In this corner of Georgia you notice Donald Trump mostly by his conspicuous absence from the conversation
Augusta National must be the only known corner of the western world where you can’t buy a Coca-Cola. The company has its worldwide headquarters a couple of hours’ drive down the I-20 in Atlanta, its chief executives seem to receive a standing invitation to join the membership, and the club’s co-founders Clifford Roberts and Bobby Jones made their money running a chain of bottling plants. But still, there’s no Coke. Or Sprite, or Powerade, let alone, God forbid in this part of the world, any Pepsi if that happens to be your preference. Instead, the concession stands around the grounds pump “Lemon-Lime”, “Sports Drink”, and good old generic “Cola”.
There’s no Bud, Coors, or Miller Lite, only “Domestic”, either, no Heineken or Corona, only “Imported”. Outside of what is written on the players’ own kit, there’s only one brand allowed at Augusta National, and it’s the club’s own map and flag logo.
