1986: Jack's back-nine 30. 2005: Tiger's impossible chip on 16. 1992: Freddie's ball stopping on the bank at 12. 2004: Lefty and Ernie slugging it out in a birdie blitz. 1988: Sandy creaming it on the last from the bunker, then snaking in that putt ... ah, there's no point trying to list the plays which prove the Masters is the greatest tournament in All Sports. We're never going to agree, and I'm only going to forget your favourite anyway.
Though here's another that always comes up: Greg Norman's final-round 78 in 1996. Perhaps the most famous round of golf ever played at Augusta - certainly the most infamous round played anywhere - it's more often than not cited as the greatest-ever choke in All Sports.
Well I'm not so sure it is. Because far from being the greatest-ever choke in All Sports, it's not even the greatest choke at the Masters.
OK, let's deal with that 78 first. Greg's basic motor skills did go awry that fateful Sunday from the very start, as he bogeyed the first, fourth and ninth. A far from perfect opening, but he had at least birdied the second, and it was hardly his fault golf's greatest-ever grinder, Nick Faldo, was on his tail: two under at the turn, Norman's lead was suddenly only two. And when you're wobbling, going into Amen Corner with Faldo is hardly the ideal scenario. By the time Norman's ball found Rae's Creek at 12, it was effectively all over.
Not pretty for sure - it's never nice to witness someone mentally disintegrate in front of millions - but the flak Norman has taken for this is way off. He wasn't the first person to have a mare through Amen Corner and he won't be the last. And he did have Grinderman standing right next to him.
Also, with the gig up with six to play, you could almost classify it as falling out of contention mid-tournament. If you were in a charitable mood. Which I am.
No, a proper choke is when you're this close to the big prize, but screw it up. And while a six-shot lead is indeed pretty damn close, look at it this way: it ain't quite so touchable when there's still 18 holes at Augusta - Augusta! - still to navigate.
At least the big man knew all hope had gone by the time he'd played the 12th. In the 1979 tournament, journeyman Ed Sneed started the final round a near-Normanesque five shots clear of the chasing pack. He wobbled around Amen Corner - you know, who doesn't? - but still held a three-stroke advantage with three holes to play.
What happened next beggared belief: Sneed played perfect tee-to-green golf on the 16th, 17th and 18th - but missed completely makeable par putts on each hole, each preposterous yip dragging him back into a play-off with Tom Watson and eventual winner Fuzzy Zoeller.
That out-Normans Norman for me, but even Sneed can't hold a candle to Scott Hoch, whose antics in 1989 proved you can never win with golf. Now, for a moment let's recall Doug Sanders, who yipped a tiddler which would have landed him the 1970 Open. Sanders later reflected on his killer mistake: going down on the putt, he felt something wasn't right, but decided to go through with his shot anyway. Big mistake, he admitted: he should have stepped back, took his time, readdressed the ball and stroked it in.
Compare and contrast to Hoch, who stood over a two-foot putt at the 10th which would win a play-off with Faldo. Hoch chose to prowl around the ball like a Tiger for a good two minutes, checking line and length. That's where the Tiger comparisons end; Hoch tried to knock the ball firmly into the back of the cup, but also played the line and watched in dismay as the ball completely missed the hole, ending up twice as far away as he'd began. Hoch made the return, but Faldo (him again) drained a 30-foot putt on the next to win the title.
What's also often forgotten - so iconic are missed tiddlers - is that Hoch shouldn't have even have needed a play-off to win the tournament anyway: one up with two to play, he missed a short par putt on 17. Never has a sporting nickname been so appropriate - and I don't even need to refer to it, do I?
So here's a thing: it's time we got ourselves a bit of perspective and laid off poor Greg for that bad day at the office. Anyway, the events of 1987 proved Norman's Masters fate was always going to be out of his hands. When Larry bloody Mize, the tournament's worst winner of all time, ripped the title from his grasp with the luckiest, most ridiculous chip of all time, you somehow knew the Gods were never going to let the Great White Shark get his hands on that beloved green jacket. Choke? What else was he able to do?
