I don’t know much about golf, but I do know that The Masters is like the Super Bowl for golfers. There’s something truly special about the annual tournament held at Augusta National Golf Club in Augusta, GA.
You’re filthy. You’re grimy and grungy, so soiled and stained with sin that it’s hopeless and impossible for you to try and get clean. For you to wash yourself is a categorical impossibility. Under the divine gaze of the eternal Godhead, you stand guilty, and, under the righteous condemnation of his law, you’re culpable of every offense.