Masters Countdown: The great oak at Augusta

The famed spring fling known as the Masters, annually the most popular televised event in golf, begins April 10. Yet to absorb the complete spectacle of the place, nothing replaces wandering the grounds and soaking up the atmosphere. As an appetizer for those who have never crashed the Augusta National gates, we offer a few crumbs to nibble on until the opening round begins.

Over the nine days leading up to the event, we will be providing inside snapshots detailing what makes the event so special for those who have played in, won or attended the storied little invitational at the private club on Washington Road. Included are intimate places where access is extremely limited, as viewed by the players and past champions themselves.

AUGUSTA, Ga. -- Around here, the color green has become inextricably linked to the place itself. Heck, even the minor league baseball team in Augusta is called the GreenJackets.

When it comes to the nerve center of the Masters, if not the social nexus of Augusta National, a monstrous, 150-year-old green-leaved behemoth stands as the living, breathing embodiment of the place.

You never know who you are going to see standing beneth the oak. (Getty Images)

Talk about a perfect shade of green.

The Masters has legacy like no other tournament, mostly relating to the competition itself. But for a privileged few with clubhouse access, there's no disputing that the tree planted between the main clubhouse and first tee box is the place to see and be seen.

At an event that routinely draws the biggest domos in the game, both from the industry and associated sports fields, the tree supplies the sap that holds everything together culturally. Actors, super agents, members, former star players and captains of industry -- they all gravitate to the tree.

"Movers and shakers," as two-timer Masters champion Ben Crenshaw described it.

Stand under the tree long enough and the faces can become all too recognizable. It's quite a spectrum, from actor Jim Caviezel to retired college football coaches like Lou Holtz and Frank Broyles, not to mention assorted trophy wives and kept women.

There's no better place to soak it all in, if not soak in an adult beverage at the same time. Best of all, players tend to walk through the area after finishing on the 18th, providing a better parade outside of anything offered by Macy's on Thanksgiving Day.

It's such a social hub that it has become a verb. ESPN's Scott Van Pelt was working at the tournament a few years ago forgot that he had promised to meet a friend under the tree. His pal stood there for an hour or two.

"So now, every time he gets stood up by somebody, he calls it 'getting oak-treed,'" Van Pelt said.

Situated just a few feet away are a series of outdoor picnic tables, replete with umbrellas, for the lucky elite to grab a bite to eat before heading back onto the course. Or take a meeting. Or just plain gawk.

Technically, the tree is a quercus virginiana. But forget Latin, the language of business is far more frequently spoken given the number of heavy hitters hanging out at a given time. For every recognizable face, there's an army of less-visible, yet high-powered members in green jackets running around like they own the world, which, in point of fact, they pretty much do.

According to the club, the tree was planted in the 1850s, or a decade or so before the Civil War, making it the oldest relic at Augusta -- outside perhaps Arnold Palmer. In fact, the branches have grown so broad that several hundred feet of steel-cable guide wires have been suspended to keep limbs from snapping off and ruining the spectacular canopy.

In places, brick and mortar has been used to keep animals from nesting in hollow portions of the trunk and electrical wiring runs up the trunk into the branches, since the tree is outfitted with lights, too. It's also grounded in the event of a lightning strike.

One wag dubbed it the "Dyan Cannon tree," in honor of the aging actress, but politely declined to be identified, lest "they throw me out of here."

"Just like Dyan Cannon, it looks pretty darned impressive from a distance, but when you get up close, you notice all the work that's been done to keep it one piece," he cracked, pointing at the cables overhead.