Serenity and security: Scenes from a memorable Masters | No Laying Up

AUGUSTA, Ga. — Scottie Scheffler woke up Sunday morning feeling overwhelmed.

His neck was bothering him for the first time all week. His wife, Meredith, was back in Dallas, staying at her aunt’s house. His tee time was still hours away, and he was feeling restless. It was a different sensation than it was two years ago, when he and Meredith cried before he went to the course. Their lives were changing so fast, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready for it.

This time, he was worried he wanted it too much.

“I was sitting around with my buddies,” Sheffler said. “I told them ‘I wish I didn’t want to win as badly as I do. I think it would make the mornings easier. But I love winning. I hate losing. I really do. And when you're here in the biggest moments, when I'm sitting there with the lead on Sunday, I really, really want to win badly.”

He was grateful his friends were there. A mixture of college pals and people he’d met since getting married, Scheffler invited them to stay at his rental house after his best friend, Sam Burns, missed the cut. The idea of being alone unnerved him. Meredith usually made him breakfast, usually picked out his outfits, and now the simple act of making eggs with toast felt strange.

His friends encouraged him to feel grounded in his faith. Whatever happened on Sunday, they reassured him, was not going to define him.

“My buddies told me this morning, my victory was secure on the cross,” Scheffler said. “And that's a pretty special feeling to know that I'm secure for forever and it doesn't matter if I win this tournament or lose this tournament. My identity is secure for forever.”

How do you beat a guy like Scheffler? He’s not only the most talented player in the game — maybe the most complete golfer since Tiger Woods — he has also learned how to channel the kind of tranquility that comes with contentment, to use it as superpower to dominate.

Years from now, when I think back on the 2024 Masters, there are so many scenes that will linger in my brain. It may not have had a riveting finish, but it came at what feels like an huge inflection point for the future of the game. I wanted to jot down everything I heard, or saw, that I thought might resonate beyond this week. In the end, I kept returning to Scheffler’s serenity.

He is now a two-time Masters champion, seemingly at the peak of his powers.

But also, that might be underselling it.

What if this is just the beginning?

• • •

On Tuesday, the Champions Dinner dinner was winding down.

The Ensalada de Txangurro (Basque crab salad and potatoes) and the Chuleton a la Parrilla (Basque ribeye steak with lettuce and peppers) picked out by Jon Rahm as a nod to his homeland had been consumed. The stories about Seve Ballesteros, told by the older generation of champions to the younger one, had been exhausted.

It had been a jovial night, for the most part. Nick Faldo later shared that Phil Mickelson, a three-time Masters winner, was “dead quiet” for the second straight year, barely speaking at all.

As the plates were being cleared, Tom Watson asked Fred Ridley, the Chairman of Augusta National, if he could say a few words.

“Please do,” Ridley replied.

Watson looked around the room. He saw several generations of men, some of them at odds over the future of professional golf, having a great time. The drama over the PGA Tour and LIV had faded, temporarily, into the background. He wanted everyone to remember that feeling, and carry it forward.

"Ain't it good to be together again?” Watson asked.

Silence washed over the room. No one really knew what to say.

“There was kind of an appall from the joviality,” Watson said.

Ray Floyd, the 1976 Masters champion, got up from his seat.

Soon, others followed.

It was an unofficial sign that the dinner was over. Watson wasn’t sure if his message had resonated, but he was hopeful.

“I hope that the players themselves took that to say, you know, we have to do something,” Watson said. “We all know it's a difficult situation for professional golf right now. The players really kind of have control I think in a sense. What do they want to do? We'll see where it goes. We don't have the information or the answers. I don't think the PGA TOUR or the LIV Tour really have an answer right now.”

• • •

Scott Sheffler felt sheepish about doing it, but he couldn’t resist saying hello.

He joked that he hoped it was okay to bother ESPN anchor Scott Van Pelt because, after all, they shared the same first name.

“I just wanted to tell you how much I appreciate your work,” said Scheffler.

“Please. What an honor it is to meet you,” Van Pelt said.

Scheffler then introduced himself to a small group of reporters soaking up the sunshine.

This is what happens on Monday under the big oak tree in front of the Augusta National clubhouse. People from various walks of life cross paths, handshakes are exchanged, and strangers make connections. Scheffler admitted his morning had been a little stressful because his son, Scottie — the No. 1 player in the world — had shown up at the course and forgotten to bring his golf shoes.

“He asked me if I could run to the Nike truck and grab a pair,” Scheffler said. “I had to laugh. I ran to his car and I couldn't figure out how to get it out of park. I spent like 10 minutes trying to figure it out. Finally Nick Faldo walks over and he says ‘Oh you have to hold down this button on the blinker.’ You Americans are so lost.’ I’m like ‘The blinker? Nick, the car I drive came out in like 2012.”

Everyone in the circle chuckled.

"What a joy it’s been," I said, "to watch your son play golf the last few years."

Scott Scheffler smiled then gave a dismissive wave.

“I’m just happy he’s a good person,” he said. “All that other stuff, that never mattered to me. I’m just so proud that he treats people the right way. That he treats people with kindness.”

Something about the loving way Scott Scheffler talked about his boy moved me, so I asked his son about it the following day.

What kind of dad was he?

“You know, my dad — the way I was raised — my dad stayed home with us,” Scottie Scheffler said. “My mom worked. And my dad never really looked at me as a golfer. He never pushed me to become a good golfer. That was never what he wanted for me. My parents pushed more education and being kind to people. So I think playing junior golf, I think sometimes you see a lot of parents who really want their kid to become really, really good at something, and they think that's what's going to bring them joy. But becoming a really good golfer may bring you a little bit of momentary joy, but it doesn't sustain it for very long. Winning a tournament makes me happy for about five minutes, and then you go do a bunch of other things that are a little bit more difficult than winning the tournament.”

Scheffler, whose wife Meredith is 9 months pregnant, said he and his family put together a plan for the week in case she went into labor. A friend got permission from the club to carry a cell phone, and if the baby decided it was time to be born, Meredith was going to call her husband. A private jet would whisk him away, even if he was on the back nine and leading the tournament.

A reporter couldn’t resist asking: What if you’re winning and there are only a few holes left? Do you think she’ll call you in that scenario?

“She better call,” Scheffer said.

He was smiling, but he was also dead serious.

• • •

When the pairings sheet gets passed out at Augusta National, there are three columns of players listed under "Honorary Non-Competing Invitees who are present." It includes a slew of

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