My 1986 Masters Memory...

What a grand kickoff to our informal but highly satisfying Masters contest. I can't thank you enough for the contributions and memories of '86. Hopefully there are a few more stragglers out there with stories to tell about the greatest tournament ever before we narrow it down.

And just to see if I can shake loose a few scribblers (come on fellas!) or fans on the fence about sharing your '86 Masters memories, I feel we've bonded enough for me to share one of the darker days in Shackelford family lore.

You see, I was at the 1986 Masters.

My father, Lynn, as any good parent would do, utilized some connections to secure us tickets and lodging for the week. At age 14, it was my first Masters, and we arrived Tuesday in time to take in Wednesday's Par-3, golf action Thursday and Friday, followed by a Saturday parked in the 13th green grandstand where we witnessed 1/18th of Nick Price's course record 63. I can still remember watching his 18th hole lip-out putt on my black-and-white Sony Watchman television, which, thanks to its clunky antenna, picked up wonderful images even on property at Augusta National.

Now, to prove just how much Coach Wooden's teachings penetrated the very fabric of his players' souls, we returned to the church of golf on Sunday and I can vividly remember watching Jack Nicklaus warm up in green jacket-friendly yellow shirt and plaid pants. We even saw the final pairing including Greg Norman play his approach into No. 7 not long after Nicklaus made his first roar-inducing birdie at No. 9. (His light blue polyester slacks still haunt me to this day.) And while I still haven't found the part about attending every day of school on the Pyramid of Success, it was apparently time for us to leave the property.

Yes, we had to drive back to Atlanta and catch a flight back to Los Angeles so that I could attend school bright and early Monday morning. And yes, this was in those halcyon days before Hootie Johnson emasculated the back nine and the Masters didn't begin until the back nine Sunday, as Mr. Jenkins wrote.

Fast forward to the drive back to Atlanta and naturally this was in the days before satellite radio, Twitter and any other form of communication. So picture dad and son driving, dad trying to find a radio station for a Masters update on a Sunday in Georgia. As the Atlanta city limits were in view, son was fiddling with his Sony Watchman antenna trying to get a signal when, in cinematic fashion, the snow on the screen clears enough to reveal the local CBS affiliate's pictures coming through faintly.

The picture on the screen? A grinning Jack Nicklaus sitting in Butler Cabin.

Son reports this to dad, who says, well they probably just had him in for some questions. To which son replies, uh, he's standing up and they're putting the green jacket on him.

Mercifully, a VCR-recorded copy of both Saturday and Sunday's rounds awaited me (thanks mom!) when I got home and I replayed them countless times both by myself and in later years, with college teammates. It was a seminal week for me seeing the Masters in person and more than any other event, fueled my passion for the game, something I will always be grateful to my dad for. It just would have been fun to hear those roars in person!