DURING MY PEAK PLAYING YEARS, what got me off the tennis court (and the fishing boat!) during what was then an extended off-season and onto the driving range each January was the thought of playing in the Masters. In 1963, golf ’s greatest springtime rite had a particularly strong appeal for me. Since missing the cut on my first visit to Augusta in 1959, I had finished tied for 13th, tied for seventh and tied for 14th. As reigning U.S. Open champion—I had beat Arnold Palmer in a playoff at Oakmont the previous June—I wanted to redeem myself in America’s shrine of golf so badly I could hardly wait to get on the Augusta National grounds again.
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Esta historia es de la edición April 2023 de Golf US.
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