2020 Masters Choose Your Own Adventure, Patrick Reed vs. Jon Rahm: The Cabin
Harry Trump/Getty Images. Pictured: Patrick Reed, Jon Rahm
You are brought to a cabin and left alone in an office.
You should be scared. You should be absolutely petrified about the rich-and-powerful Fortune 500 CEO-types who run Augusta National digging their claws into you. You should be shaking over what they can do to you — how if they want to bury a body, these are the people who can ensure nobody will ever find it.
And yet, sitting alone in this office – well, really more of a conference room, with a few chairs situated around a heavy oak-finished table – you can’t help but think that it’s pretty sweet how you managed to get yourself into a part of Augusta National that most people don’t even know exists, let alone will ever see for themselves.
Within a few minutes, a man in a green jacket who can’t be this side of 90 years old, comes shuffling into the room. He pulls one of the chairs away from the table and takes caution holding on to each of its arms as he lowers himself into the seat, then waggles a few times as if to find some comfort.
This is a man, you reason, who has said what he wants and done what he wants for pretty much all of his adult life. That comes across immediately, as he forgoes any introduction in favor of getting right into the heart of the matter.
“I hear you had a cellular telephone on the golf course here at the Augusta National Golf Club?” he says, raising his inflection at the end of the sentence as if it’s a question, though he’s clearly not asking you anything. “Tsk-tsk. You kids and your damned telephones. Were you looking at the Tik-Toks?”
You start to laugh, but catch yourself, realizing that this query would only be funny if you had someone else to share it with.
He continues: “That’s all my great-granddaughter does is those Tik-Toks. She put me in one as she danced all around me. I could’ve killed her.”
This one-way conversation is already going in a few different directions that are equal parts hilarious and upsetting. Finally, he asks your side, wondering, “Who were you dialing up on that telephone of yours?”
“Well, sir,” you begin, knowing full well that biting the bullet and telling the truth is going to be a total dead-end, “I have a bet today on Jon Rahm and I was checking on it.” You decided it probably wasn’t worth trying to explain live outrights and matchups in this discussion.
“The Spanish kid with the square-shaped head?” he asks, lowering his glasses to the end of his nose. Again, this is pure gold. Again, you bite your lip to keep from laughing.
What he says next is utterly shocking.
“Yeah, I like him, too. I kept waiting for him to move to 15/1 before the tournament, but he never got higher than 12.”
There are literally a million thoughts crashing through your head at this moment.
This guy bets on golf? And he liked Rahm? How much does a geriatric Augusta National member put on a bet? And more importantly, can this bonding session lead to you keeping your badge and getting back on the course?
“That would’ve been nice, sir,” you reply, now holding this man in the utmost of esteem, knowing he’s a bettor. “You can still get him at 3/1 right now.”
The man looks you up and down, as if he was eyeing the portfolio of some multi-million dollar corporation that he decides to buy or sell on any given Tuesday morning.
“Well, I like you,” says the man who still hasn’t introduced himself. “Rules are rules, though. I can’t let you back on the course.”
- He calls the police, who remove you from Augusta National.
- He lets you stay in the cabin and watch the final round with him.