We’ve all been to one of those big fancy dinners. You know how it works. Starts out with a reception and everybody kind of stands around admiring each other all spiffed up. Then cocktails are circulated and the appetizers are trotted out and finally the schmoozing is done and the doors open and dinner is served. Well, Monday through Wednesday at The Masters is the reception. And the Par 3 tournament means the appetizers have arrived. It’s a lot of fun. And a lot of crowded. Imagine all the patrons of Augusta National squeezed around nine holes where the longest yardage is 135 and two of the holes are under 100. But there is one spot by the seventh tee where you can stand on the side of the hill and see four different greens at once. And run the risk of snapping your little neck off, responding to the roars and groans coming from various idyllic spots surrounding two ponds on the northeast side of Augusta National. And it’s not all that hard to determine their import. There was no mistaking the giant explosion following Tim Clark’s hole in one clear across Ike’s Pond on nine. But you can’t take it too seriously because not once in the 50 year history of this thing has the winner gone on to win the Masters. So don’t hold it against them if someone finds themselves accidentally in the lead and pulls a you & me and slaps it into the water. “He’s on. He’s off.” Doesn’t matter. Tomorrow, dinner is served.