What I Learned From The Masters

I had the joy in 2011 to attend The Masters golf tournament at Augusta National with my father.  We’d arrive at Augusta National early, grab some coffee, and then stroll around the dewy, manicured course in the early morning sunlight.  It was my favorite part of each day. 

We’d watch the grounds crews set the cups, literally take the course’s temperature, and otherwise tend to the magic green carpet.  As we strolled, my father would stop and explain where various memorable shots had taken place. 

“In nineteen such-and-such”, he’d start, “so-and-so had a lie right here.  At that time there was a limb overhanging the fairway, so he had to hit a slice like so,” he’d explain while making a wide arc with his arm.  “On that day, the cup was front right, so he had to land the ball back left but before the back ledge, and the ball had to roll like so, but not too much otherwise it would fall off the false front.  And do you know he rolled it to within five feet of the cup?  Amazing shot.” 

As we made our way along the fairway gallery crossings, we’d try to figure out where the players would place their tee shot, and what their approach to the green would be based on the cup placement we watched earlier. 

The actual golf was amazing as well as it turned out to be one of the really memorable Masters.  Tiger made a late run, Rory McIlroy was in-charge until experiencing an historic collapse, and young Charl Schwartzel won by holding off a bevy of young upstarts with an improbable run of four birdies on the final four holes. 

One of the really interesting things I observed was the quiet.  At golf tournaments it's customary for the gallery to fall silent as a player addresses and hits the ball.  But in true Masters form, quiet seemed to take on new layers of perfection.  I actually discovered three levels of quiet taking place at The Masters.  The first this was Player Quiet.  That’s when a player is addressing the ball, ready to hit, and the patrons (fans are called patrons at The Masters) in the immediate area stop talking and generally stop rustling around.  You hear birds chirping in the tree line and the dull buzz of patrons beyond.  The next level of quiet is Contender Quiet.  This is reserved for players who actually have a chance at winning the tournament.  In Contender Quiet the quiet zone extends to about double the diameter of Player Quiet.  You can now hear the echoes of chirping birds in the woods beyond, and only slight echos of patrons milling around the course.  The third and most intense quiet zone is Tiger Quiet.  This is reserved for only Tiger Woods.  During Tiger Quiet, you can still hear birds chirping in the distance, but nothing else, except occasionally an echo of a police siren in the far, far distance.  It's actually a sort of strange effect.

So what did I learn from The Masters?  The Masters does everything so well, but what it really does well is the details.  For example, I never saw any dirt at The Masters.  I spent three days walking outside over acres of golf course.  But I never saw any dirt.  I only saw green grass, sand neatly raked in traps, pine straw methodically spread beneath trees, and manicured shrubs.  Oh, and black water.  They must put some sort of black covering at the bottom of the water hazards so they appear black and therefore reflect the beauty around them.  But never any dirt.  The final day, Sunday, I did notice that in areas of heavy foot traffic the magical grounds crew pixies had methodically placed a green mix of sand and grass seed.  But the mix was the exact same green color as the short cut grass, so to the casual observe it looked like grass.  I could go on and on, but attention to detail is what I think The Masters organizers do best.

The interesting paradox of this is that because The Masters creates such a cocoon of comfort and expectation of excellence for patrons, that when some detail is missed, it stands out in stunning relief.  For example, in the real world the familiar beep-beep-beep of a utility vehicle backing up is a minor annoyance at best.  But at The Masters, I heard the beep during Contender Quiet and even Tiger Quiet.  It didn’t seem to bother Tiger, but I expected him to back off the ball and throw the unseen vehicle a nasty glare.    

The other thing I noticed was The Masters inability to mute the familiar “thwack-thwack” made by the closing door of a portable toilet.  Admittedly I didn’t see many portable toilets.  In fact, I think the only ones I spied were partially hidden away in strategic locations meant for players use only.  But watching Fred Couples address his ball, then hearing “thwack-thwack” in the distance kind of kills the moment.

Now, my examples may seem petty in the world that is not Augusta National, but in the context of The Masters they seemed like glaring omissions. 

So what does all this have to do with your medical practice?  Well, I think it points to the fact that no matter how good your practice is run, or how incredible the patient care and patient experience is, is that there is always something you can do better.  Your patients will always find something they dislike about your practice.  It means you can always be better managed, or more efficient, or have better working conditions for your staff.  If you can’t think of anything to improve, you’re probably not taking care of the details.

Fore!

Bob Oakley