In Augusta, watch the action, not on your phones. Photo: Getty Images/Maddie Meyer
It was 7:30 pm, a few minutes before the sun dipped below the forest floor so you could truly bask in the mystique of the Masters. What struck you was not just the setting as Tiger Woods clambered through the pine straw at 12th Street, the perfect par-three course that Augusta's chairman called the Mona Lisa of golf, but the fact that the golf club had no one mobile phone. sight. The devices are banned here by order of the Green Vests, with the threat of lifelong expulsion for violators. Draconian? Not when the goal is to remind people how to watch sports with their own eyes, rather than capturing every moment on a six-inch screen.
The timelessness of this place owes much to this inspired rule. Whether viewers get lost in the natural amphitheater or the drama unfolding in front of their faces, watch any footage of the Masters captured over the years of widespread mobile device ownership and you'll instantly notice the difference. When Woods took the tee at No. 16 in 2005, spectators watched every shot and high-fived each other when it finally fell. Now imagine the same scene with an authorized iPhone 15s. It will be a thicket of selfie sticks where everyone will be chasing Instagram likes.
We know this because we see it in every tournament that is not subject to the same restrictions. When Rory McIlroy played the Open at Hoylake last summer, it was against the backdrop of phones raised above each tee box. And when Woods started his first round at Riviera last year, the sheer volume of cellphones in the air obscured the view of anyone not 7 feet tall. Technology in people's pockets today acts like behavioral crack cocaine. It's a genius move by Augusta when the club forces them to throw turkey.
Phones at the ready.. Photo: Getty Images/Warren Little < p>For a few precious hours they are disconnected from the distracting world. Most of them first learned of OJ Simpson's death when they returned to their cars late that evening. If they wanted to call home in case of an emergency, they had to use one of those fancy phone booths — remember those? – hid behind the sixth green. To the younger generation, this may seem like a cruel imposition on the part of a committee of old people out of touch with life. And yet, it works: Badge wearers feel united in an act of quasi-religious purification, looking up at the sky rather than down at the addictive technology in their hands.
The only way to communicate with the outside world on the course. Photo: Getty Images/Christian Petersen
The iPhone's default ringtone changes to birdsong. The ringing of an incoming message is replaced by the soft rustling of pine trees. It's strangely disorienting and overwhelmingly nostalgic. Even the players seemed captivated by the feeling. “What's really cool about it is that you feel like everyone is present,” Jordan Spieth says. “They don't focus on whether they made the right shot, and they might not even know where your ball went. The visitors are highly educated, each of them participates in this. The result is a roar that might not have happened if the phones were turned off. For a player under pressure, this is nice because you feel like everyone is always there for you.”
The public's umbilical attachment to their phones is hindering live experiences well beyond golf. When LeBron James became the NBA's all-time leading scorer last year, Los Angeles Lakers fans almost without exception decided to capture the game-winning shot on their phones. The only person who resisted the urge was the one to whom it meant the most: Phil Knight, James's first benefactor at Nike, who sat in the front row with his arms crossed and drank it all. Knight, 85, knew that some feats deserve to be enjoyed without the distancing effect created by a tiny camera.
If only such wisdom could be applied elsewhere. Concerts in particular have become rituals streamed straight to YouTube, with many filming the whole thing just to prove they were there. Although Bob Dylan, 82, insists that his shows are free by telephone, there have been complaints that security guards are too zealous in enforcing the policy. Augusta's approach is more efficient: visitors put away their phones before they even walk through the gates, with the understanding that this will provide a more immersive and enriching experience.
The absence of phones creates an atmosphere at Augusta worthy of the special nature of the tournament. Photo: AP/Ashley Landis
This is a principle that works in practice. Joaquin Niemann, 25, is at an age where even temporary deprivation of access to a telephone can cause a catatonic state. But in his fifth Masters, the Chilean realized the benefits of re-engaging with reality. “It’s something special,” he says of the phone ban. “It gives the tournament more value, new energy, because all the spectators are watching you. This changes a lot.”
The rules may seem uncompromising compared to those of the Open, where Wi-Fi routers are installed throughout the course, but they are unlikely to change anytime soon. Billy Payne, the former chairman of Augusta, has sternly stated that there will be no softening of the position during his tenure, and his successor Fred Ridley is taking a hard line. Telephones are dismissed as cheap and tedious distractions that break the spell that this institution works so hard to create.
This calculation is correct. Can you imagine the chaos that would ensue if free telephone access was allowed? People would frantically rush into Race Creek to get the most Instagram-worthy photo possible. They will turn away from the championship-winning shot to confirm their presence to their followers. Augusta is strongly encouraged to abandon this Disneyland golf vision. Instead, those lucky enough to visit are freed from everyday life while continuously enjoying the sights and sounds of these Arcadian acres. Bliss.
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