The three men stood off to the side, a few paces back from the throng. The only thing to see was people trying to see. The ground surrounding the 18th green of Augusta National was packed by maybe 10,000 craning necks, everyone hoping to get a glimpse of Tiger Woods, who was in the middle of it all.
He was about to win the Masters, once again and at last.
That the men, each African American, had no hope of actually seeing Tiger didn’t matter. They just wanted to be there. They wanted to feel it, experience it.