The green carpet of grass rolled on as far as I could see. A magical aura surrounded me as I walked gently over the perfectly manicured turf. This beautiful landscape is the home of the Masters golf tournament. .

Workers scurried around the course, inspecting for anything out of place. Dad and I glanced around trying to find a fault but to no avail. I reached down to the ground to confirm that it was real grass. "How is it possible for it to be this perfect?" I had to ask. I looked to Dad for the answer, only to see his shoulders shrug in uncertainty. No weed was in sight on the grass, nor a misplaced grass clipping; however, the scent of freshly-cut grass wandered in the air. Each blade of grass was precisely cut to the same length. I saw neither a grain of sand that had gone astray from its bunker nor any debris in the smooth fairways. .

The smooth fairways led my eyes to the perfectly maintained sand-bunkers. It was as if God himself had used a cookie-cutter to form them. The bright white sand contrasted perfectly with the emerald green grass. .

"Dad, can we come play golf here?".

"No son, it takes years of hard work to be privileged enough to play here.".

Next, I ambled toward the twelfth tee box. There was a huge crowd surrounding this area; these people were just as fascinated with the landscape as they were with the golf. All of these people seemed intelligent as they whispered about the course to each other. I got the impression that every person there always dreamed of coming to the Masters. Any male or female golf fan believed this golf course was the ultimate in achievement. The crowds and trees were the walls surrounding the fairway. Ahead of me, the fairway was empty except for a few officials and two golfers; one of those players was Tiger Woods. As he made his way down the green pathway, a shout came from the crowd: "You the man, Tiger!" Generous chuckles escaped from the mouths of others in the crowd.