The toughest ticket in golf. True for the players and for the fans. And just like the golfers, the patrons have a cut too.

Weekends are reserved for the Pros from Dover. Oh sure, a person might be inclined to generously bequeath their four day admittance badge for temporary one time use on Thursday and Friday to a trusted client, or favorite nephew or persistent politician, and possibly on Saturday to an obsequious boss or overly zealous IRS auditor, but on Sunday? No. I’m sorry. Just like Tiger’s comeback record thus far in majors. Never on Sunday. And don’t even ask.

Sunday is reserved for the true professional. The career course soldier. The carriers of the gold Augusta National watch. You can sense the difference in the mood of the gallery at the very first strike of a ball on the first tee. These people know to stand on the little rise just east of the big tree giving them a view over the heads of the ten deep surrounding the tee box. They’re not carrying souvenir bags. They have enough Masters hats and golf shirts. Some from the 60s or even earlier. They take their time. They don’t smoke or drink beer and greet each other with animated nods and hearty handshakes, not excited shouts and awkward hugs. They know in advance how to dress for the duration (long pants and windbreakers- today) and carry about them a quiet air of knowing how it is and how it has been and how it always shall be. Like Jerry Rice said when asked why he didn’t have a patented celebratory touchdown dance, “I’ve been there before and I hope to come back real soon.”