L.A. Times Pulitzer Prize winner Jim Murray was one of the most celebrated sports columnists of his era, at a time when columnists held more influence and power by far than they do today. His humor and insight were legendary, but a lesser known element of his story is the personal boycott he led on Augusta National between 1968 and 1975, when he helped pressure the club to allow a black player into the Masters. On this week's episode, we look at Murray's quiet activism on the 50th anniversary of Lee Elder's pioneering first trip to Augusta.

From Greg Norman to Jordan Spieth, there is a long tradition of players speaking to the media after tough losses, but it's a tradition that is being lost in the modern game. Today we look at some of the most fascinating instances of player-media interaction after heartbreak, and how it made all parties better.

In 1934, when the first Masters tournament was held, nobody in golf would have been able to tell you what the "majors" were, and if they had an opinion, it would likely include amateur events that were quickly losing prominence. By 1974, and the advent of the Players Championship, the four modern majors were set in stone, and the club was closed for membership. How did things change in those 40 years? How did the four majors become what they are, without any governing body to declare their status? In this episode, we dig into history to look at the humans and institutions who made the majors what they are today.

The final part of our short series, chronicling the latter half of their rivalry and the infamous fried chicken incident.

It started at the turn of the century and ran hot for 15 years. From the PGA Championship at Medinah the 2013 Players Championship, there wasn't an ounce of love lost between the two superstars. In Part 1, we examine the origins of where it all went wrong.

The story of the last 20 years of professional golf is the story of growth's consequences, and is highlighted by the emergence of LIV Golf, the PGA Tour's new rival. We ask the tough question of whether this golf schism was an inevitable consequence of Tiger's rise, and the decision at the highest levels to pursue growth at all costs.

As the game's greatest player finalized a swing change that would take him from merely sensational to transcendent, and began playing a revolutionary new style of golf ball months ahead of most of his competitors (who wouldn't adopt the Titleist Pro-V-1 until October of 2000), golfing audiences bore witness to what can safely be considered the peak of human achievement in the sport.

This three-part podcast series attempts the big task of summarizing how the world of golf, from the professional to the recreational, has evolved over Golf Digest's existence. As it happens, 1950 is a decent starting point when you're telling that particular story.

Since its introduction in 1963, the PGA Tour's Q School has routinely been one of the most dramatic, heart-wrenching golf tournaments on the planet. This is where careers are made, and where just as often they're broken before they have a chance to soar. Where did it come from? How has it changed? Why did it disappear, only to return last year? This week, we investigate the institution of the Q School, and the outsize place it occupies in the minds of professional golfers.

On Aug. 8, Chi Chi Rodriguez passed away at age 88 and left behind him a legacy of a player whose reputation and personality exceeded his relatively modest success. That's how he would have wanted it: Rodriguez was an entertainer at heart, and he always had a joke or an elaborate celebration up his sleeve. But for this child of poverty from Puerto Rico, there's so much that stayed hidden, and it goes deeper than the surface image of a lovable jokester.