Master of the Elements

That's what you learn as a pipsqueak holding your own in team sports. Johnson was a starting wide receiver on his seventh-grade football team, despite weighing less than 90 pounds. As a high school sophomore he led his golf team to the state championship, and as a senior he was a 120-pound, all-city right wing in soccer. Oh, and while at Drake, he won a campus-wide three-point shooting contest, canning 19 of 25 from beyond the arc.

"He's one of those irritating guys who is good at everything he does," says Kim.

That a finesse player such as Johnson prevailed at the Masters only added more intrigue to a controversial course setup that was years in the making. The regime of former Augusta National chairman Hootie Johnson will always be remembered for his pugilistic defense of the club's all-male membership, but his lasting legacy is having remade the layout in his own macho image. He may have been replaced this year by the kinder, gentler Billy Payne, but last week Hootie enjoyed the last laugh as his course — with a little help from Mother Nature — humiliated the best golfers in the world.

Since the wholesale changes to Augusta National began in 2002 — turning an expansive layout that encouraged bold shotmaking into a longer, tighter, more penal test — rainy conditions had taken the bite out of the course. This year it was finally dry, making the greens firm and frighteningly fast. Cold temperatures and gusting, swirling gales, plus the sensibilities of new greens committee chairman Fred Ridley, resulted in a perfect storm of high scores. Hootie's obsession with protecting par befitted the blue coats of the USGA, not the green jackets of the Masters, and it wasn't a coincidence that this year's bloodbath was overseen by Ridley, the immediate past president of the USGA.

The tone was set during the first round, when there were more rounds in the 80s (12) than under par (nine), with only two eagles being made all day. Even with course conditions on the edge, Ridley had showed no mercy.

"Some of the pin positions were like, Wow," Stephen Ames said, following a 76 that left him seven off the lead of Rose and Brett Wetterich. Johnson, with a 71, was lurking in a tie for fifth.

The difference between this Masters and so many others could be more readily heard than seen. Augusta National has long been noted for its acoustics; the soundtrack to the Masters is supposed to be the roars of the gallery echoing through the pines. In the absence of any pyrotechnics, 1979 champion Fuzzy Zoeller described the atmosphere as being like "a morgue."

The easier pin positions of the second round were negated by stronger winds, and by the end of another brutal day the players were beginning to howl.

"The course is ridiculous," said Stenson. "It feels like I'm walking around for five hours and someone is whipping me on the back."

Added Davis Love III, "You can't make it much harder than this and get guys to show up."

In fact, some competitors clearly wished they were somewhere more hospitable, like Hades. After making the cut on the number at eight over, the highest since 1982, Lee Westwood was so down in the mouth he was asked if he still liked the Masters.

"Not anymore," he said. "It asks too many questions that there is not an answer to. Sometimes even a perfect shot is not good enough."