I can’t say I truly aspired to win the Masters. If I did, I knew I would have to pay the price. That price would be turning professional and living golf 24-7. I was happy with where I was with my life. I played the game mainly because I loved it and to fulfill my urge to compete. However, there would be a moment in time—a one-hour period beginning at 12:47 on April 10th, when I existed in that other world—the world kids dream about when golf first captures their imagination. It started with a birdie on the challenging opening hole at the Augusta National Golf Club in front of a scattering of Sigel fans and thousands of Tom Watson fans. When the putt dropped, I heard Watson say, “Nice putt.”

The first hole at Augusta is not a birdie hole. When you walk off with par you exhale and head to the second tee, a par five where you feel you can be more aggressive and go for it. I dropped another birdie on the second green and heard Watson say nice putt again. The third hole is the last birdie opportunity before you move on to face the back to back challenge of four and five. I pitched my wedge to 15 feet, but the putt lipped out. Oh well I thought, if I can hold on through the next couple I may have the making of solid round.

Few birdies happen on the fourth at Augusta but as my iron headed towards the flag I heard Watson whisper, “Well done.” One putt later I was three under after four. Then I noticed it—my name and a red number 3 near the top of the leaderboard.

If four is a difficult birdie, the fifth is nearly impossible. The slightly elevated green with a stingy landing area, seems to be designed to repel any iron not struck perfectly. As I hit my second shot I again heard Watson say, “Nice shot.” I was beginning to really like this guy!

After dropping my birdie on five, I tried not to look at the scoreboard, but as you walk to the sixth tee, things open up and you can see much of the rest of the property. I could also hear the buzz of the crowd and some of the patrons murmuring, “Who is that guy?”