A year on from living the "impossible dream", golf editor Keith Jackson reflects on walking the footsteps of golfing legends at Augusta National and finds the experience is still fresh in the memory.
The 80th Masters heralded a number of significant and memorable anniversaries, with much of the attention in the United States focusing on Jack's "Glorious 18th" major victory 30 years ago.
It's 25 years since Ian Woosnam was held aloft by Wobbly and 20 years since Nick Faldo turned a six-shot deficit into a five-stroke win over Greg Norman.
But the anniversary that stands out for me is clear cut - it is one year exactly since I enjoyed the honour of playing Augusta National.
Twelve months on and the memories are still remarkably vivid and being back here this year has sharpened the images of a truly amazing day.
I can still remember pretty much every shot, on every hole, and there were 86 of them. Not too bad for a 10 handicapper on his first visit to the Mecca of golf.
At the time, I described it as the impossible dream for all golfers. Nothing will ever change that.
The realisation that millions of people around the globe - including a vast number of professionals - would have made a substantial sacrifice to swap places with me on Monday April 13 is humbling.
I have yet to find the words to adequately describe the feeling of seeing my name on the list of Monday tee-times when it was confirmed that I was one of the fortunate 28 members of the media to have been drawn out in the annual Masters lottery.
And as if the chance to play at Augusta isn't a big enough deal, there were added bonuses. We were told to arrive an hour before our tee time at Gate 3 - Magnolia Lane. Drive down the most famous road in golf to the clubhouse, hand over your car and your clubs, grab your shoes and belongings and head inside.
Up the stairs we headed into unchartered territory - the champions locker room. Another of the great Masters traditions, it is much smaller than you would imagine and all of the Green Jacket winners share a locker. For the next six hours, the locker shared by Trevor Immelman and Sir Nick Faldo belonged to Keith Jackson and Guardian journalist Ewan Murray.
We were offered breakfast, but I was keen to get to the range having not had a swing at a ball for some time. I was introduced to my caddie, Casey, and after a few minutes of polite conversation I set about hitting some practice balls while he stood back - no doubt wondering how many varieties of flower he would have to venture into throughout the day looking for wayward strikes.
Yes, I have suffered from first-tee nerves before, but being petrified on the range was novel. Luckily, I managed to clip a few solid irons away and went through the bag, with just the odd thin and one duff to report.
I had factored in time to have a few practice putts, but I over-did the long game and we were whisked away to the first tee, where the first order of business was to pose for a group photograph like no other.
The time on the range had given me just enough confidence to get my opening blow away, and it was comfortably the best drive of my life considering the circumstances. In all honesty, just getting the ball airborne in roughly the right direction would have topped my league table, but this was a beauty - good contact, starting at the right bunker, touch of draw, and over the hill it went.
As we headed off, I apologised to Casey for the smug expression, and he did likewise having played a minor role in Jordan Spieth's monumental victory the previous evening. Casey, a native of Colorado, had caddied for Spieth on his first visit to Augusta, albeit for only nine holes.
"Can't remember his score, but I know he came back the next day and shot 68. I like to think I contributed to that," said Casey as we reached my ball, just off the left edge of the fairway.
It was here that the previous day's advice from Colin Montgomerie hit home. "Whatever you do, don't go long, and that applies to pretty much every green," he said. An adrenaline-fuelled nine-iron later, I was staring at an almost-impossible up-and-down from over the back of the first green.
"Don't go long again," I muttered quietly to myself as I trudged to the second tee, self-advice I would repeat after over-shooting the greens at the third, the fifth, the sixth, the 12th and the 14th!
I managed to get up-and-down once, and only because I managed to hole a 20-footer for par at the sixth.
And that adequately sums up the biggest challenge Augusta demands. Tee to green, it is not as punishing as you would think, but it is your ability - or lack of - on and around the famously slick putting surfaces that gives you a renewed appreciation of how good the pros are.
Once on the green, there is one golden rule - listen to the caddie.
It is tough to describe the feeling of stepping onto the first green at Augusta National, and it doesn't matter what sort of putt you face - my immediate reaction was to question how my ball would stop rolling once I had set it in motion, other than hitting the bottom of the cup.
That explains why I left my first putt six feet short, from 15 feet away! And there I was on the second looking at one of the quickest putts on the course, thinking three feet of break would be sufficient. That was until Casey drew an invisible hole at a 45degree angle to the actual cup and told me to aim there.
I thought he may have been on the sauce celebrating Spieth's win the day before, but I put my trust in his knowledge, knocked the putt towards him and, after what felt like a few minutes, my ball had meandered slowly towards the cup and settled a few inches from the target.
The seventh was another outstanding highlight. After following my best drive of the day with a good wedge to 15 feet, we marched towards the green and became aware of a senior gentleman sitting in a cart waiting to greet us. We initially thought he might have been there to put us "on the clock", but no such dramas - it was 1976 Masters champion and four-time major winner Ray Floyd. He wanted to say hello.
After assuring him we were enjoying our day, it was impossible to avoid thinking ahead to the 12th, the most iconic 155 yards of golfing paradise in the world. As we sat by the tee waiting for the group ahead to complete their photography and hole out, the enormity of what we were experiencing really hit home.
I walked off with a five, having genuinely not hit a bad shot. A flushed eight-iron landed just beyond the pin and found the rear bunker, and I splashed out from an awkward lie and caught it fine, but hitting the pin was my only hope of holding the ball on the green. My return pitch gripped on the second bounce and pulled up six feet short, and the bogey putt horse-shoed around the lip and stayed out. Welcome to Augusta!
At the end of a monumental day, I can say I have had 18 holes around Augusta National and three-putted only twice. I can say I had two birdies, and left a 12-footer for eagle short on the 15th. I can say I covered the last four holes in level par, and I can claim to have donated a ball to Rae's Creek at the 13th.
I can tell all and sundry that I've stood where Tiger hit "that" chip, where Bubba nailed "that" 40-yard draw, where Phil reached the 13th green from the pines, and I had the same putt on 17 that Jack holed in 1986 - and it's close to impossible to fathom out how either of them hit the target.
I chased the impossible dream, and then I lived it. The one downside? I'm now barred from entering the media lottery until 2022. But no matter. The memories from April 13, 2015 will last for a lifetime.