At Slate, Robert Weintraub pierces the pomposity of the Masters golf tournament:
The four-day telecast itself was even thicker with treacle. Give the club credit for limiting commercial interruption, but I’d settle for a few more ads if it meant less of the music and slow pushes on photos of winners from the ’40s. As Phil Mushnick wrote in the New York Post, trying to watch the Masters with “all the scene-setters and homage-paying makes us wonder whether Augusta National members would prefer to watch the Masters as it’s being played live, or sit through a bunch of tributes to the course.” The main effect is to make the viewer want to give in and take that nap.
He also calls Jim Nantz a “corporate shill.” Read it.