Baseball has the World Series, Football has the Superbowl, but one of golf’s crown jewels takes place this coming week.

The Masters.

The first major of the season, it is, in my humble opinion, the greatest golf tournament of the entire year (sorry, U.S. Open, British Open, and PGA Championship, but it’s true).  That haunting piano theme and the smooth tones of announcer Jim Nantz will soon fill my office as the tournament kicks off this Thursday and I dutifully watch play commence online.

Taking place at Augusta National Golf Club in Augusta, Georgia it is the perfect mix of course, players, season, and southern charm and decorum.

The course itself is beautiful.  Designed by Dr. Alister MacKenzie and golfing legend Bobby Jones, it was constructed from 1931 – 1933.  Jones wanted a course he could play with his friends, away from the spotlight.  He started the tournament in 1934, but it didn’t get the name “The Masters” until five years later (Jones thought the name was too pretentious but eventually relented).  A challenging set-up, there is a great risk-reward for players who are brave enough to challenge the greens and pin placements, but woe be those who choose poorly.  Just watch how many balls are gobbled up by Rae’s Creek on the short par-3 12^th, for example.

The layout is picture-perfect in the spring, with azaleas, magnolias, dogwood, and yellow jasmine usually in peak bloom during tournament week.  Each hole has a name, such as “Tea Olive”, “Camellia”, or “Redbud”.  The famous “Amen Corner” (holes 11 thru 13) is a golfer’s dream, and by Sunday afternoon, the greens are fast and treacherous.  Many pro golfers practice putting on their cement garage floors to mimic the speed of Augusta’s weekend greens.  Go give that a try and see how you fare.

The field is one of the best in golf.  To qualify, one must have won a sanctioned tournament in the past year or been a past winner (or high finisher) of the Masters Tournament.  Past champions can play every year they are able, and the gathered group is a literal history lesson of great golf.  Who can resist watching the smooth, easy swing of Fred Couples, the power of Rory McIlroy, or such famous faces as Phil Mickelson, Ernie Els, or Tiger (when he’s healthy – he’s out of this year’s field).

The tourney has its own pomp and circumstance.  There are the honorary starters, which sees legends Jack Nicklaus, Gary Player, and Tom Watson take a swing off the first tee to start the tournament.  Patron rules are strictly enforced, such as no cell phones or cameras, no running on the course, proper attire, no portable chairs with arms, and polite decorum.  Violators are not only escorted off the property but can also be banned for life from ever attending again.  Concession prices are comically low (while the souvenir tent prices are the exact opposite), and for many attendees, it is a holy pilgrimage to just walk the course.

I have watched “The Masters” ever since I can remember.  For many years of my working life, I even created fake meetings on my office calendar so I could watch the Thursday and Friday action undisturbed from my desk while on the job.  I know every bump and hump of the course, even though I’ve never been there (my brother and I have been in the ticket lottery for the past few years, but alas, no chances to go as of yet).  I watched Jack Nicklaus’s last win there in 1986.  I watched Ben Crenshaw’s emotional win in 1995.  I watched Greg Norman’s infamous final round collapse in 1996 (where he squandered a final round six-shot lead and lost to Nick Faldo by five strokes).  I watched Tiger literally lap the field in 1997.  I watched his historic chip-in from the greenside rough on the 16^th in 2005 (considered one of the greatest hole-outs in golf history).

Yes, I’ll be watching this week as well.  If you don’t like golf, I would argue that there is something different about “The Masters”, especially when the leaders hit the back nine on Sunday afternoon.  Who knows who will get to wear the green jacket this year?

You can catch all the action at www.masters.com.