Motivation Quote by Ben Crenshaw

Crenshaw’s love letter to Augusta National comes with a comedian’s wince: “fun…in sort of a morbid way” is the tell. He’s not praising comfort; he’s praising a beautifully engineered ordeal. Coming from a player so closely associated with the Masters, the line reads like insider testimony, the kind that reassures fans that the tournament’s glamour is paid for in psychological toll.

The intent is part reverence, part realism. Augusta is framed as singular not because it’s pretty (it is) but because it punishes you most precisely where ego likes to hide: around the greens, in touch shots and putts that look makeable until the contours turn them into math problems. By repeating “super, super tough,” Crenshaw talks like an athlete reliving trauma in real time, emphasizing that difficulty isn’t incidental; it’s the course’s core identity.

Subtext: the Masters isn’t just a contest of ball-striking, it’s a contest of composure. The “morbid” pleasure is the pleasure of being tested by something that doesn’t care who you are, not even a champion. That’s why Augusta sustains its mythology. It offers a controlled environment where suffering can be aesthetic, where failure is televised like high art.

Context matters, too: Augusta’s greens are famous for being fast, tilted, and fickle, turning tiny mistakes into double bogeys. Crenshaw’s line preserves the tournament’s mystique while quietly admitting the truth fans sense every April: this place is magnificent, and it’s mean.