By Sunday night, over $70m in Masters paraphernalia will have been snaffled by visitors to Augusta

A strange psychedelic counterculture has taken root at the Masters. It involves spectators swarming through the gates at 7.30am on the dot, their speed-walking - no running at Augusta, remember - explained less by the allure of the first tee than the temptations of the club shop, a golfing Hamley’s on steroids.