The first time I walked into Augusta National Golf Club for the Masters Tournament, I felt like there was something odd going on. It wasn’t the teeming crowds or the heightened sense of anticipation or the hallowed ground or anything. I mean, yeah, of course, it was all that, but there something else happening as well. Something a bit unsettling that I couldn’t put my finger on. And then it came to me. Walking down to the Golf Shop, I figured it out. It wasn’t something that was happening. It was what wasn’t there. No signage. Anywhere. No six-foot high plastic soft drink signs. No sponsor banners with a dozen little corporate logo bugs at the bottom. No giant inflatable beer bottles with mechanical dogs popping out of the open end. It was eerie. You’d think you were walking into a national park or something. Except- no bison.