NCR: I went to Augusta to watch the Masters. I came home with a spiritual experience.

When my father took me to play golf for my 10th birthday at some nine-hole course in the middle of an Indiana cornfield, I looked at him after the round and said, "That was the best day of my life."

Growing up in the basketball-obsessed state of Indiana, I learned early on I'd have to denounce that religion; it's tough to make the team when puberty waits until your junior summer to deem you fit for transformation. But through the awkwardness of my pip-squeak existence, I always had golf, a sport where work ethic eats physicality for breakfast.

I watched Tiger Woods win the Masters at Augusta National in 2001, 2002 and 2005. I filled my golf bag with Nike balls and tees, and asked for red polo shirts for Christmas. Through high school and college, I worked for $8.50 an hour at a golf course two cornfields over (a proper Hoosier measurement) so that I could play for free. Huck Finn had the Mississippi River; I had Deer Creek Golf Club...

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