For years, John Daly’s relationship with Augusta during Masters week had very little to do with tee times and very much to do with T-shirts, autographs, shots of Fireball, and the unmistakable glow of orange shorts under floodlights.
But with the recent closure of Hooters on Washington Road, the unofficial headquarters of Daly’s Masters-week hustle, one of golf’s most iconic side shows has lost its venue — and its vibe.
The parking lot at 2834 Washington Road wasn’t just pavement — it was hallowed ground for those who came not for azaleas and green jackets, but for Long John merch, pictures with the man himself, and maybe a few cold ones to go.
While Augusta National maintained its white-gloved mystique just across the road, Daly held court with RV tailgates, souvenir sales, and a crowd that looked a lot more Daytona than Butler Cabin.
It was the anti-Masters. And it made him a fortune.
John Daly: From Magnolia Lane to the Merch Line
John Daly never won the Masters. He didn’t even come particularly close, save for a T3 finish in 1993, which netted him a tidy $81,600. In fact, across 12 starts at Augusta, he earned a total of $187,000. Not bad — until you compare it to what he’s made outside the ropes.
Last year alone, Daly raked in an eye-watering $780,000 in sales from his pop-up next to Hooters during Masters week. Shirts, hats, cigars, drink koozies — all of it moved fast in the Georgia heat, fueled by nostalgia, curiosity, and Daly’s unique ability to blend athletic legend with dive bar charm.
The formula was simple: Hooters girls, classic rock, autograph lines, a bucket of ice, and Daly in the middle of it all, often shirtless, always smiling.
Now, with Hooters filing for bankruptcy protection and the Augusta location gone, Daly’s road show needs a new tentpole. Masters week without Daly across the street feels… off.
The Legend Rolls On
He’s 59 now. He’s had wild highs, brutal lows, and enough medical scares to write a trilogy. But through it all, Daly remains Daly — unfiltered, unpolished, and still as magnetic as ever to fans who’ve never touched Augusta’s manicured fairways but feel like they’ve walked a few holes with him in spirit.
With the orange glow of Hooters now dimmed, Daly will find a new stage. Because the show, like the man, goes on — loud, proud, and always a little off-script.
And come next April, somewhere on Washington Road, the RV will park, the stories will flow, and the Wild Thing will once again do what he does best: be unapologetically John Daly.
