AUGUSTA, Ga. — Many people make the pilgrimage for the course. Some for the tournament, others to see their favorite players. Or at least, that's the facade. The real reason thousands come to the Masters? The concessions.
Sure, keep waxing poetic about tradition, the rite of spring, azaleas, and all the Nantz-fuzziness you can conjure. It's the food—more specifically, the sandwiches—at Augusta National that attract masses, and with good reason. They are delectable, and just as importantly, cheap. But what does your hero order say about you? After all, the Masters doesn't exist in a vacuum; everything has to be extrapolated and placed into some sort of ontological context.
Keeping that in mind, here are the deeper meanings behind a patron's menu proclivities:
You're an upstanding member of your community. You lift the spirits of others, are a valued co-worker, have a nice family and home; no one would dare say a bad thing about you. But...there's not much there, there. Your jokes aren't cringe-worthy; they're not memorable either. You're a 6-handicap, yet no one has witnessed you break 75. Kind of like the club sandwich. You know you're in safe hands, but you won't exactly be writing home about it either.
Your blade irons, your weird stretching habits, that you lay on the ground to read putts...people don't get it. To hell with them; you are comfortable in your own skin. You recognize gold when it's in front of you. You're not universally popular, but those who like you really like you. You are more than a man; you are a cult hero.
The nine-time club champ. Your merit, unquestionable. You appreciate the finer things but are far from ostentatious. The most popular guy in the room, a living legend. Just like the egg salad sandwich, the king of kings.
Ham and Cheese on Rye
Ham and Cheese on Rye is not only your Masters order, it's the sandwich you eat six times a week. For you are a fire-and-brimstone soul, one of virtue and discipline. You consider any golf shirt that's not navy blue "flashy," and the big, loud drivers seen in tour bags as the devil's work.
Turkey and Cheese on Wheat
You are a broken man. Thrown in the towel. There is a wealth of wonder and color in your panorama, and yet you're beaten down to the point of apathy. The type of person who lets a bogey on the first hole set the tone for the round. How else can you explain ordering the most boring deli meat on the scientifically-proven worst bread? I don't know who hurt you, but it's time you get off the sidelines of life.
The life of the party, Bluto Blutarsky. You always go for the green in two and don't give a damn about tomorrow. That is you, my friend. You are in the South, so of course you are going to go H.A.M. on 'que. Unfortunately it's 92 degrees, and that pork ain't sitting too well with last night's 12-pack sloshing around in your stomach. No one's ever accused you of prudence.
Grilled Chicken Wrap
You're reading this on the elliptical, your second workout of the day. Your favorite golfer is Bryson DeChambeau, if only for the interest in his process. Taste is of no matter to you; food is merely the fuel to get you where you're going. Which is the only explanation for why you'd grab this over...well, almost anything else on the Masters menu. (Except the Turkey and Cheese on Wheat, obviously.)
Classic Chicken Sandwich
You are the former high school quarterback who still wears his letterman jacket at 30. You were certainly good...but not as good as you remember, and your accomplishments tend to be embellished. You hit the ball 300 yards one out of 10 times and a nasty 230-yard duck hook the other nine, yet act like the 300-yard bomb is the norm. Just like the chicken sandwich, a meal that never quite lives up to the hype.