Of course there’s a photo of me standing in front of golf’s most famous scoreboard and I blinked. I wish I hadn’t. Even a blink felt like a wasted moment at the Masters.

Last week, I lived out the honor of a lifetime, covering the Augusta National Women’s Amateur first, and then The Masters. Twelve days in total and nine spent at the most famous golf course in the world.

It beat all of my expectations. Maybe expectations are pointless there.

Augusta National doesn’t allow cell phones on the grounds. It’s an adjustment at first, but it took me all about five minutes on my first day to realize why.

With a phone, so much of what makes that place special would be lost. It’s a property meant to be taken in with mental images and shared in talking to other patrons. What you’ll quickly learn is every single other person there is in just as much awe, and just as excited to be there as you.

There’s a camaraderie and an appreciation for a sacred sporting venue that cell phones wouldn’t allow.

I walked every single day with my notebook tucked in my back right pocket, my blue pen resting behind my right ear. I made a point of walking 18 holes every day. I walked more than 100 miles in total. I wanted to see everything. I wrote down everything. Save for a few blinks, I made sure to keep my eyes open.

So here’s to unloading my notebook one final time, from inside the days of a bucket list trip.

***

I don’t know if I’ve ever seen my Dad as giddy as last week.

Growing up, it was always a dream to go, but never really more than just that. Getting tickets is essentially impossible through the lottery and after that, you’re looking toward the resale market which often costs several thousand dollars per ticket per day.

The tournament offers a few perks to media members and one of these is the opportunity to apply to purchase practice passes at face value: $100 per ticket.

I was lucky enough to be granted a couple. So I called my Dad.

I grew up just outside Washington D.C., and one of my favorite childhood memories will always going to baseball games with my dad, a classic father-son tradition that never gets old and never loses its meaning. We sweated out hot, humid July Sundays watching 100-loss Nationals teams and it all led to my favorite memory of all, going to the World Series with my Dad in 2019.

So it was never really a question of who I was going to invite to the Masters.

I’d been used to getting up before sunrise by that point to drive to Augusta, but on Tuesday that was hardly an adjustment for my Dad. He was practically ready to be out the door the moment he got up.

We got to the course and set up a meeting place after I dropped my bag off at the press building. He beat me there but began to wander in the meantime, he didn’t want to wait any longer to explore. And when he walked back to meet me, I saw the excited look on his face just watching the driving range.

He’d planned out exactly what he wanted to do. Visit the most iconic spots, especially sitting on the 16th hole. We sat at the range first, and I watched him excitedly point out each golfer, mesmerized by the perfection in each professional’s swing.

When we walked out of the bottleneck between the store and the restrooms, emerging alongside the main scoreboard and the first look at the expanse of golf’s most famous fairways, I saw a look of amazement on his face.

We strolled down to Amen Corner and sat on the grandstand for a few hours. We took in the view. He said it was infinitely better than what TV shows. Everything at Augusta is, he said.

We later made our way to the 16th hole and watched him cheer as the players took the famous tradition of skipping their shots across the water and onto the green.

The awe hit him throughout the day, but maybe the happiest I saw him was at the concession stand. The food is part of the Masters experience and there was no bigger winner than the Georgia Peach ice cream sandwich. It’s two sugar cookies holding together vanilla ice cream with pieces of peach in it.

It’s stunningly good. And when my Dad took his first bite he was hooked. I think he talked about it almost as much as the golf itself. Maybe more.

When we came back on Wednesday, we went through the line at the merchandise store then grabbed lunch and one of the first things he said after was if I wanted another ice cream sandwich.

He wasn’t really asking. He was getting one regardless. Asking me was just a courtesy.

To me, those two days at Augusta felt like giving the most special gift I could think of back to my Dad (maybe it was a mistake, I’m never going to be able to top that). He’s the one who founded my love of sports.

When I left for the course Thursday morning, my Dad got in his car to drive back home. As I hugged him goodbye, he thanked me for the week and said again how amazing Augusta was to see. It’s a sports memory with my Dad I’ll cherish forever.

The golf is incredible. But it’s the people — the family — that make Augusta special.

***

Augusta National makes the complex simple and does simple perfectly.

The concessions are the Masters are basic and cheap. The famous pimento cheese sandwich is literally just a scoop of pimento cheese on white bread. The chicken biscuit is exactly that. The ice cream sandwich is not exactly original.

It’s a place where every single detail is accounted for.

The wrappers on the sandwiches are green. Why? Not because of the green jackets but because if they are dropped on the ground, they’ll blend in with the grass. All drains or grates on the course are painted green too.

Watching employees walk down Magnolia Lane with paint cans. The curbs on the roads at Augusta National are green. They were checking for any even minor imperfections and ready to paint if they found any. They didn’t. Everything at Augusta is perfect

The simplest details are paid attention to there like nowhere else. I frequently heard patrons say not a single blade of grass is out of place. They are not “fans” at Augusta. They are “patrons.”

I met patrons from all over the world. I watched the eclipse Monday in the grandstands behind the 12th hole next to a couple who flew in from London just to check off their own bucket list.

Everything visible to the public eye is gorgeous. It’s a place that has beauty not done justice by television or written words. It’s a feeling in the moment to understand the magnitude of standing in one of the world’s most iconic venues. That first look walking down the hill into Amen Corner. The glance down Magnolia Lane. The cauldron of noise on the weekends at the 15th and 16th holes. The edges of bunkers are perfect, the colors mesmerizing. You float around the grounds powered by the roars and adrenaline.

It’s a feeling that sends chills down your arms and maybe even the 2,000 words in this column can’t truly describe that.

I asked several people who had worked or been to multiple Masters if it ever gets old. I got the exact same answer every single time.

“Never.”

Even the bathrooms are fancy. And while packed with people, smelled as if no one had ever been in there before. Augusta National thought of everything.

The line for the golf shop is massive but moves like a machine. The whole operation in the most profitable golf store on the planet in such a short time frame is magical in its efficiency and expertise and making the thousands of dollars spent every second seem like a casual shopping trip (I will skip comment on how much money I spent, but it was worth it).

Back out on the course you walk to the spots made famous in Masters past. Each footstep seems like walking through history. In your mind, you look down the hole and envision Tiger Wood’s chip shot on 16 or Bubba Watson curling out from around the trees on the 10th. Patrons stand in those spots and recreate the shots as if they could do it themselves.

And then it all leads to the first tee on Thursday morning to see Jack Nicklaus, Gary Player and Tom Watson open up the Masters. Chairman Fred Ridley getting on the microphone and I will never forget how my eyes watered when he first said the words, “The Masters.”

It’s so simple but perfect. It meant so much.

***

There’s an imposter syndrome in such a famous, elaborate location.

The only three places a media pass allows access beyond a regular patron ticket are the immaculate press building, the city of employee buildings and roads hiding behind the trees which patrons will never see akin to Disney World and inside the chained-off area for The Big Oak Tree and the Augusta clubhouse.

Yeah, I was pretty stunned to learn we had access there.

So I walked past the security guards into the VIP area and had to double check, as if thinking to myself “I’m not being an idiot, right? I can go in here, right?”

I stood under the famous tree and brushed past celebrities and golfers and politicians and dozens of green jackets. Everyone sees a different famous face there. Some talked about seeing Harry Styles and others mentioned Chip and Joanna Gaines. I ordered the famous Azalea cocktail on Thursday in line behind Peyton Manning and chatted briefly with Verne Lundquist.

And that was all before walking into the clubhouse.

It isn’t necessarily opulent inside one of the most exclusive clubs in the world. It’s old-fashioned but beautiful, like the rest of Augusta National. It’s maybe the world’s most famous throwback.

The furniture is simple. The shades of tan couches mix with the stripes of green and white inside. You walk in the back door and look down the hallway to a straight vie of Magnolia Lane and Founder’s Circle. You watch the patrons take their photos at the front of the driveway as if you had somehow ascended to a new class.

When I walked inside the backdoor, Gary Player came in the front.

“Hello Mr. Player,” a man working by the door said. “Would you like your green jacket?”

Of course he did. So I watched them get him his jacket and watched them slide it onto his shoulders.

I took my hat off and walked up the stairs to the room where the Champions Dinner is held each year. It’s set up as a restaurant now, with a few tables inside and green wicker chairs lining the balcony.

I ordered a bagel with cream cheese and lox. A Green Jacket at the table behind me ordered the same. He cut his bagel and ate it with a fork and knife. I never touched my fork. You sit in a museum where the legends of this sport hang out. You remember you are allowed there but wonder if you belong.

But you push that away and enjoy the moment and the view. Above the buzz, you watch the golfers make their way to the first tee and watch them tee-off.

You remember how lucky you are. How in the Augusta clubhouse, a place you never thought you’d ever step foot, you’re now stepping in the footsteps of a dream you never knew you had.

I went up there again to watch the green jacket presentation to Scottie Scheffler. I was surrounded by other Augusta members. We certainly are not the same, a journalist in that crowd.

So I took a step back and talked a bit to myself to make sure I understood the gravity of where I stood. I made sure to appreciate it. Eyes wide open, I took a mental image of the setting sun over the practice green where Scheffler spoke.

If only the sun never had to set.

Matt Cohen covers sports for AL.com. You can follow him on X at @Matt_Cohen_ or email him at [email protected]