Sunday is always the most anticipated day among the media at the Masters, and it has nothing to do with the final round. Instead, that’s the day when the lottery is held to decide which lucky (or this year, perhaps unlucky) members of the media get to play Augusta National on Monday.

Only about 20 journalists each year are chosen, and once you get picked, you’re ineligible for another seven years. This is my fifth Masters, and I still haven’t won, and this year, sad to say, I didn’t even enter. For one, I want to get back to see my wife and son before leaving again to cover the Rangers in the playoffs. For another, with only one round to speak of in the last six months, I’m not sure my game is ready.

And that’s the reason a lot of writers often greet the news of their selection with a mixture of excitement and dread. I actually saw the list just as it was being posted, so I was the one to give a few guys the news, including Joe Logan of the Philadelphia Inquirer and Jim McCabe of the Boston Globe.

McCabe’s first reaction: “What a year to play.”

I told another veteran writer that he got in and his shoulders literally slumped on the spot. “Oh no. Really?”

“You know,” I said, “there are 10 million golfers in America who would like to knock your teeth out for that reaction.”

“I know,” the writer said. “Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

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Give the parking lot attendants here credit for ingenuity. A day after bundling up so tight they all looked they were on a polar expedition, the milder temperatures today have apparently emboldened a few. When George Willis and I pulled into our spot, a kid of about 18 asked who we thought was going to win today.

“Tiger Woods,” George replied.

“Funny you should mention that,” the kid said. “Tiger Woods actually hit this ball over here this morning.”

Then he pulled out an old scuffed up Top-Flite range ball.

“Five dollars,” he said.

I went on to say I’m pretty sure Tiger Woods wasn’t hitting Top-Flites even when he was in diapers.

“But nice try,” I said.