Sunday, April 11, 2004.

Of the handful of truly before-and-after dates in my life, most have nothing to do with sports, even as I’ve made a career out of documenting them. But, having lived what is now 20 subsequent years, I can definitively say my life changed on this date, all because of a golf tournament in Georgia.

I was aware of the existence of golf before this day, but for the first time was truly exposed to the grand theatre of the ultimate individual sport during the thrilling final round of the Masters, beginning a two-decade immersion in the game— with the number of decades still to come depending only on how long I’m alive.

Today, as the 2024 Masters gets underway, I’ll mark my personal 20th anniversary of involvement in the game of golf. My emerald anniversary — or, if you will, a Masters green one.

This decades-long enthrallment is unlikely considering I come from a family that is anything but golf-obsessed. But fate still stepped in at, of all places, a family function.

My grandfather didn’t watch golf often, but would turn on the final round of the major championships, especially the Masters. The final round of the tournament in 2004 happened to fall on Easter Sunday; after our family’s traditional ham lunch at my grandparents’ house, a few of us retreated to the den and I found my 9-year-old self watching the Masters.

Had it been another year with a less-exciting finish, that might be where the story ended. But this was 2004 — one of the most memorable final rounds in the long history of the sport’s most storied event.

Phil Mickelson chased his elusive first major championship — with six of them now, it’s hard to imagine a world where Lefty was known as the guy who couldn’t win the big one, but that was a thing until his mid-30s — in a back-nine duel with the great Ernie Els. Both did extraordinary things; Els eagled the eighth and 13th holes to take the lead, before Mickelson birdied five of the last seven holes, tying Els with an 18-footer at the 16th before making a similar-length birdie putt on the final hole to win by one stroke.

I didn’t fully understand the scoring of golf yet — that came later — but I picked up just enough to still follow the day’s drama, particularly Mickelson’s final hole and the high stakes of the last putt. The ball barely caught the left lip to fall in the cup, something Mickelson said was a “nudge” from his recently-deceased grandfather, and Lefty leaped into the air with both arms raised in celebration.

I was hooked. (No pun intended; in fact, I tend to slice the ball, not hook it.)

I remember wanting to stay for the green jacket presentation, even as my parents were ready to go home. To show my naivety at this point, I actually thought the green jacket was not a sport coat but some type of pullover that the winner would wear on the course for the following year, not unlike the Tour de France leader’s yellow jersey.

After this golf Eureka moment, I began hitting golf balls around the yard with an old putter Dad found at Goodwill. I even broke our storm door glass with one misfired shot, switching to plastic balls for yard golf thereafter. At Christmas, I got a junior set of golf clubs.

All the while, throughout 2004, I watched the major championships and the occasional PGA Tour event, beginning to absorb what would become a lot of golf knowledge, some useful and some useless. The 2005 Masters had less personal novelty but no less drama — including Tiger Woods’ famed chip-in at the 16th hole — and any thought my parents may have had that this could be a passing phase kept fading.

In the 20 years since, I’ve played the game competitively at the junior and high school level, then rediscovered the game during the COVID-19 pandemic, playing as much as three or four times a week during shutdown. I’ve covered the game as a sportswriter, including PGA Tour events and the 2022 U.S. Women’s Open at Pine Needles. And I’ve spent many weekend afternoons watching as a fan, tuning into every major championship since 2004, with my imagination captured through the play of Mickelson and Bubba Watson and Jordan Spieth and so many more — and, of course, the GOAT, one Eldrick Tont Woods.

The game of golf has taught me so much. The core values of the First Tee, an organization I was involved in as a youth golfer, mirror that of the broader game — honesty, integrity, sportsmanship, respect, confidence, responsibility, perseverance, courtesy and judgment — and I’ve grown in all of these areas from my involvement in the sport. I’ve learned about working hard to accomplish goals — and, yes, even how to manage the disappointment when those goals aren’t met. I’ve gained friendships that either originated from or deepened through golf.

Looking back to how it all began 20 years ago, I wonder what that 9-year-old kid would think about the state of the game today if he had owned a crystal ball. Recreationally, golf is thriving after it was one of the few things anywhere to grow through the pandemic and has largely maintained that momentum since. But the professional game now enters year three of a civil war, with rival tours separating the game’s best players and more than enough pointed remarks to go around from all sides.

My current self is saddened by the division, even as much of the rhetoric has cooled in recent months.

But, just as it has for each and every one of the last 20 years, the Masters this week will provide a reminder of why I fell in love with the game in the first place. It is unquestionably my favorite sports week of the year; a ritualistic sign of the rebirth of spring on the colorful palate called Augusta National where, simply put, the best golf in the world is played.

I implore that the 88th Masters be just as exciting as my first one was 20 years ago, to the delight of all, with the hope that first-time viewers can be captivated the same way I once was.

And as I begin my 21st year of golf obsession, may the great game continue to provide enjoyment, liveliness, fellowship, and the occasional hard lesson too, as it’s done for two-thirds of my life.