Some things just feel right. You expect to see Derek Jeter going deep into the hole to make a play at short. When you see that door open in a jolt of hurry you know Kramer's going to be walking into Jerry's apartment. It only makes sense for Norm to have his corner stool when you walk into Cheers.

Something else will feel right, so much so that it will feel right for the 45th time.

For the 45th time Jack Nicklaus, the proud holder of six green jackets, will tee-off at the Masters at Augusta National on Thursday. Forty-five times, that means 45 years, my friends.

There aren't many things I admire about golf. Sure the grass is green, and Phil Mickelson's wife makes me wish I paid closer attention to those lessons at Flag Creek, but I'm a bigger fan of playing than watching. Tiger Woods makes Tim Duncan look more animated than Dave Chappelle, and the "in the library" tone all the announcers speak in makes me clamor for Dick Vitale.

However, golf does a fantastic job of holding on to history. Allowing Nicklaus to play in the Masters brings legends closer to the game than any other sport does. I mean I love to watch Jim Rice lobby for his case to get into Baseball's Hall of Fame by tripping over his stomach at All-Star Game festivities, but that does not compare to Jack at Augusta.

The "Golden Bear" wasn't sure if he was even going to compete because of a family tragedy. Nickalus' 17-month-old grandson drowned at the beginning of March and golf was the last thing on his mind, as it should have been.

But Jack found his way back to the golf course, a place of solace, a place where he found so much joy in the past. A place that made him a great in a sport where he did it all by himself. Why not go back if that's the case then?

Don't get me wrong, this is not a weekend for people to believe Nicklaus has a chance of winning the Masters. Rather, it's a weekend for everyone to pull for Jack in hopes that he makes the cut. Seeing him walk towards the 18th green on Sunday would leave a memorable moment in the mind of any sports fan.

While the Masters has recently been the rallying center for that blowhole Martha Burke, I hope she and her band of female foul-criers find themselves about 200 miles from Augusta and their tires more cut up than Jeffrey Ross at a Celebrity Roast. This is Jack Nicklaus' weekend; no one should take that away from him.

This article appeared in The Marquette Tribune on April 7 2005.