Thursday, April 08, 2004
SignOnSanDiego.com > Sports -- It's business as usual for Hootie & Co.
AUGUSTA, Ga. – In order to provide the more perfect practice range, Augusta National Golf Club has gone on a land-buying binge.
During his annual Masters media briefing, club Chairman Hootie Johnson cited published acquisition estimates of $28.5 million, and then he added, "We are still not through."
All this so that the world's golfing gypsies can prepare for their rounds in state-of-the-art splendor during the one week a year Augusta indulges intruders.
All this with no expectation that the club can ever recoup its enormous investment in adjoining real estate.
All this at a time when the Masters airs commercial-free to shield sponsors from the political pressures applied by Martha Burk.
Say what you will about Hootie and the Blowhards – the patronizing plutocrats who run this place – but you have to respect the depth of their convictions and of their pockets.
Augusta National is as impervious to economic pressure as an azalea. A year after Burk's shrill attempt to shame the membership into admitting women, the club's strength remains staggering and its attitude remains unaltered.
There were no fewer than 55 cash registers in operation at the club's Golf Shop during yesterday's practice round, and most of the shoppers left with bulging bags. Mindful that Masters merchandise is only available on the grounds, they filled orders for their friends and neighbors, their brothers and their bosses, their cousins and their clients.
No one will say how much stuff Augusta sells this week, but it is not nearly as much as it might. The club does not push its products on the Web. It does not allow advertising or corporate tents on its grounds. It does not sell naming rights to its signature event.
Masters ticket prices jumped 40 percent this year, but Johnson insisted this move was unrelated to the decision to drop commercials from the CBS and USA Network broadcasts. Even at $175 for a full session badge, the face value of Masters admission is half that of this year's U.S. Open ($350) and $100 less than the PGA Championship. A comparable British Open package costs 140 pounds (roughly $258 at yesterday's exchange rate).
"They are still the cheapest major ticket, I believe," Johnson said. "You know that. (And) we are still selling pimiento cheese sandwiches for something like a dollar and a half."
With a membership roll replete with billionaires, Augusta National need not gouge or grovel to pay its bills. With a tradition "unlike any other," the Masters is a tournament almost immune to the fluctuations of the marketplace. If this place were any smugger, it would be Paul Tagliabue.
Johnson declined to entertain political questions during yesterday's news conference, which was something of a statement in itself. Augusta no longer feels the need to justify its policies to the public. If Johnson were any more insulated, he could keep coffee warm.
"You know, I really think the American public is ready for us to talk about golf," Johnson said in reply to the first mention of Burk. "Our golf course is in the best condition it's ever been. We've got a great field. We think we're going to have it hard and fast, and that's what we're here today to talk about is golf."
When private clubs stage public events, they sacrifice some of their secrecy. Burk argues that in holding the Masters, a "public accommodation" requiring police presence and a liquor license, Augusta also forfeits the right to gender-based discrimination.
Tuesday, Burk announced an initiative in which public companies managed by Augusta members will be scrutinized for discriminatory practices by a law firm to be paid on contingency. Having failed to put Augusta's collective feet to the fire, Burk has adopted the shrewder strategy of turning up the heat on individual members.
"Does that concern them?" Johnson was asked. "And does that concern you?"
"I really think you ought to talk to Ms. Burk about that," Johnson replied.
Each evasion prompted a more pointed question, but Johnson deflected them all as if he were swatting flies. A female reporter observed that Augusta still has no women members and would face no protests this week. She wondered if Johnson felt as if he had won the battle.
"I don't feel like we won anything, ma'am," he said. "I think it's over, but . . . it will never be over. But I don't think we've won anything."
When Jack Nicklaus, the six-time Masters champion (and Augusta member) later appeared for interrogation, I asked him if last year's controversies had damaged or changed the club.
"What's your opinion?" he asked.
"Not much," I told him.
"Next question," he said.
AUGUSTA, Ga. – In order to provide the more perfect practice range, Augusta National Golf Club has gone on a land-buying binge.
During his annual Masters media briefing, club Chairman Hootie Johnson cited published acquisition estimates of $28.5 million, and then he added, "We are still not through."
All this so that the world's golfing gypsies can prepare for their rounds in state-of-the-art splendor during the one week a year Augusta indulges intruders.
All this with no expectation that the club can ever recoup its enormous investment in adjoining real estate.
All this at a time when the Masters airs commercial-free to shield sponsors from the political pressures applied by Martha Burk.
Say what you will about Hootie and the Blowhards – the patronizing plutocrats who run this place – but you have to respect the depth of their convictions and of their pockets.
Augusta National is as impervious to economic pressure as an azalea. A year after Burk's shrill attempt to shame the membership into admitting women, the club's strength remains staggering and its attitude remains unaltered.
There were no fewer than 55 cash registers in operation at the club's Golf Shop during yesterday's practice round, and most of the shoppers left with bulging bags. Mindful that Masters merchandise is only available on the grounds, they filled orders for their friends and neighbors, their brothers and their bosses, their cousins and their clients.
No one will say how much stuff Augusta sells this week, but it is not nearly as much as it might. The club does not push its products on the Web. It does not allow advertising or corporate tents on its grounds. It does not sell naming rights to its signature event.
Masters ticket prices jumped 40 percent this year, but Johnson insisted this move was unrelated to the decision to drop commercials from the CBS and USA Network broadcasts. Even at $175 for a full session badge, the face value of Masters admission is half that of this year's U.S. Open ($350) and $100 less than the PGA Championship. A comparable British Open package costs 140 pounds (roughly $258 at yesterday's exchange rate).
"They are still the cheapest major ticket, I believe," Johnson said. "You know that. (And) we are still selling pimiento cheese sandwiches for something like a dollar and a half."
With a membership roll replete with billionaires, Augusta National need not gouge or grovel to pay its bills. With a tradition "unlike any other," the Masters is a tournament almost immune to the fluctuations of the marketplace. If this place were any smugger, it would be Paul Tagliabue.
Johnson declined to entertain political questions during yesterday's news conference, which was something of a statement in itself. Augusta no longer feels the need to justify its policies to the public. If Johnson were any more insulated, he could keep coffee warm.
"You know, I really think the American public is ready for us to talk about golf," Johnson said in reply to the first mention of Burk. "Our golf course is in the best condition it's ever been. We've got a great field. We think we're going to have it hard and fast, and that's what we're here today to talk about is golf."
When private clubs stage public events, they sacrifice some of their secrecy. Burk argues that in holding the Masters, a "public accommodation" requiring police presence and a liquor license, Augusta also forfeits the right to gender-based discrimination.
Tuesday, Burk announced an initiative in which public companies managed by Augusta members will be scrutinized for discriminatory practices by a law firm to be paid on contingency. Having failed to put Augusta's collective feet to the fire, Burk has adopted the shrewder strategy of turning up the heat on individual members.
"Does that concern them?" Johnson was asked. "And does that concern you?"
"I really think you ought to talk to Ms. Burk about that," Johnson replied.
Each evasion prompted a more pointed question, but Johnson deflected them all as if he were swatting flies. A female reporter observed that Augusta still has no women members and would face no protests this week. She wondered if Johnson felt as if he had won the battle.
"I don't feel like we won anything, ma'am," he said. "I think it's over, but . . . it will never be over. But I don't think we've won anything."
When Jack Nicklaus, the six-time Masters champion (and Augusta member) later appeared for interrogation, I asked him if last year's controversies had damaged or changed the club.
"What's your opinion?" he asked.
"Not much," I told him.
"Next question," he said.
