Rory McIlroy dropped his 9-iron at the top of his follow-through on hole 10 at Augusta National. His feedback loop was telling him: poor swing. And yet, the ball flew right at the pin and stuck. He drained the putt for birdie.
Then he dumped an 80-yard wedge into Rae’s Creek, missing his target by 25 yards. Pros don’t hit shots like that—unless something sabotages their mind. He could hit 100 balls on the practice range and never come close to a shot that poorly struck. Which can only mean one thing: that one of the best players in the world is, in fact, human.
At times of duress—emotion, anxiety, pressure—the mind can disconnect from kinetic brilliance.
But Rory came back. He birdied the first playoff hole to win the Masters and collapsed, prostrate, on the 18th green, weeping like a prisoner released from eleven years of solitary confinement.
Cheers to Rory. I’m happy for him.
The Masters broadcast is a cornucopia of imagery—but also of sound. Carolina Wrens and Northern Cardinals chirp more eloquently than the hushed clichés of Jim Nantz and Dottie Pepper. Even silence sounds different on Sunday at Augusta.
And then there are the cheers.
A ringing in the ears of the victor.
Salt in the wound of the nearly great.
What would it be like to hear a ringing of glory in the amphitheater of our minds—just once?
Watching Rory crumple onto the green, overcome with emotion, I thought: everyone should experience this at least once. Everyone should know what it’s like to hear cheers that bring them to their knees. The world would be a better place.
Somehow, nature understands this.
Robins, song sparrows, and red-winged blackbirds offer their own dawn chorus. The cheering begins again this time of year, as birds salute the azure sky and the gentle sun. A world once pale is now green, freckled with jaunty daffodils and pastel tulips.
Perhaps the finest cheers of all come in springtime:
A ringing in my ears from hearing
too many of the wrong things
surrounds my head some days
like a helmet, and yet I hear the birds
singing: the song sparrow by the water,
the mockingbird, whose song so beautiful
flings him into the air.
Song comes from a source unseen
as if from a stirring leaf, but I know
the note before I see the bird.
It is a Carolina wren whose good cheer
never falters all year long.
— Wendell Berry
Cheers!
Bespoke 
I love the ambience of Augusta National….if I were a squirrel I would want to reside there. It is pure beauty in sights and sounds (as you mentioned) and serenity. Maybe a little bit of “Heaven” on Earth – however no street of gold, just lush green floral. We all need to experience beauty and serenity in our lives, particularly in these trying days. Thanks for writing your excellent thoughts – once again! Love you all!
Thanks, Aunt Kathy: Yes, a squirrel’s life at Augusta would be a good gig.
Thanks for reading and for your encouraging words! It’s fun being surrounded by a family of readers and writers! Karen and I send our love.
Thanks for sharing this. Your words and old Wendell’s are very beautiful. Thanks for giving me some of the Masters experience for this year, as I haven’t tuned in since I was on my dad’s couch probably a decade ago. Probably sounds ridiculous to hear your youngest Taylor nephew reminiscing on a decade passing, but the years are flying now like a little swift-winged creature. I’m filling these up with a little boy who loves to squawk like a “big bird” and then tweet like a little bird when I tell him that big birds have to go outside to make big sounds. My favorite part—“Everyone should know what it’s like to hear cheers that bring them to their knees. The world would be a better place.” I often think about St. Paul’s words on running the race and fighting the good fight. There are so many in the invisible arena of heaven cheering us on!
Hi Jacob:
I still love golf but play it less and less. Sounds like you are enjoying fatherhood. It suits you! Hope the weather is turning warmer in Chicago.
Always nice hearing from you. You are an excellent writer. Blogs aren’t fashionable anymore in the age of Twitter and Instagram, but at least they
aren’t an inch deep and a mile wide. My audience of readers is in the hundreds rather than millions, but it is always gratifying to connect with good friends
and family through the blog medium. Karen and I send our love to you, Sidney, and Sammy.