I’m four months into this new relationship, and I think things are going well. She’s cute, funny, loves golf and isn’t afraid to tell me what she needs; especially when that’s a bottle at 4AM.
Skip ahead a few hours and a diaper change, and it’s 7AM and the kid’s back asleep. After years of instinctively having the television to SportsCenter every morning, I tell the remote I want ESPN.
Full stop. Who else grew up in a world where you didn’t talk to your television remotes? It blows my mind that my kid’s gonna grow up in this world. I may hide all remotes and only buy televisions with external controls. That way, junior gets the same experience I did. Low on the food chain is the human remote. Welcome to the world.
Since the kid can’t walk yet, I tell the remote I want ESPN, and I felt like the dad in Rudy when he gets to Notre Dame for the first time. Everything was so green and I had a tear in my eye.
2020 has taken so much from society. I’m an eternal optimist; a glass half-full of bourbon kind of guy. But even I look at this year and my stomach sinks sometimes. That’s why what’s happening in Augusta, Georgia right now is so important. It’s also why I’m wanting a pimento cheese sandwich for breakfast.
For the uninitiated, Augusta is home to The Masters. It’s one of four “major” golf tournaments and arguably the greatest event in all sports. The trainwreck that is 2020 took this annual, April celebration of sport and beauty and punted it to November (but 2020 kept the fans as a scalp to remind us the year ain’t over).
While The Masters is an exclusive ticket for a golf fan, once inside the gates, life’s simple and cheap. Drink and sandwich prices make patrons think the signs haven’t been updated in decades, and the local favorite is a pimento cheese sandwich. Simple, flavorful, satisfying. It’s basically the official sandwich of The Masters.
So when my magical remote jumped to ESPN, the screen lit up with green. Morning coverage at Augusta has already started. A legendary golf course, normally covered in people and structures, lay bare in her glorious beauty. In an odd way, it’s the closest I’ve ever felt to the course and perhaps the game. Definitely the strongest feelings I’ve ever had about pimento cheese.
I wish this story had a poetic ending, but there is no sandwich. Nobody keeps pimento spread handy. It’s just not that common. However, in a shit year, morale has been lifted by thoughts of a pimento sandwich.