Ben Crenshaw completes emotional Masters farewell to tears and cheers

 

AUGUSTA, Ga. – Ben Crenshaw's much-anticipated Friday began like so many others in his life.

 

He was reading, naturally. After all, he's got so many books at home the Library of Congress is jealous. He was among family and friends, so many they've had to rent five homes in the area to house all the Team Crenshaw members.

 

And he was about to play golf. For the last time on these hallowed grounds.

 

Totally relaxed and at peace Friday morning, he was fixated on Dan Jenkins' latest book, "Unplayable Lies: The Only Golf Book You Will Ever Need." Chuckling while reading a chapter on Hal Sutton, his wife Julie said, "He was laughing so hard he was crying."

 

Of course, crying was the order of the day.

 

Especially this day, when the 63-year-old former Texas Longhorn would play his final round of competitive golf at the Masters, a course, a tournament and a life experience that he has consumed him since he first played here as an amateur in 1972 and bunked with seven other newbies in the Crow's Nest of the clubhouse.

 

But through the many tears were also Crenshaw's constant companions, his aw-shucks humility and self-deprecating humor. Those qualities showed up on Friday's first hole as he started with a double bogey when he flew the green and two-putted. "Just another double," he announced blithely.

 

His many friends and well-wishers recognize Crenshaw's sometimes wicked sense of humor as well. Noting Ben's high score on Thursday's front nine, President George W. Bush sent an email to Ben through Julie – Ben, a self-described Luddite, doesn't do email – a message that read, "Thanks for shooting a 43 for me."

 

He heard from more than the 43rd president. Actor Luke Wilson, a member of Crenshaw's Austin Golf Club, sent a touching email as well. Forty members of that club arrived to root Ben on. The Gatlin brothers were on hand. Bill Coore, Crenshaw's golf-design partner, walked the course.

 

As for Ben, buoyed by the memories of two Masters victories here on the 20th anniversary of his last win here, he floated his way around this immensely difficult course. He battled both his emotions as well as his lack of frequent golf and the absence of long-time caddie Carl Jackson, who bowed out of duty the last two days because of sore ribs from lung cancer therapy.

 

Out of respect and more than a little affection, the Masters folks posted the cumulative scores of his two playing partners, Bill Haas and Jason Dufner, but left the scoring spot next to Crenshaw's name blank.

 

The fans didn't need to know he had put up an 85 any more than his worst-ever 91 the day before. It wouldn't spoil his last walk. This is a man so in love with golf he names his family cats after golfers. There was Ben Hogan and Bobby Jones and the Crenshaws' current tabby, Francis, after Francis Ouimet, the father of amateur golf.

 

He received warm ovations at every tee box, shook hands with admirers and wore a smile that couldn't be sand-blasted off his kindly face.

 

The inevitable end came in the twilight amidst the tall Georgia pines, a dark sky rumbling with thunderclaps as he sank his final putt.

 

With a slightly stooped, 67-year-old Jackson by his side – he wore the white overalls and embraced his boss on the 18th green after Carl's younger half-brother Bud had carried the bag -- Crenshaw stood on the green where he'd posted his two biggest victories in 1984 and 1995. The two exchanged I-love-yous in an extended embrace. As Crenshaw basked in the heartfelt adulation that swept over him like a cool, springtime breeze, one fan yelled out, "Hook 'em, Ben."

 

Ben's work was done.

 

He'd play Augusta no more.

 

After 44 visits to this place, more than all but three others, he officially ended his PGA Tour career. "This is it," Ben said.

 

He wasn't here to win although he said, "I feel like I won the tournament." No, he came back one last time to pay his respects, to say his sweet goodbyes.

 

"Nothing sad about it," Jackson said. "It's a day of honor for my friend."

 

Oh, Ben will play a half-dozen or so tournaments on the Champions Tour more suited to his declining skills and diminished power. And he'll return here every spring, maybe as an honorary starter but at least to preside over the Champions Dinner.

 

Second-round leader Jordan Spieth, who is fast becoming the next Ben Crenshaw or perhaps ever bigger, said Crenshaw joked that "he'll be sitting with a beer and a sandwich in the crowd on 15. I highly doubt that."

 

Maybe Crenshaw's too damn competitive to ever sit idly by. Then again, Crenshaw's love affair with the Masters is unrelenting.

 

Before the 12th hole, he spotted a red-tailed hawk on the Hogan Bridge, Dufner teased, "Ben Hogan's watching. You'd better make this putt."

 

"Of course, I choked," Ben said.

 

But no one seemed to notice he was 32-over par. Or mind. He gave them wonderful memories.

 

Ben's hair's white with little grey flecks these days and spills over his ears to the extent that he joked that Clifford Roberts, were the iconic chairman of the tournament still around, might have suggested a trip to see Mister Johnson, the Augusta barber.

 

Dozens of Crenshaw's family members, friends and supporters followed him hole by hole the last two days, some for the first time. His older brother Charlie's wife, Julie, made her maiden trip to Augusta and said, "All the women brought waterproof mascara. All the Crenshaw men, they're all criers. They'll cry at anything."

 

"Yeah," echoed Charlie, "we all inherited our father's emotional genes."

 

One could argue a little piece of Crenshaw died on this Friday.

 

But it was time to step away, no matter how strong the emotional hold this place has on his heart.

 

"Heck," Scotty Sayers, Ben's long-time friend and manager, said, "he and Carl have been pushing each other up the hill the last two years."

 

Ben had come to the decision to retire in the last few months when it became obvious to him he could no longer measure up to the young upstarts of the game and a course that outgrew his game, one that was never about length but always about putting and ball-striking out of one of the best imaginations that golf has ever known.

 

"Ben's name is synonymous with the Masters," Sayers said. "The same as Arnold and Jack. Every hole on this course, Ben's hit a memorable shot when he's been in contention. I mean, he's seeing ghosts everywhere."

 

But there have been few more emotional visions than his presence on the 18th green. Never mind he missed the cut for the eighth straight year. Forget that he didn't break 80 in his past seven rounds.

 

Ben's family had planned a private party Friday night with an invitation list that seemed to include half of Augusta. They'd flown in liberal amounts of Salt Lick brisket and sausage along with a number of alcoholic beverages to embellish the memories.

 

Crenshaw joked with reporters after his practice round Wednesday that he'd probably stayed too long, had outlasted his welcome. But his fans would have none of it.

 

"People just love him," brother Charlie said.

 

Just as he has loved this place.

 

This article was written by Kirk Bohls from Austin American-Statesman and was legally licensed through the NewsCred publisher network.