Masters of decorum ...

 ... or, you know, snobbery. Depends how you look at it.

This upon the news the grand poobahs who run Augusta National, and the Masters golf tournament, have somewhat surprisingly given the OK to let wild man/famous-for-being-famous Jason Kelce on the premises next week as a broadcaster. Now, I can't be sure about this, but I'm guessing this means Kelce has signed a blood oath NOT to do the following things:

1. Take his shirt off.

2. Take his pants off.

3. Address the "patrons" as "My golf bros!" while taking his pants off.

4. Try to jump Rae's Creek in a golf cart while taking his pants off.

5. Smoke the azaleas.

6. Ride a Harley down Magnolia Lane and pop a wheelie in front of the clubhouse.

All of these might or might not be in Kelce's toolkit; past performance, at least in this case, does not guarantee future results. Certainly you'd have to lean hard on the latter, given Augusta's draconian rules about behavior within its gates.

The place has always had an almost comical reverence for itself, aided and abetted by the genuflection of its longtime broadcast partner CBS. By now you're as familiar with the CBS treatment as you are with breathing: The tinkly piano, the sunlight-through-the-pines camera shot, the soft-focus closeups of azaleas and immaculate greens and various other flora. And then of course the traditional benediction: The Masters ... A tradition unlike any other.

No one deviates from that script at Augusta, lest they be cast into outer darkness. Jack Whitaker once was banned from the premises for half a dozen years or so because he used the word "mob" to describe the patrons' mass pursuit of a certain golfer. And irreverent quipper Gary McCord was excommunicated for quipping, "I don't think they mow these greens, I think they bikini wax them."

Now, that's a funny line, and McCord likely could have gotten away with it at, say, the Greater Cheez Whiz Open. But not at Augusta, and not at the Masters. He might as well have unzipped and answered nature's call in the Cathedral of Pines.

("Good heavens!" you can imagine some green-jacketed Smedley Chesterfield III saying. "This McCord fellow is an utter barbarian. Why, we provide PLENTY of Port-a-Johns here for his sort. Someone ring the gendarmes and have him escorted from the premises. And not gently, by Jove!")

Anyway, Augusta is Augusta -- and so, as Michaleen Flynn said in "The Quiet Man," the proprieties at all times. Which means Jason Kelce signing his name in blood, presumably. And it means Pat McAfee, yapping little poodle of the airwaves, will once again be denied entrance, the poobahs having decided his show would desecrate the sacred grounds.

"We have attempted to be part of the Masters at the Wednesday Par-3 thing for three consecutive years now," McAfee said on his show the other day, according to the website Awful Announcing. "They told us to go to hell. So I think you should be happy about that, that they do try to preserve it as a whole. They have a certain thing that they are looking for."

And it ain't Pat McAfee in one of his vast collection of tank tops, obviously. Or, apparently, Jason Kelce poppin' wheelies.