Truth, justice and the Scheffler way

Scottie Scheffler has won the Masters and confirmed he’s the undisputed best golfer in the world. But who is he?

The gently winding path behind the 16th green is so vibrant with azaleas, dogwoods, forsythia, pyracantha, pampas grass, camellia, juniper and pine trees that you feel as though you’re skipping through a rainforest. Flashbacks of Noosa National Park.

The walkway is so lush you cannot even see one of the most important and wildly enterprising pockets of Augusta National.

Suddenly, here it is. The pin at the 16th hole is set a mere handful of metres from Rae’s Creek.

The gallery reacts as Scottie Scheffler makes birdie on the 16th hole of Augusta National during the final round of the Masters. Picture: Getty Images

A mile of room exists to the right. Balls land high and wide on the green before funnelling left and downhill to the pin. Thousands of patrons leap from their chairs and find full voice. C’mon, ball! Go, ball! In the hole, ball!

It’s like a slow motion rolling of a dice. At 6.21pm, in the shadows of championship Sunday at the Masters, the sport’s new Superman, America’s world No. 1 Scottie Scheffler, takes his chances.

His green is ready, but only just. Nearly a disaster. A small brown napkin has blown from the hand of a spectator — she’s tucking into an ice cream sandwich and washing it down with a beer — and flown greenside. Volunteers and security scamper after it. I believe a copper may have just pulled a gun. The napkin has gone left, right, fast and slow like a pitch invader in State of Origin.

World No.1 Scottie Scheffler celebrates his second Masters triumph on the 18th green at Augusta National Picture: Getty Images

It’s eventually restrained and led away. The only sign of untidiness all week. One small brown napkin.

Scheffler has the Masters zipped up in his bag by the time he rolls the dice.

The club knows his measurements from his 2022 triumph and he hasn’t fattened an inch since then.

The 16th is a 176-yard par three. Seven-iron for Scheffler. The silence is so complete you imagine the azaleas, dogwoods, forsythia, pyracantha, pampas grass, camellia, juniper and pine trees holding their breath.

“That’s a shot,” someone says as soon as the ball reaches a sufficient altitude for judgments to be cast. Now the masses are going bonkers once more.

C’mon, ball! Go, ball! In the hole, ball! Ball lands softly as a butterfly. Ball takes a look to the left. Ball starts wandering on over. Ball calls it quits just nine-feet from the hole. Ball is about to be brushed with a birdie putt that finds the mark and Scheffler is home, hosed and on his way to his private jet at Augusta Regional Airport as quickly as humanly possible.

His wife, Meredith, is heavily pregnant. He’s vowed to return to Dallas if she goes into labour. What if he’s on the 15th tee with a three-stroke lead? What if he’s on the 18th green with four putts to win, as happens?

He’ll be an instant hero if he drops his putter, tells everyone see you later, alligator, and sprints to the car park. It doesn’t come to that. Scheffler steers clear of the water around Amen Corner and Meredith doesn’t break hers. Win-win.

Receiving his green jacket inside Butler Cabin, he tells his better half, who’s watching on television in Dallas, “I’m coming home. I’ll be home as quick as I can. I love you and I’m coming home … you’re about to make me cry here in Butler Cabin because it’s a very special time for both of us. I can’t put into words what it means to win this tournament again. I really can’t put into words what it’s going to be like to be a father for the first time. I’m looking forward to getting home and celebrating with Meredith.

“It’s been a long week here without her. I’m just looking forward to getting home.”

Someone needs to give him a small brown napkin to dab away his tears. Scheffler has carded a closing four-under-par 68 to finish on 11 under and beat Swedish rookie Ludvig Aberg by four strokes. Australian duo Cam Smith (two under) and Cam Davis (one over) have tied for sixth and 12th respectively. They were never really in the hunt as Scheffler proved beyond all doubt he’s the undisputed No. 1 player in the world.

Superman is actually more of a Clark Kent. He’s softly and carefully spoken. Understated. You wouldn’t pick him as the sort of bloke to leap tall buildings but you can imagine him promoting Superman’s slogan of truth, justice and the American way.

He takes a while to crack a smile and raise his arms in his moment of triumph. His swing is nice and smooth without obliterating a ball. There’s an unusual soft-shoe shuffle at the moment of impact, when he takes the littlest step to the left.

The truth? Not for one moment on Sunday has the result seemed in doubt. The justice? He deserved to win. The American way? He’s doing it his way. He’s criticised for lacking pizzazz and personality but I admire his quiet and clinical efficiency.

Scheffler’s private jet is Dallas-bound before midnight. “It’s hard to put into words how special this is,” he says.

“Instead of just me and Meredith at the house, I just had a couple of my buddies with me. I was a bit overwhelmed this morning. I told them, ‘I wish I didn’t want to win as badly as I do’.

“I think it would make the mornings easier. But I love winning. I hate losing. I really do. And when you’re here in the biggest moments, when I’m sitting there with the lead on Sunday, I really, really want to win. Badly.”

A second green jacket is on Clark Kent’s shoulders. A baby will soon be on board. “I’m looking forward to the next couple weeks,” he says.

“I’m excited. When you get married, a lot of people tend to make jokes about like, ‘Oh, your life is over, yada, yada, yada.’ My friends were always very excited for me to get married but you get some people offhand just making jokes and stuff like that.

“Marriage has been such a tremendous aspect of my life, I cannot even imagine what being a parent is going to be like.”