MASTERS GOLF TOURNAMENT : THE AURA OF AUGUSTA

Each year, golfers mark time through the tour’s early events, a dozen or so stops from California to Arizona, from Hawaii to Florida, warming up for this day, for these 18 holes.

This is Sunday at the Masters. This is something special.

The Phoenix Open and the Bob Hope Classic are fine events. Pebble Beach, sitting alongside the Pacific Ocean, is an awesome challenge and the Hawaiian Open isn’t exactly played in a shabby setting.

But for any player who ever loaded 14 clubs in a bag and marched down a fairway to do battle with trees and traps, putts and pars, bogeys and bunkers, Sunday at the Masters is in a class by itself.

For three days, the best players in the world duel for the lead. And then they reach Sunday, 18 holes--or more--to settle the issue.

Consider the last three tournaments.

Three years ago, in the twilight of one of the most legendary careers in sports, Jack Nicklaus reached back for one more sunrise on Sunday at Augusta, shooting a final round 65 to claim his sixth Masters.

With four holes to go, Nicklaus was four strokes behind. Then a string of eagle-birdie-birdie-par thrust him in front and as he walked triumphantly down the fairway at No. 18 with his caddy son at his side, this gentle old place shook with the thunder of the crowd’s cheers.

Two years ago, Augusta-born Larry Mize, who used to sneak over back fences to watch the Masters, reached a playoff for the championship with Seve Ballesteros and Greg Norman.

At the second extra hole, Mize was in trouble, maybe 20 paces from the edge of the green. But his chip shot bounced from the fringe and rolled perhaps 30 feet, as if drawn by an invisible magnet, directly into the cup.

Last year, Sandy Lyle and Mark Calcavecchia, playing in separate twosomes, battled down the stretch. Calcavecchia completed his round and was preparing for a playoff when Lyle came out of a bunker at No. 18 with a spectacular shot that hit 20 feet above the hole and rolled back within 10 feet of the cup. The birdie putt clinched the crown, by one slender stroke.

Those have been the last three Masters Sundays.

Bernhard Langer and Ben Crenshaw were two-stroke winners in the two years before that. Craig Stadler beat Dan Pohl in a playoff in 1982, the year after Tom Watson won by two strokes.

That’s gut-wrenching, nerve-racking golf and that’s what Sundays can be like at the Masters.

Calcavecchia, one of the top young players on the tour, remembered the first time he saw Augusta National and not being terribly shaken by the experience.

“I came here in 1986 for two days to watch,” he said. “I saw what Augusta National looked like. I never figured I’d play it. It’s beautiful, but it’s just a course. You put the ball on the tee and play.”

Two years later, he faced Sunday at the Masters, 18 holes for the championship. His perspective had changed somewhat.

“I was nervous,” he said. “I was uneasy the whole 72 holes. I was never relaxed. That might have to do with why I played good. The worst thing you can do is tee it up and pray that you hit it halfway straight. The best thing you can do is take a deep breath and concentrate. I knew what I wanted to do and I had to concentrate hard to do it.”

Augusta National has that effect on people.

It is breathtakingly beautiful and eerily quiet early on the last day of the tournament. There’s a groundskeeper here, manicuring the greens like a gardener tending to a lawn. There’s an official there, checking final round hole placements.

Early arrivals set their plans for the day. Some will follow a particular player. Others assume the drama will be in the final group that pairs the leaders and will stay with that twosome.

It’s easy to guess wrong. Often the roar of the crowd reverberates through the course, a birdie or eagle on a key hole shaking the place, echoing around, the sound seeming to bounce off the trees that line the fairways.

This is the golf season’s first main event and it flourishes on its predictability, the dazzling beauty of Augusta National in the first week in April, the azaleas and magnolias already in full bloom, the lush fairways, the pristine greens.

Perhaps it is Augusta National’s concern with tradition that makes the event so special. On Thursday, the Masters opened with a ceremonial threesome--Gene Sarazen, Byron Nelson and Sam Snead, all giants of this game--teeing off first. It is a page out of the past, a tribute to the people who have made their sport and this place so special.

The other majors, the U.S. Open in June, the British Open in July, the PGA in August, move from one course to another, different challenges every year. The Masters and its traditional green jacket for the champion stays here, described succinctly by its organizers for those who wonder about Augusta National’s goals.

“The first consideration is to provide a first class golf course in as beautiful and nearly perfect condition as effort and money can make it,” it says. “The club’s chief objective is to stage a golf show that is enjoyable to all--our members, patrons and player guests, and to interested golfers generally.”