Sometimes, opportunities come along that can’s be passed up. Everything gets dropped and plans get shifted when they come along. I was lucky enough recently to have that happen.

I know the right person who knows an even more right person who could get his hands on a pair of spare badges to the final round of the Masters.

My friend Aaron texted, “Do you wanna go with me to the final round of the masters?”

It didn’t take long for me to reply, “Hell yeah.”

A few weeks later, I could barely contain my excitement as I walked in the gate and made my way to the most magnificent golf course my eyes have seen. It felt as though we were stepping onto holy ground, except they take communion with $1.50 pimento cheese sandwiches and reasonably-priced Coors Banquet beer.

I remember sitting around a small television in 1997 in Providence Hall at Myers Park Presbyterian Church in Charlotte watching Tiger Woods sink the putt that made him a record setter.

Last week, I saw Jordan Spieth — the obvious heir apparent — make a run at breaking that record. Watching him make his way through Amen Corner was witnessing something special. The second shot he hit into the par-five 13th — the shot that essentially sealed the tournament — was as close to perfect as it could be.

The quality of the shot is undoubtedly high, but the venue made it that much better.

Later on, I heard the roar from the crowd after Phil Mickelson, a three-time Masters champion, holed out from the greenside bucker for eagle on the 15th. It had that feeling only a holed bunker shot on a Sunday at Augusta National Golf Club can have.

There were plenty of seats around the 18th. The small, green Masters chairs — without armrests or cupholders and seemingly look standard issue at the tournament — were at least 10 deep, and those left standing numbered six deep.

Instead of watching history, I decided to listen and soak in all that was happening. From my perch beside the first tee, I heard the roar of the crowd after the final putt dropped.

I stood at the place where it started three days prior listening to Spieth’s quest for a green jacket — to etch his name in major championship history — come to a triumphant end.