Mixed results for local pros, a little Masters history and the rained out tee time.

By Stan Olenik Editor-Publisher The Golf Club

They call it “Moving Day” at The Masters Tournament, and for a couple of our local players, there was certainly some movement this week—just not all of it in the same direction.

For Andrew Novak, his first trip down Magnolia Lane came to an early end. He missed the cut and, if history is any guide, has likely already turned his attention toward Harbour Town and the next stop on tour.

For Jacob Bridgeman, the movement came on the leaderboard.

The Clemson graduate from nearby Inman was keeping pace with his opening-round position well into his second round before the back nine at Augusta National Golf Club reminded him just how little margin there is at this level.

An errant tee shot at the par-4 14th—440 yards of trouble when you miss—forced him into scramble mode and led to a costly double bogey. To his credit, Bridgeman didn’t let it linger. He answered with a birdie at the reachable 15th, gave himself another look on the par-3 16th, then showed some grit coming home—saving par from the sand at 17 and closing out his round with a steady two-putt from the back of the 18th green.

With the best players in the world, one loose swing can change everything.

After two days, Bridgeman is still around for the weekend, and that’s no small thing at Augusta—even if the climb ahead is a steep one.

Because the man he’s chasing is Rory McIlroy—the same player who walked alongside him in the final round at Riviera when Bridgeman broke through for his first PGA Tour win.

The defending champion shot a sensational 7-under par 65 in the second round. It earned McIlroy a six shot lead over the field. It is the largest lead ever at this stage of the tournament.

That sets up McIlroy to begin the third round better known as “Moving Day.”

How baseball helped make The Masters

Long before it became a spring tradition, before it was even known as the Masters, the tournament at Augusta National Golf Club was simply the Augusta National Invitation Tournament.

The first event was played in March, and it would be five years before it officially took on the name that now defines it—The Masters Tournament.

But even in those early days, the founders understood something important. If they wanted the tournament to matter, they needed people to write about it.

So Bobby Jones and Clifford Roberts made a decision that would shape the future of the event. They moved the tournament to align with the spring migration of sportswriters returning north from Florida after baseball’s spring training.

Those writers—some of the most influential voices in American sports—would pass through Augusta on their way back to cities like New York, Chicago, and Detroit.

And Augusta made sure they stopped.

The hospitality extended to the press became the stuff of legend. Expenses that might have kept a writer moving were, in many cases, no longer much of a concern. And while some of those “perks” might not hold up under today’s standards, they served their purpose.

Because a big part of the appeal wasn’t just covering the tournament.

It was the chance to play the course.

From the earliest days of the event—and continuing through the years that followed—a select number of media members would be given the opportunity to tee it up at Augusta National after the tournament concluded.

That alone was enough to make sure plenty of them found a reason to stay.

Getting to Play Augusta, Almost

By the time I came along, that tradition was still very much alive.

On Saturday morning, a sheet would appear on the door in the press room. A simple list—maybe 24 or 32 spots—and an invitation. If you hadn’t played the course before, you could sign up for a chance to tee it up on Monday after the tournament.

You had to be early. You had to be quick. And you had to be a little lucky.

Most years, I was commuting back and forth from Spartanburg. By the time I got there, the list was already full.

Every time.

But one year, I changed the plan.

I stayed in Augusta. I was going to get there early. I was going to get my name on that sheet.

I got to the course at daylight, standing in line waiting for the gates to open. When they did, it turned into something close to the Oklahoma Land Rush. I wasn’t the only media member with the idea. There wasn’t much policing to keep everyone perfectly in line, but an occasional bump here and there had a way of keeping things moving straight ahead.

Somehow, I made the list. I was going to play Augusta National. I thought.

And then Sunday came.

Along with the good news, there was a catch. The 1983 Masters had weather problems, the tournament was falling behind, and the decision was made—the Masters would extend into Monday.

No problem, I thought. I can hang around another day. We’ll play Tuesday.

Then the other shoe dropped.

When I got to the course on Monday, the list was gone.

I asked about my tee time for Tuesday.

The tournament representative in charge of the list just shook his head.

The course was booked. Members only. No time for the media.

I covered ten more Masters after that and never made the list again.

And that’s okay.

Because by not playing, I ended up with a much better story than anything I could have done with my clubs.

A Different Kind of Moving Day

So today, on “Moving Day,” I’ll be doing anything but.

I’ll be in my recliner with an egg salad sandwich and the remote, taking in every shot without ever having to climb a hill or wait in a line.

Still… it’s not quite the same.

And that’s not going to be a bad way to spend Moving Day, not moving.

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