That year, for some reason, one row on the big manually operated scoreboard at 18 developed an odd mechanical flaw. Each time a new red number was posted, the board would emit a loud clap, riveting the attention of the assembled thousands. The row in question was the one with Gary Player’s name on it, and beginning at the 10th hole, it began to make a lot of noise.

A birdie at No. 9—clap. Another at 10—clap. At 12—clap.  Thirteen, 15, 16—clap-clap-clap! Suddenly Player was 10-under-par and tied with Watson for the lead, with Funseth and Green one back.  Blessedly for the two amigos in ringside seats, it would all come down to 18. Player, five groups in front of the others, hit a gorgeous approach 15 feet above the hole and, incredibly, sank the putt. He had played his last 10 holes in 7-under-par, posting an inward nine of 30 and a total of 64. As his ball dived into the hole, Gary thrust his muscled arm in the air. A moment later he was wrapped in the arms of the young man with whom he’d played. Seve Ballesteros, celebrating his 21st birthday, seemed even more delighted than Gary.

Watson, Green and Funseth each came to that final green with a chance to change the outcome. Watson, in the penultimate group, needed only a par to force a playoff but pulled his approach directly underneath us in the press stand, and failed to get up and down. As he exited stage rear, the words I’d dreaded were whispered in my right ear: “Still a lotta dog in him.”

In the last group, Funseth and Green needed birdies to tie. Funseth’s approach finished a foot or two outside where Player’s had, but his putt drifted just right of the hole. Green, meanwhile, had struck a brilliant 8-iron to within three feet of the cup. He was about to stroke it when he heard—hell, we all heard—the voice of CBS radio commentator Jim Kelly in the booth adjacent to the press area. Green stepped back, glared at Kelly, settled back in and hit a putt that never touched the hole.

Unbelievably, Player had done it, come from seven strokes behind to win the Masters—his third green jacket and ninth major championship—at the age of 42. And I’d lost a bet to my clairvoyant friend.

Looking back on the cast of characters from that tournament, I’m struck by the paths their lives took:  Player kept the magic going with victories in each of his next two events. They turned out to be the last three tour victories of his career. On the senior circuit he would win 19 times, including a matching nine major championships. Now 67, with a total of 163 victories around the world, he’s convinced he can still win, and I’ve learned not to bet against him.  Watson got rid of the dog in him and went on to win five times in 1978, defending his triple crown as leading money leader, Vardon Trophy winner and Player of the Year. He closed his PGA Tour career with 34 wins—including eight majors—and is now a consistent force on the Champions Tour.  Hubert Green would win another five tournaments on tour, his last victory coming in the 1985 PGA Championship at Cherry Hills CC in Colorado. He’s now a regular on the senior circuit, where he’s had numerous opportunities to hear the dulcet tones of Jim Kelly.   Rod Funseth won the 1978 Hartford Open, the last of his three career victories. In 1985 he died of cancer at age 52.   Ballesteros became the most charismatic and dominant player Europe has ever produced, winning two Masters, three British Opens and 72 titles worldwide. In the early 1990s he began to lose his game, and he has not won a tournament in the last eight years.

As for my friend and me, our excellent adventure continued the day after that Masters when we took our 7-handicap games out onto the Augusta National, neither of us breaking 90. A month later I got married, a year later he got married, each of us serving as the other’s best man. Somehow, we’re both still with our first wives, and we’ve each raised two kids—boys for me, girls for him.

I logged another 25 years at GOLF Magazine and then came here to LINKS. My friend put in another few months at that association job and then moved on to something bigger and better—the USGA, where for the past two decades as its executive director, he has been one of the most influential men in golf. His name is David Fay. And I still owe him that 10 bucks.