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Martha v Hootie: 1st hole | ||||||
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May 16, 2003; Source: AnyoneForTee.com "Battle of the Sexes" off to a nervous start at 1st hole  Hootie Johnson struck a lonely figure as he arrived at Augusta National early on a beautiful Georgia spring morning. He was deep in thought. Had he done the right thing in accepting to play Martha? Even if he won their game, she would never stop campaigning against his beloved club's 'Men Only' policy. And what if, God forbid, he lost? Could he resist the pressure to let the women in? He had already decided one thing, however. If he triumphed in their game, he would hand over the $5 million prize to women's charities. Magnanimous in victory, the press would say. But he knew it wouldn't get Martha off his back...  A voice startled him out of his reverie. "G'morning Mr. Johnson, Sir". It was Fluff, his caddie for the day. The same Mike 'Fluff' Cowan who had helped Tiger Woods to his first Masters victory in 1997, and caddied Jim Furyk into fourth place just a few weeks ago. Fluff loved Augusta, and not just the course. He would be a good ally in this difficult battle. "I'll change, and then we'll go hit some balls, Fluff", said the Chairman of Augusta, "Gotta be warmed up and real sharp today." Meanwhile, a short distance away on Magnolia Drive, Martha was making her way into the club. She paused a while outside the gates to talk with her supporters, being kept at a distance by a substantial police presence, and admired their banners proclaiming 'Fair play on the fairway', 'Sexism is a handicap' and 'Women work while corporate CEOs play'. Did she not see, or just choose to ignore, the man at the back with the orange banner? (Click on the photo for a larger version.) She said nothing, her mind racing at the enormity of the task ahead. Inside the hallowed grounds, waiting patiently for Martha by the locker rooms, was Fanny Sunesson, a rare lady caddie on the men's professional circuit, who had steered Nick Faldo to three Masters victories at Augusta. Fanny was living proof that women could match the men at Augusta National. They would be a formidable team, and Martha's spirits rose as she shook the Swede's strong hand. "There's a job to be done, Fanny", she said, "Let's get to it."The atmosphere on the first tee was electric. Martha and Hootie were facing dozens of photographers and the world's press, not to talk, as they were well used to, but to play golf. Fanny and Fluff and the match referee stood to one side, watching the unlikely combattants force a smile for the cameras. "Are you ready Hootie?", shouted a journalist. "You bet", came the reply, although the voice sounded distinctly squeaky as the Chairman's throat tightened. "Way to go Martha", screamed a female voice from somewhere, although it seemed to come from deep in the trees up the fairway, rather than from the crowd around the tee. "Right on sister", came another voice, this time from somewhere behind the cavernous bunker lurking on the right side of the fairway, waiting to trap the slightest of errant drives. Martha grinned nervously. "The honour of teeing off first is normally decided by lot", announced the official starter. "I shall toss a silver dollar, and Mr Johnson has invited Ms Burk to call heads or tails." "Heads", said Martha, feeling that 'tails' was somehow inappropriate on this occasion. "Heads it is", said the starter. "On the tee, the Chair of the National Council of Women's Orgainizations, Ms Martha Burk. Ms Burk receives two shots from Mr Johnson on this hole. Play away please."  Martha marched ahead to the ladies' tee, and stooped to tee up her ball. Twice it fell off the tee, as her shaking hand failed to get the tee upright. Fanny handed her the driver. "Keep it up the left half of the fairway," she advised, pointing out the huge bunker on the right. "Honey, I'll be glad to get it on the fairway", said Martha. She addressed the ball, trying desperately to remember everything her swing coach, Butch Harmon, had said. Fleetingly, she recalled her disappointment at finding out 'Butch' was a man. But this was no time for regrets. She swung the club as best she knew.We've all done it. In our haste to see the ball sailing away, we lift our head, and top it. But Martha didn't even top it. Fresh air. Nada. Zilch. She spun round on her heel, with no impact on the ball to slow her rotation. "Have it again Martha", called Hootie from twenty yards behind, having secretly hoped for just such a start. "Bill Clinton took mulligans, you sure can." That was the wrong thing to say to Martha. "One", she announced defiantly to the gathering around her. "Now watch this." She swung again, and the ball sailed away, high and well left, into the trees, but at least 130 yards off the tee. "Now let's see you, Mr Johnson!"  Hootie was visibly rattled by this show of aggression. He teed up his own ball and, after interminable, Sergio Garcia-like waggles, struck a low slice into the waiting bunker on the angle of the slight dog-leg. Reassured at having at least made contact, he strode off, shouting ahead "One plays two, net zero"."I know how to keep the score, thank you", said Martha, as she and Fanny entered the trees, where her ball was surprisingly visible on a bed of pine needles. Fanny handed her a six-iron, pointing to a gap in the wall of wood in front of them. "Punch it through there", she said. There was a loud clattering as the ball ricocheted off several trees, coming to rest almost where it had started. "I guess we'd better come out sideways", said Fanny. Martha nodded, and this time executed a passable chip back into the fairway. "I make that four, Martha", Hootied shouted from far up the right of the fairway. "Net two", came the icy reply. "It's everything we've got, and then some", said Fanny, holding the three wood out to Martha. Martha gave it her all. And got fresh air again. Horrified, she took another quick swing, this time sending the ball sharply right, which brought a loud "Fore" from Fanny. Fluff, who up until now had been looking mildly amused by the proceedings, moved quicker than at any time in his last forty years. Martha's ball whistled by his ear, deep into the woods. Fluff looked shocked. "This is getting personal Mr Johnson, Sir", he puffed. "Nonsense", said Hootie, "She couldn't hit you if she practised for a year. Six, net four, I think?" Peter Alliss: We've got Ken Brown out on the course - what's Martha's lie like in the trees, Ken? Ken Brown: Well Peter, I'm standing right over her ball as she comes up the fairway and I can tell you I can hardly see it - it's nestling down in the undergrowth, a horrible spot for anyone, but for a lady with wrists that aren't used to golf I'd say she'll be lucky to move it a few feet, if at all... Peter Alliss: Steady on, young Ken, you mustn't say things like that! You'll have all the ladies out of their kitchens, beating us up with wooden spoons and frying pans and things... "Just get it out Martha", said Fanny, "Don't go for distance." Martha looked confused. She could barely see the ball, much less imagine how she could hit it. "Where?", she asked, somewhat plaintively. "Sideways again, I guess", said Fanny, worrying that this was becoming a habit. Martha swished at it with the six-iron, to no effect. She tried again and this time moved it into a clearer patch in the forest floor. "Nothing to lose now", said Fanny, "Go for the green!" Martha took dead aim with the five-wood Fanny had given her, and swung as hard as she knew how. It was a peach! The ball fizzed off the club, missed all the trees, and emerged into the sunlight curving gently round the dog-leg, bouncing twice short of the green, before running up no more than fifteen feet from the hole. Peter Alliss: "Well I never! I haven't seen a shot like that since dear old Seve hoicked one out of the car park at Lytham, and left it stiff. How about that, Ken?" Ken Brown: "Amazing Peter, I wouldn't have taken that one on myself, but she's nine to there, so Hootie's still got several for it." Peter Alliss: "True enough, I suppose, but we don't see enough of that kind of shot nowadays. These young fellows, they're all into 'Course Management' and 'Playing the percentages', and you know, it's not half so much fun as it used to be.... I remember my dear old Dad..." Steve Rider: "Just to bring you up to date with the scoring, Hootie Johnson is one in the  fairway bunker, and Martha Burk is lying nine, net seven, about fifteen feet from the hole. So things are building up to an exciting climax on the first hole of the great Augusta Showdown, but we're about to move over to BBC2, so join us there in a couple of minutes."Hootie had plenty of time to study his shot from the bunker, and it didn't get any easier as he thought about it. "Put it on the green Mr Johnson, Sir", advised Fluff. "Go for it. Get a win in first."  Hootie had another look at the lie, and the seven-iron Fluff was handing him. It looked simple enough. He took the club and addressed the ball, taking care not to touch the sand. He made a swing.It was the sharp pain in his chest that told him. Just like Jeff Maggert a few weeks earlier, the ball had caught the lip of the bunker and rebounded into him with some force. He knew the penalty. Two shots. He's lying four now, and still in the bunker. Peter Alliss: "Would you ever believe it? That's the most amazing coincidence I've ever seen. How about you Ken?" Ken Brown: "Amazing Peter. Just like Jeff Maggert in the Masters. And we know what happened to him. Hootie's got to regroup now if he wants to win this hole." Hootie knew he had no choice. He had to go for it. "I'm going for the green Fluff", he said, in as calm a voice as he could muster. Fluff closed his eyes. He heard the swoosh of Hootie's seven-iron, but this time there was an accompanying "Yeah" as he opened them again. The ball was soaring towards the green, and came to rest no more than ten feet from the hole. "Fine shot, Mr Johnson, Sir", said Fluff, "I knew you could do it." They walked forward to the green, where Martha was already eyeing her putt. "Five plays net seven, Mr Johnson?" "Yes Maam", said Hootie. "Nice approach." Martha ignored the compliment as she bent over her putt. She stroked it carefully, mindful of Augusta's legendary glass-like greens. Despite this, the ball sped some four feet past the hole. Silent, Martha marked her ball. "This for it then", said Hootie, with all the confidence of one who has played Augusta so often that he didn't need to look at the line. The ball caught the left lip, and curled around the cup, finishing a full three feet away. Sensing that all was not over, Martha studied her putt with care, with Fanny standing over her shoulder. They agreed it was half a ball outside the right lip. Martha hit it. Just. The ball struggled to keep moving, and stopped on the lip. No-one moved. Hootie found himself counting the seconds, but on seven the ball wobbled, moved a fraction forwards, and fell in the hole. "Eleven, net nine Mr Johnson. You have two for it." Sweating, Hootie took his time. Meaning to lag it and have a three-incher for the hole, he hit it far too hard. The ball bounded towards the hole, hit it full on, bounced up off the back lip and dropped in. Peter Alliss: "Well, that's confidently holed out by Hootie, but what an extraordinary opening hole. Hootie wins it with a seven! Who would have thought it? So, it's early days yet, but first blood to Hootie in the great Augusta Showdown. He's one up." | ||||||
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You can follow the match score on the official scorecard by clicking here. | ||||||
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All the beautiful images of Augusta National used in this story can be seen on the official Masters website www.masters.org This page © Copyright 2003 by DuffersGolf | ||||||
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