Revealed: the millions of dollars made every day in the Augusta Masters store

“It is very stressful. We attend to hundreds of people each day, but I would definitely come back. It’s great to work here,” an anonymous member of the legion of workers who manage the Masters store shared with us. It’s a money-making machine and the person requested anonymity due to the strict control maintained over everything that happens within the Augusta National domain.

$70 million in Masters shop week

This macro space, which resembles more of a shopping centre than a store, with sections for men, women, and children, dozens of cash registers, and all the imaginable (and unimaginable) paraphernalia of the ‘Masters universe,’ reportedly generates $70 million throughout the tournament week.

That’s $10 million a day, $1 million per hour, $16,000 every minute, and, because we’re sure you wanted to know, $277 every single second. The throng of customers that besieges it daily is so immense, in fact, that press entry is not allowed until 8 a.m. And even then, it’s difficult to find an empty shelf or rack. Everything is replenished almost instantly. The fever is tremendous because there are products that are only sold there and, of course, are only available during the tournament.

What Masters items sell out fastest?

The first items to sell out are the garden gnomes adorned with the Masters logo, a phenomenon difficult to explain but encapsulated in a scene. A buggy loaded with Japanese journalists arrives at the press building, celebrating with unprecedented enthusiasm with their colleagues at the door for having acquired one of these coveted figurines, priced at $50 for the large size and $30 for the small.

The average ticket receipt of a fairly homogeneous audience (the vast majority fitting the profile of upper-middle-class Caucasian Americans with a suburban home where a paperboy throws the newspaper from his bicycle every morning), according to the same worker, reaches four figures in the store. Prices are not exactly affordable, although there are options for all tastes and budgets. One can purchase a set of golf balls for $20 or a flag for $30, but if you want to update your golfing wardrobe, things get tricky. A simple windbreaker with the Masters logo is priced at $195, and a vest at $150. Caps, more affordable at around $30, are another flagship product. They come in flat and curved visors, with the current year printed or not, in Masters green, sky blue, or blush pink.

Dozens of different helpers and a counter with about twenty people ready to assist in every way. Truly admirable people, who would be capable of smiling at Omaha Beach on D-Day. Once at the checkout, customers are asked where they are from, likely with the aim of establishing trends to help improve the offerings available to the tournament’s ‘patrons’. After all, nothing is left to chance at the Masters, especially this cash cow, one of the many that lay golden eggs in Augusta just after Easter.

Masters golf: food prices from another era

In the constant balancing act between the exclusivity the club aims to provide its ‘patrons’ and the populist spirit that Clifford Roberts sought to establish to make the experience affordable to people of all classes and purchasing power, the contrast comes from the food stands, with prices completely anachronistic for a top-notch sporting event like this, despite a slight increase in this edition.

Sandwiches (especially in demand are the Pimento Cheese, a hearty cheese and pepper spread, and the Egg Salad, a mixture of egg and mayonnaise) range from $1.50 to $3, beers are sold for $6, and snacks, peanuts, popcorn, and the like, are priced at $1.50. For $3, you can enjoy the Georgia peach ice cream sandwich, almost an obligation.

For comparison, looking at this year’s Super Bowl, a bottle of water was $7, beers started at $17, popcorn were $15, and hot dogs $14. Obviously, the Masters, with all its media power, does not reach the status of the NFL final. And from what we’ve seen and heard, that’s rather lucky for golf fans.