Gabriel Stovall: Seeing The Masters and Augusta National through the eyes of a newbie

I don't get starstruck or awestruck easily.

As a journalist, I can't afford it. The world of a sportswriter regularly exposes us to big names, big moments, big-time venues and behind-the-scenes access that can deliver unprecedented drama at any unpredictable moment.

And when it happens, we have to keep our composure and stay level-headed, as if we knew it was coming, so we can provide the most unbiased, objective, facts-not-feelings based perspective possible. For 15-plus years, I've managed to stay above the emotional fray.

And then came Saturday and my first entrance into the Augusta National Golf Club and its palatial press area ahead of this week's Masters activities.

Let's just say it's a good thing I didn't have any objective news I had to write to you about Saturday, because I was too busy committing a journalistic sin. I was being a fan boy.

I've covered national championship games. I've shook hands with Michael Jordan, interviewed Charles Barkley, chatted it up in a presser with Nick Saban. I've even got a NFC Championship and Super Bowl under my belt. None of these got to me like stepping foot onto Augusta National's hallowed ground.

A labyrinth is the best way I can describe it. Not because Augusta National is difficult to navigate as much as the fact that it just sort of comes at you out of nowhere.

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Picture it — me walking out of a regular old parking lot, crossing the same old Washington Road I travel for one reason or another every day as an Augusta resident. I'm strolling casually past the sign that lets me know I'm entering the press parking lot. None of this gave me any adequate foreshadowing of what was to come.

The parking lots were a mixture of gravel, grass and concrete. Far from spectacular and not unlike anything I've seen from media parking spaces in places like UGA's Sanford Stadium, Georgia Tech's Bobby Dodd Stadium or Philips Arena where the Atlanta Hawks play.

I'm checking in, scanning my press credential, and then the next turn I make takes me from the familiar sights and sounds of an Augusta I've come to know and love to a place that not only looks like a completely different city, but an entirely new world.

It made me think of my childhood and how I'd watch my favorite older cousin conquer Super Mario Brothers on the classic Nintendo in less than 15 minutes. It was impressive to me because I always tried to beat the game going through the traditional progression of the game's different worlds. But that wasn't his way.

I remember the shock and awe I felt when my cousin took Super Mario into some elaborate back world I'd never seen before — a world that looked nothing like what I'd come to expect from Super Mario.

That's what being introduced to Augusta National for the first time was like.

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Walking into the spacious Press Building with a glorious view of the practice facility dropped my jaw and left me speechless. Stepping out under the awning just outside that expansive press area window just in time to hear the thud of a distant golf ball hitting the ground about 25 feet in front of me.

Old school pen and pad in hand to take notes, because you can't step onto the course with a cell phone. All of it gave me throwback sensations of when I'd sit in my now-deceased old man's lap and watch all the big-boy sports events on TV, saying to him, "What if we got to go there one day, daddy?!"

His reply was almost always the same. "You just might do it one day, son."

Although neither of us could be classified as golf fans back then, the magnitude of watching an event like The Masters was enough to manufacture a type of fandom for the game steeped in the overall respect of sport and those who compete at the highest possible levels.

All of this spoke one phrase to my mind in one loud, colorful mental shout: "You're at the Masters!"

Being here not only made my sportswriter bucket list shorter. It reminded me of how blessed I am to work a profession that regularly puts you in the 1 percent population of those who get up-close-and-personal access to the things, people and places most of us can only fantasize about.

And, at one time, I was one of those who fantasized about this place. This event. This moment.

When I sat on my dad's knee as a child watching events like The Masters, though I daydreamed about it, it never dawned on me that I'd one day be walking by the larger-than-life, iconic main scoreboard that looks as if it could be the course's original board when the course was built in 1930.

Augusta National goes out of its way to keep some of the most newfangled technological advances out of sight, while still providing a suitable mixture of old-world charm and new school innovation.

One of the most odd, yet refreshing, nuances is the aforementioned "no cell phones" policy. I didn't realize how much that would impact me until I caught myself fighting off the urge to pull a non-existent cell phone from my pocket to snap pictures of what I saw.

Instead, what I saw was a welcome return to a world where people weren't mindlessly staring into their screens while trying to walk. A world where we were forced to watch and react to the action without rushing to be the first person to summarize it in 280 characters.

If patrons wanted photos, they had to use a good-old-fashioned point-and-shoot camera. We were forced to talk to the people around us, whether we knew them or not. And it wasn't really a force. It felt quite natural — like a return to technology-free simplicity that we probably don't realize how much we miss.

In the process, I bumped into a guy from my home state of Nebraska. He works at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln, where I cut my sports writing teeth. He noticed the "Nebraska" on my sweatshirt which made him strike up a convo. It's a chat we probably wouldn't have had if we had our phone screens to keep us company.

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My new friend told me that he actually wasn't staying for the tournament. He was leaving Wednesday which showed me that The Masters is just as much of an event as it is a competition. Then hearing people speaking in various languages, dialects and accents reminded me this was not just an American event, but one with international flair.

The winding scores of people meandering the crossways, trying to get a glimpse of their favorite golfers during practice rounds, was surreal. The distant roar of a crowd on another hole penetrated my chest and made me smile, even though I couldn't see what prompted their cheers.

I saw legends Tiger Woods and Fred Couples up close and personal as they got their practice chips and putts in at hole No. 3. My dad would've flipped to hear me talk about it.

The perfectly manicured grounds, the uber-friendly customer service. People enjoying themselves with minimal distractions. Patrons on their best behavior. It almost made me forget that I was in Augusta. It almost made me forget it was 2022.

I took one look at the infamous "Amen Corner" and immediately understood why it was the most difficult stretch of golf on the entire course. It's far more expansive than words can describe. The bleacher seats, packed with patrons watching for a game-changing shot, or error, adds to the already innate pressure of trying to survive the course's three most difficult holes.

I chuckled at the irony of its religious-sounding name, wondering how many golfers humbled themselves to prayer in order to get out of it without a blow-up.

As the week wears on, I'll continue transitioning from sports fan mode to my typical sports writer posture. But man, does it feel good to be human for just a little while and to appreciate the enormous grandeur that is Augusta National and The Masters.

After almost three hours exploring the scene, as cheesy as it sounds, while making my way back toward the big scoreboard that preludes the trail back to the press area, I glanced skyward and bragged a bit to my dad in heaven.

"Hey Pops," I said under my breath enough so no one would look at me crazy as I appeared to talk to myself. "You see your son out here taking it all in? I'm going to get the chance to see it all this week."

That choked me up a bit, as I was overtaken by a sense of nostalgia fit for the moment and this pristine venue. I wished he had a chance to stand next to me to see what I saw.

But then I realized, Dad's probably got the best seat in the house.

Here's to a magical and momentous Masters Week to all.

Gabriel Stovall is a sports writer for the Augusta Chronicle. Contact him at gstovall@gannett.com or follow him on Twitter and Instagram, @GabrielCStovall.

This article originally appeared on Augusta Chronicle: First Augusta National, Masters experience brings awe and nostalgia