G eorgiaon My Mind, Other arms reach out to me, Other eyes smile tenderly, Still in peaceful dreams I see, The road leads back to you...
Well, the road back to Augusta, Georgia, will figure hugely in the dreams of Jon Rahm Rodriguez between now and the next Masters as he contemplates returning to the scene of his great triumph and the comforting wrap of a Green Jacket.
Not so much, however, for Rory McIlroy or Tiger Woods. When it comes to the spring ritual of The Masters, golf’s overly made-up glamour puss and a course that manages to reinvent subtle, significant slices of its challenge while looking the same as always, McIlroy and Woods have retreated from this latest rumble appearing an odd couple of yesterday’s men in a sports world that tries very hard to live in tomorrow.
Different reasons, of course. Woods has tried more than anyone else, surely, ever would to rebuild his body for the umpteenth time in a life that has touched the highest plateaus of achievement as well as scraping the
