like Tom Petty. I never understood how much I missed Tom Petty until I no longer had the chance to have him in my life. In my basement, there are thousands of dollars worth of golf clubs I no longer play, and books I’ll never get around to reading. There are piles of things I once cherished but no longer remember why I purchased them, and one day my children will throw them in a dumpster when I’m gone, or give them to Goodwill if they don’t smell like mildew.


There is something about the perniciousness of STUFF that is slowly suffocating. I don’t have many philosophical tenets, but one I do try to remind myself of is that experiences require zero storage.


3. He looks like an incredibly fit grandfather.

This was what struck me most of all when he burst onto the stage to sing “No Surrender,” the opening number. It’s not that he doesn’t look 73. He does. In recent years, he’s grown less vain, apparently accepting that there is a dignity to letting (much of) his hair go gray. He jogs and fist pumps and zooms around stage like he’s trying to inhale every last bit of whatever time he has left, but you’re also left with the unshakeable truth. He doesn’t have many of these left. This is the winter of his performing life. A finite number of shows remain. How many? No one wants to speculate. Why ruin the illusion that it can go on forever?

When you’re a massive Springsteen fan, I suspect you see him so frequently — in interviews, concerts, political campaigns, album covers — that the gradually aging process that every last one of us is tethered to doesn’t shock you. He is a part of your life, always. The coolest uncle. He ages, sure, but he’s immortal.

But if you’re like me, and he’s this nebulous concept that you don’t obsess over but still appreciate, he was frozen in the amber of your mind at a younger age. He is forever That Dude, wearing jeans that look like they were painted on, a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up like he’s a Jet in West Side Story, 

yanking Courtney Cox (and her bob haircut)

 up on stage so he can sashay back and forth, two beautiful people radiating youth, possibility, energy.

It makes no sense, but I did not expect to see a man on the stage in Philadelphia who could benefit from scheduling regular colonoscopies. This is the curse of being beautiful once, of epitomizing youth and possibility. You are not allowed to be mortal. You’re supposed to be a photograph, a Greek god, eternal. Instead, he is the same age as my dad, I realize now. When each of them was born, Harry Truman was President.

4. The people in the audience at the Wells Fargo Arena are not broken heroes on a last chance power drive.

They are not the working class characters that populate Springsteen’s songs. They are mostly white, mostly upper middle class, mostly in their 50s and 60s. They drive nice cars and have 401ks. I was, I can say this confidently, one of the younger members of the audience. (Not the youngest, but certainly in the youngest third.)


None of that is any kind of revelatory observation, nor is it a particularly new critique. It’s easy to poke fun at the tone-deaf privilege of Springsteen audiences these days, to point out the hypocrisy of paying thousands of dollars for a ticket to a show so you can cosplay in the lives of characters who exist on the fringe of society, who are one busted engine or factory layoff from permanent misery. A lot of fans in recent years have been understandably pissed that Springsteen gave in to the allure of Ticketmaster’s predatory dynamic pricing model, meaning you essentially have to fork over a mortgage payment to see him perform these days. (The fact that we allow Ticketmaster to operate like a mob boss remains one of the most baffling choices in American life.) Backstreets, the fan magazine that has been covering The Boss for 43 years, 

announced in February that it was shutting down

, at least in part because so many hardcore Springsteen fans feel they’ve been priced out of his shows.


I have a hard time, however, blaming the fans who can afford to go to his shows, regardless of whether or not they’ve been gouged. To call them hypocritical kind of misses the mark. What is the dream, after all, of every working class stiff but to escape the gravitational pull of their broken hometowns, and will themselves into a better life somewhere else? These are the people who got out. (Or, just as likely, their parents got out.) A part of them never wants to forget that it could have gone another way.


They used to be cool and now they are not. But in the arena, they still get to feel cool. This is what Bruce reminds them of, a time when they weren’t rich and didn’t have to think about doing yard work on the weekends or saving up to make college tuition payments. They are IT managers and lawyers, dentists and software developers (and sportswriters!) and they have kids that roll their eyes when they sing along to “Hungry Heart” as they wipe down their fancy kitchen countertops.

(Those kids will understand one day, I promise, when they’re humming Taylor Swift songs or Kendrick Lamar songs in an underground climate-safe bunker, or in a colony on Mars, and their own kids feel a mixture of love and embarrassment.)

The people in the audience at Bruce shows used to be the kind of romantics who would tuck a cigarette behind their ear in a smoke-filled bar and make eyes at a person standing near the jukebox. They are the Marys and Wendys, the Bobbys and Eddies from Bruce’s songs who had the audacity to grow up. To keep living. It happens to a lot of us.


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