I was so proud of you today when you pointed out to Becca that the guy with all the logos on his clothes was Lee Westwood and he is indeed from that country across the pond.
Then I laughed when you tried to rationalize young Rickie Fowler’s multi-colored day three attire by saying, “well it wasn’t worse than Friday’s rainbow infestation.”
Your irrational love for K.J. Choi hasn’t wavered I see as you started quietly chanting “My boy Choi! My boy Choi!” while he ambled up towards us late in the afternoon.
We had a blast downing “domestic light brews” (because Heaven forbid the Masters label their drinks with a corporate sponsor) and trading our thoughts on the last ten groups as we sat in the third row on #16, Redbud as the locals call it.
I showed you Eisenhower’s tree and you spat Tiger stats at me while we trolled the course. Oh, and I’m sorry about my cigar smoke, I know it’s not your favorite.
Enjoy sleeping in this morning while Chad and I cut through the morning darkness towards the course to strategically place our seats so we can enjoy them later on.
I’m enthralled with this day, Sunday at the Masters, as you well know by now. It’s my favorite day of the year and it’s not close. You can’t name five other sporting events combined that I’d trade today’s tickets for.
Thanks for accompanying me to Augusta again this year. I’d come with anyone but you’re always my number one choice.