TBT: Surrender to the Masters

I ran out of cute pictures a while ago.

There's only so much of my silly face with bad hair cuts one needs to post on "Throw Back Thursday" before everyone has gotten the point.

The point being we all had bad taste when we were young.

So instead, each Thursday morning I get up, pour some coffee, and check the web for fun historical facts that happened on this particular day.

It means that not only do I get to play along . . . I also get to cheat. Two of my favorite things.

Anyway, April 9th is my evil-step-mom's birthday. (she's not really evil in any reasonable way . . . way too delightful, but it's much more fun writing 'evil-step mom'. Brings me back to my Disney princess roots, especially since I'll be scrubbing floors later this morning.)

This is also the day that Robert E. Lee surrendered and the American Civil War was officially over.

It wasn't technically over. There was still a lot of fighting going on in New Orleans . . . yet another reason why the world is a better place because of text messaging.

In 143 A.D. Septimus Severus became Caesar of the Roman Empire. It's unclear if he is the great great great great grand uncle of Professor Snape.

Genealogy gets a bit murky in the dark ages.

Also . . . a lot of golf facts.

Along with the portraits of Robert E. Lee, and busts of long dead Caesars, there was Veejay Singh, Phil Mickelson, Tiger Woods, other golfers who's names escape me now. They all seemed to have taken home the Green Jacket on April 9th.

Green Jacket? you ask.

That's right. The prize for winning The Masters Tournament at Augusta.

Happens every first full week of April.

And you don't actually get to keep it if you win.

You have to surrender it the following year.

Which seems cruel to me, but I'm not golfer, so I wouldn't know what to do with a green jacket if I had one.

Other fun facts are that Lee Elder was the first african american to win the tournament in 1975, one year before I was born, and 110 years after Robert E. Lee surrendered.

The first african american to be admitted to the Augusta National Golf Club didn't happen until 1990. They could win the tournament, but they weren't invited to lunch.

They let girls in sometime after that.

Well . . . okay . . . 22 years after that . . . but hey . . . now it's "Lunch for everybody!"

Which I'm pretty sure is a line from the Gettysburg Address.

One of the first girl inductees was Condoleezza Rice (pictured above in her own green jacket). She is the former Secretary of State under George W. Bush, she speaks five languages, including Russian, and is a classically trained and concert ready piano player. (not to mention a scratch golfer)

She ain't no princess and she gets to keep her jacket.

I'm not even qualified to scrub her floors.

And when I said I wasn't a golfer, that wasn't totally true. I do golf. I enjoy golf, though if you say "Golf" over and over you'll start to understand how really weird language is, and if you do it in public, no one will sit next to you on the bus.

Lunch for thought.

I'll even watch golf on television. Which I know sounds even crazier than saying the word 'golf' over and over on a crowded bus, but I find it relaxing to see such a silly thing being taken so seriously. It makes me consider the silliness of all serious things.

I've been trying to get my son interested in golf, but trying to get him interested in something that he's not currently interested in, is like putting a leash on your cat and taking it for a walk. His grandpa (My evil-step-dad) is slowly nudging him in that direction too.

I'm not sure either of us stand a chance.

(And my step dad isn't evil either . . . but . . . you know . . . I'm a princess)

And it's not just for selfish reasons that I want my boy to take up the noble game. He could be really good at it. He's got length, speed, balance, and pretty remarkable hand-eye-coordination. It also happens to be a fact that college scholarships for golfers are some of the least claimed at American Universities.

He's gonna need scholarships.

Cause I'm all outta money.

Which means, even though I'm white and male, no one is ever going to consider inviting me to join the Augusta National Golf Club.

No lunch for me.

There are rules.

But I do have a massive flat screen TV, food in the fridge, and an unscheduled hour between Cinderella-ing the floors and picking up my son from school.

You hear me, Masters Tournament at Augusta? I may not be part of your little game, but I will be watching.


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