Inside the magic of the Masters – and why Augusta is always the main character

The first thing that strikes you about Augusta National, as is probably to be expected from all the still and video images you’ve seen over the years, is the sheer greenness.

Every shade of green; the nuances provided by the dappled light of early April here on the border between Georgia and South Carolina. There are emerald, celadon, jade and seafoam greens, mint and sage if the sun catches the slope right, a verdant equivalent of the diamond-like shimmer found on the ocean waves.

And with every perfectly groomed curve, every neatly-coiffured undulation you proceed to the next level of understanding Augusta. The attention to detail. The perfection of it all.

There is not much to be written about this golf course and this tournament that has not been written before, least of all when it is your first time on Augusta National’s hallowed grounds and you are still coming to terms with its blooming azaleas and towering pines. But as every golf fan who has yet to come here dreams of their first stroll down Magnolia Lane, mouth agog as you lightly meander through other gawpers, covering your first Masters brings with it the opportunity to finally discover the course for yourself. A televisual artefact made life, a sporting holy grail that you can explore and touch and smell.

First of all, though, one must contend with the rules. No phones. No cameras (well, not after the practice rounds finish today) so there is no real way to memorialise your weekend in this golfing Mecca except the old-fashioned method of stashing them in your hippocampus and hoping you remember them faithfully. Many patrons, it would seem, have decided that the best way to remind themselves that they were at the Masters is via merchandise, hence a queue for the golf shop that stretches beyond 45 minutes. I am sure it is nice in there, but I won’t be waiting long enough to find out. At least not today.

Considering the true competition starts tomorrow, that very serious, century-old golf tournament that so many of these players have grown up dreaming of winning, it’s slightly odd that Wednesday has such a casual feel. The Par 3 Tournament obviously plays into that, with kids, family members and celebrities caddying or even putting. Instead, some golfers choose to grind extensively on the driving range, with Ludvig Aberg dropping out of the par 3 and hitting more shots on the practice area than anybody else on Wednesday. Others choose to take to the course, be it the Hojgaard brothers enjoying a special practice round they would never have imagined possible growing up in Denmark or Zach Johnson relentlessly practicing out of the sand on the second hole’s greenside bunkers.

These are the things you don’t see on television, and they start drawing you in to feel a little bit closer to Augusta. You can observe the player’s families going about their business, the smile and relaxation that melts away into nerves or frustration as the days progress. There are well-known media faces enjoying their last day of relative freedom before their own professional grind begins. Feverishly behind the scenes, a sprawling team keeps Augusta oiled and functioning.

It must be said that – again, fully as advertised – the service and staff around the course are as friendly and helpful as it is possible to be, without ever feeling overbearing or saccharine.

And that comes back to the great achievement and wonderful paradox of Augusta and the Masters – to make something so utterly exclusive feel so friendly and welcoming, an event that must be so chaotic and difficult to wrangle feels utterly serene.

All the while, this venue of such tradition, that guards its history fiercely, is also secretly always modernising. When players mentioned the trip from the clubhouse to the first tee was quite long, AGNC built tunnels under the practice range to make it shorter. When a tournament director felt the sight of golf buggies delivering supplies to food and beverage outlets was somewhat gauche and unsightly, they made it into a tunnel network. Things simply appear where they’re supposed to be, be that another pimento cheese sandwich on the shelf or Tommy Fleetwood’s hole-in-one this afternoon as his son Frankie caddied for him. No expense is spared in constantly improving, modernising and finding efficiencies at a tournament known for its old-timer feel, and that might be the secret sauce.

The true competition starts on Thursday, when the immaculate fairways will give way to divots and the pristine waters of Ike’s pond will be punctured by wayward tee shots.

Until then, as the sun goes down on Wednesday at Augusta, the perfect bentgrass is too well-kempt to even sway in this light breeze.

After Rory McIlroy’s historic win here last year there is a distinct lack of the tension that has hung over preceding warm-up days. The major story of this year’s tournament is yet to reveal itself and there doesn’t feel an obvious narrative to follow quite yet.

There is a main character, though.

There always is at the Masters, and it’s always Augusta National.