On the hallowed grounds of Augusta National Club where a battle royale is being waged for claiming the honour for receiving a fabled green jacket, one espied a cool dude, well-hatted and wearing dark grey, very deep purpled, sporty clothes, moving quietly from one sighting point to another, occasionally rising on his toes to get a better view.
What intrigued me was his blowing in the wind flowing white beard, now somewhat thinned over the years, his soft brown humour-filled eyes nestling behind that famous beard, and the relative incongruity of his presence in that environment.
Having recognised him as