I watch at least part of the Masters golf tournament every April, but this year it has a special meaning.

It’s been 40 years since Jack Nicklaus won the 1986 Masters at age 46 to earn his sixth Green Jacket. I watched his entire final round and cheered for him every step of the way.

The Golden Bear and Arnold Palmer are the two professionals that led me to try golf in the late 1970s. Palmer’s last major was in 1964 and his last tournament win was in 1973. I hoped he’d win one more time and maybe more than one, but it didn’t happen.

Nicklaus was still winning. I thought it was great when he won both the U.S. Open and the PGA Championship in 1980. He then won the Colonial in 1982 and the Memorial in 1984.

My Marshall High School golf coach, Steve Johnson, told me in a 1984 conversation that he thought the Memorial would be Jack’s last win. I hoped for more, perhaps another major.

His 1986 Masters win corresponded to my senior year on the golf team. I had clinched a letter during my junior year, so I had several options.

One was to work hard in my senior season even though I would probably not light the world on fire. Another was to skip the season and go to Spain with classmates (I had three years of Spanish). A third option was to play golf and just go with the flow instead of practicing in the evening until it was too dark to see the ball.

I was at risk of taking the third option. It’s what was known as “senioritis”, something that affects baseball players and track athletes as well as golfers. As they eagerly await graduation, some seniors simply don’t put their heart and soul into their spring sport.

After events at Augusta, I became determined to do my best. I realized that any sports season that’s worth playing is worth a 100 percent effort.

The Golden Bear inspired me. I felt that if one of my childhood sports heroes could surprise everyone, maybe I could also. Anything was possible. There was always a chance that I could score a par round or a hole in one. It wasn’t a very good chance, but it was a chance.

As the golf season unfolded I played in about half the meets. There was a large group of golfers who were juniors, who could no longer play B squad. We were all competing for the chance to play varsity.

I consistently had respectable scores, low to mid 40s for nine holes. It was enough to make me a two-year letter winner.

At the end of the year Coach Johnson gave me, as the team’s only senior, a choice between golfing in the Southwest Conference tournament or the regional tournament. I chose the conference because I thought my team would win it. I didn’t see much of a chance of going to the state tournament through region.

Marshall won the boys conference title in 1986 in Worthington. I had the honor of accepting the trophy. All six of us were given small conference champion plaques.

Golf remained an important part of my recreational life in college and afterward. I scored eagles in 1991 and 1996 and later a par round in 2002. All of them happened at Countryside Golf Club in Minneota where I had a membership.

I cut back on golf in 2004 when I enrolled in graduate school. I haven’t played at all since shortly before my 2021 hip surgery.

I had my second hip replaced last year and the artificial hips are good. My golf clubs are sitting in my storage unit along with my bicycle and cross country skis. I’ve thought about maybe trying out all three of them to see if I can do them again. We’ll see what 2026 brings.

I wouldn’t trade my two eagles and par round for one hole in one. I think that would be 98 percent luck. I know better golfers than I was who never had one. I know some far worse golfers who’ve had an ace.

The beauty of golf is that you never interfere with the play of opponents. Most of the time it didn’t seem like competition when I walked the region’s courses as a teenager. It was more like a shared quest for a holy grail.

When someone made a truly good shot, everyone in a foursome congratulated him or her with sincerity. It would be a good thing if all sports had the same kind of sportsmanship.

When I think of memories, something that often comes to mind is golf. I made a lot of bad shots when I first learned to play and was once in a while tempted to quit. I’m glad I didn’t. Eventually my effort led to rewards.

— Jim Muchlinski is a longtime reporter in southwest Minnesota