After leaving Augusta some three hours ago, I am now sitting in the departure lounge at Charlotte airport waiting for the eight-hour stint home, where work awaits me first thing in the morning. Tucking into Triple-Bacon-Burger-with-Jalapeno-Cheese number 47, I decided to jot down some final thoughts after yesterday's thrilling final day (there was also an Aussie guy at the bar who was unbelievably annoying, so I had to make my exit).

Anyway, it was, quite simply, one of the best final days in the Majors of recent years. Everyone in the media centre was in agreement. Phil and Tiger were immense, and yet still human. With six Green Jackets between them, one should have added another to the locker. I guess it was just a step too far, even for great players like them.

The whole week was an amazing experience. The course. The ambience. Augusta is a very insular place, and you can tell that the locals are well trained for this, the biggest and most important week in the town's history. They are rightly proud of what belongs to them.

To the winner, Angel Cabrera, a big tip of the hat is in order. He held his nerve, recovered with a calm tenacity and, above all, holed his putts. He will make a good champion, that can't be disputed. But I have to feel sorry for Kenny Perry.

While he may not have been everyone's pick, the way he handled himself afterwards in the press conference was fantastic. There were no excuses. It was all his doing. From a journo's perspective, it was the big story: how a 48-year-old kept pace with the most experienced and top-class field a Masters weekend has seen in years.

There are too many high points to put down as I sit here waiting to make my move to the boarding gate. But as a final thought, yesterday may well have been the tonic Major Championship golf needed. So roll on Bethpage Black. Any chance I can go to that too, Mr Harris…

Last night over a few drinks, the discussion flowed on many topics. There were the merits of Ian Botham’s greatness; the womanising of George Best; the chances of Ricky Hatton in his upcoming fight against Manny Pacquiao and the ability of Angel Cabrera to hold off the field and claim his second Major Championship at Augusta National.

Champion storyteller, Bill Elliott, revealed a disappointing tale about the Argentinean, from a pro-am event at Wentworth some years ago. Apparently the big guy wasn’t the most accommodating to the young amateur who had won the honour of sharing his time. We then moved on to some of the bad eggs we have come across in professional sport, guys who treat the media with disdain even when respect is offered...

From the golfing world, it is pleasing to report that there is a healthy level of interaction with the players and media. Just this week alone at Augusta, the players take their time to feed the waiting hacks with adequate quotes for you, the reader, to enjoy.

There can be no better example of this than Jim Furyk, who is thoughtful and meticulous in his approach to dealing with questions. He remains honest, realistic and far from bullish about his chances. Furyk comes across as quite an ordinary guy – I guess that is what people like about him.

Whatever happens on Masters Sunday, the American is player I have come to greatly admire this week. For that I take my hat off to him. Just make sure you keep yours on, Jim…

From Augusta

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Funny the things you find out at golf tournaments. Breaking off from not very much yesterday, I had lunch in the clubhouse, joining a Spanish journalist pal. Inevitably we switched from golf talk to football speak. I mentioned the Real Madrid-Eintracht European Cup Final 50 years (7-4 and probably the best game ever played) and the role played in it by Alfredo Di Stefano, the Argentinian centre-forward.

My pal asked me if I knew why Di Stefano ended up at Madrid rather than Barcelona? It turns out Alfredo wanted to go to Barcelona, but his club wanted him to go to Real. This problem was passed on to General Franco, who had Spain under his fascist boot at the time. Franco was a Real Madrid fan and the rest is now history.

Meanwhile, back on the course, not a huge lot was happening. Over the first couple of days this has been a terrific Masters, but somehow the third round fell a wee bit flat.

Except that Phil Mickelson was on the cusp of getting things going, Tiger was clinging on to an outside chance and Angel Cabrera was thrashing his ball round in a quite exciting fashion.

Not as exciting, of course, as meeting the Fashion Editor of Golf Digest, America's premier golf mag. Yes, cripes, they actually have a Fashion Editor. I may suggest this to the editor of Golf Monthly when eventually I return to dear old Blighty, but then again I might not. After all the standard of fashion in the GM office reminds me of nothing but an Oxfam shop caught short of gear in mid-February.

The favourite clothing colour of my colleagues appears to be black, a choice, I am convinced, that is based on how often you need to wash something above everything else.

Yesterday I also bumped into Ian Poulter and Lee Westwood who had been visiting the BBC booth. Both signed a hat I was carrying around that is to be auctioned off to raise money for cancer research in memory of my old Guardian and Observer colleague, Dai Davies.

Both were also in good moods after decent rounds although Lee was regretting the chances he missed. "I could have had a 65 today really, but I just didn't quite make the most of what I created,” he said.

Still he is now in the top ten and in with a chance of beating his best finish here to date, sixth. Winning, he feels, is now not an option. "It looks like those guys at the top of the leaderboard are putting too much distance between them and the rest of us. Maybe two of them will come back, but not all three."

Sadly, he may well be correct. I'm off for a drink, or maybe three.

Apologies, but it’s mostly food that steals the headlines for me
today… If you are wondering why there is little, or no mention of golf here, please refer to previous blog

1) Breakfast in the clubhouse, seeing all the players come and go via the Champions Locker room. It is the healthiest choice of food that has passed my lips all week – and it was a glorified fry-up. So what does that tell you?

2) Lunch in the clubhouse. Good company and more tales of the past from our very own Bill Elliott.

3) Learning that my football team, Middlesbrough, had beaten Hull 3-1.
Feel on top of the world for a couple of hours until I hear of
Newcastle’s late equaliser against Stoke. Is the great escape on the
cards?

4) Hearing the roars from everywhere else on the course. At least someone was seeing some top quality golf!

5) Looking ahead to tomorrow. Don’t worry, I’m still loving it!

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A funny old day, really – that’s the only way I cam sum it up. With the fairways aligned with decent crowds, the sun shining again and the ambience more than healthy, Saturday at Augusta has been somewhat low key.

Now I know what you’re going to say. How can you complain? You don’t know how lucky you are? And you’d be right. Thing is, it seemed that wherever I went today, I put the wood on whoever I was watching.

It all started on the seventh hole. Eager to follow the path of Sergio Garcia after yesterday’s heroics, the silky Spaniard greeted me with a naff approach into a steep greenside trap. Inevitably, he couldn’t get up and down to save par and, inevitably, the shoulders began to sag…

Sensing his mood, I opted to swap fairways and cut across to the 10th to see another of my pre-tournament picks, Phil Mickelson. Lefty bogeyed the 10th, then the 11th.

Switching my focus back to Garcia, he slapped it in the drink on 11 and bogeyed, then bunkered on the 12th (good up-and-down to save par) before making a hash of a birdie opportunity on 13 to take only a par.

Even when I ran across to the 14th to check on Stephen Ames and Nick Watney, both made avearge approaches. Moving down to 16 to catch up with Mickelson again after he birdied the 15th (I wasn’t there), a weak chip and a lip out resulted in another bogey.

All was rounded off with possibly the worst tee shot the 18th has witnessed all week, with Mickelson shoving it short and right into the trees. That I didn’t witnesse what must have been a great piece of recovery play to save his par was because I had taken my place on the clubhouse lawn by now, with a cool beer in hand.

At least someone is showing some consistency.

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A lot of rain overnight in Augusta, tons of it, in fact. So much so that I was forced to take refuge for over an hour in the local TGI Fridays. Now there's a headline: Man held hostage by burger house as tornado threatens to hit Augusta.

Fortunately, I was eventually able to escape. Not before eating what seemed like half a cow and 14 potato wedges, however. Indeed, food has been something of an issue for me since arriving in this country last Sunday. While I can shove as much junk down my funnel as the next man, the line of hot dogs and chilli pickles served up in the media centre has finally taken its toll on my body. I've aged by about five years...

So, sensing a change of approach, I headed for the clubhouse in search of a more healthy breakfast option. Warned before I left England that I must sample this unique delight, it was heartening just to sit down in some pleasant company and surroundings.

Sausages, bacon and scrambled eggs soon arrived – all topped off with great service and the customary smile. Sat next to me in the clubhouse was Chairman Billy Payne, while reigning Champion Trevor Immelman made a fleeting visit before heading out to join Rory McIlroy for his 10.55 tee time.

There has been talk of lunch with our very own Bill Elliott at the same location today. Hopefully it will start to bucket down again. I can handle being kept hostage in there, that’s for sure…

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Sorry, I’m using my imagination again. While following the three-ball of Geoff Ogilvy, Vijay Singh and Ernie Els on the back nine yesterday, I got thinking about how I could make events even more interesting. So I created a little side game of ‘On the Perch’. No money was involved; just the honour of owning the perch was enough…

Hole 10 – Par 4
Singh carries the perch mantle from the 9th hole. Shoves his drive far right off the fairway. Els hooks. Ogilvy down the middle. Good recovery sees Els ten feet from pin. Singh out of the race. Ogilvy gets up and down for par. Els misses birdie putt for outright perch honours. Shared perch scenario.

Hole 11 – Par 4
Ogilvy and Els on the fairway. Singh slices another bad boy into the trees. Hits ankle biter under the branches just shy of the green. Els drifts wide and bogeys; Singh takes double bogey. Ogilvy claims the perch with smart up-and-down.

Hole 12 – Par 3
Ogilvy oozes ‘perchmeister confidence’ and lands safely on the mat. Els by his side. Singh feels the pressure of chasing the perch and misses the green to take bogey. Els and Ogilvy par, the latter keeping his perch mantle.


Hole 13 – Par 5
More consistency from ‘Perchy Ogilvy’ as he pumps one down the middle. Els joins him. Singh gives it double sighs as he hits behind another tree – no perch glory on this hole. In the end, all three birdie. Ogilvy still nestling on the perch…


Hole 14 – Par 4
Ogilvy and Els put it in the middle of the track, Singh gives it some more Monty Teapot as he puts it left into more wood. Nuts a great recovery through the middle and onto green. All three par. Ogilvy and Els discuss the upcoming On the Perch Invitational at Pebble Beach. Singh checks with caddies to see whether he has enough to cover the Perch debt…


Hole 15 – Par 5
Ogilvy goes right, Els left, Singh keeps it on the fairway. Els forced to go under the trees and lay up. Ogilvy and Singh both hit the green. Els puts it within feet and birdies. Singh and Ogilvy two putt for birdie. Singh checks scoreboard for Perch updates around the course…


Hole 16 – Par 3
Loose tee shot from the perchmeister as his ball rolls down the slope to leave tricky putt. Els puts it within eight feet. Singh ten feet out. Ogilvy two putts for par, Singh does the same. Els misses out on claiming the perch and has to settle for par.


Hole 17 – Par 4
A rush of blood from Perchy as he hooks into greenside bunker on 7th hole. Els and Singh go long and straight. The five-hole perch reign looks to be coming to an end when Ogilvy bogeys. Els pars. Singh then birdies and, at the age of 46, is the Perchmeister General once again.

Hole 18 – Par 4
Three good tee shots find the flat stuff. Three good approaches land within feet of each other. Three ropey putts slide wide. Ogilvy claims Perchmeister Classic by way of maintaining the Perch for majority of holes. Els, as well as missing the cut, contemplates zero perch scores and flies back to Wentworth early. Singh and Ogilvy head for clubhouse where Anthony Kim is celebrating his perch winnings of £360 from Rory McIlroy and Ryo Ishikawa.

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1)    Seeing Angel Cabrera’s drive off the first tee. At 445 yards, Tea Olive is one of the most testing opening holes in Major Championship golf. But Cabrera creamed his tee shot to leave him all of 70 yards to the front of the green. He was a clear 60-70 yards ahead of both Justin Rose and Henrik Stenson. I’m not sure if it set the tone for Cabrera’s masterful round – as he made a rather ugly par with a saving putt of ten feet – but he couldn’t have made a bigger statement from the off…

2)    Tiger’s preparation at the range. If ever there was an example of sticking to your set-up, this man follows his by book. For the 20 minutes or so that I watched him, everything was exquisite. Just not holing the putts, and there may be too many shots – and players – between him and the top of the leaderboard. We shall see…

3)    Following the trio of Geoff Ogilvy, Ernie Els and Vijay Singh. Two players in the world’s top 10, the other ranked 16th, and hardly anyone else, it seemed, was watching. With Woods long since in the clubhouse and Mickelson and Furyk behind, the viewing areas were wide open to watch some, shall we say, interesting golf…

4)    Vijay’s powers of recovery. From the 10th to the 15th, the Fijian couldn’t hit the fairway for toffee. But his play from the trees was masterful. On the 10th he hit a low iron under the branches and up to the left of the hole; on the 11th, a horror lie saw him have to work his ball all of 150 yards – at no higher than 10 feet – back into friendly territory; on the 13th he played from behind a tree to 100 yards short, wedged on and birdied; on 14, a low hybrid through more trees saw him find the green and two putt for par. If it hadn’t been for this play, he wouldn’t be playing at the weekend…

5)    Garcia’s recovery and his first sub-par round at the Masters since 2004. Considering his putting woes, there was a huge surge of surprise when the Spaniard sunk his eight-foot birdie on the last hole. Back in the game at four-under, would you dare back him over the weekend?

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Wind is up today. Nasty, swirling stuff, sweeping in off the Georgia pines. This, of course, is good. Good for us watching, bad for those playing. How I love to see them suffer. Yes?

I walked a few holes with Rory McIlroy. The kid is doing okay, maybe even much better than okay. But what impresses me most about him is his laid-back attitude to the game. He gives it a tonk off the tee, considers his approach briefly and gets on with it.

Getting on with it is a good thing. Mostly at the Masters, players irritatingly make mountains out of molehills, taking forever to judge an approach or line up a putt and then missing anyway. The old slow play debate rumbles on as it has done for several decades now but, really, can't somebody shove a rocket up some of these players.

It all got so tedious at one point that I headed to the clubhouse lawn for a lemonade. Augusta lemonade is very special indeed, a refreshing concoction of stuff topped off with a bevy of maraschino cherries. There is only one thing in life sweeter and tastier than a marschino cheery and if you don't know what this is yet I am not going to tell you.

Back in the GM house the drink of choice is Coors. My pleas for a decent white wine have so far gone unheeded. This is the probem with mixing with the youth of today; their taste buds are the last thing to mature properly.

There are three of us in the house. At least Alex assures me there are three of us. So that would be me, him, me and, er, some Irish bloke called Malachy. I'm told I met Malachy briefly on Monday evening but for the life of me I cannot remember this incident.

Instead all I have seen is a rumpled bed, the occasional sound of a shower and the faint scent of something rather strange. I have taken to calling this man/creature ‘Malachy The Wonder Dog’, which greatly amuses Alex (that's the other thing late to mature, a proper sense of humour).

Well, the wonder dog really is a wonder because last night he sent Alex a text, something about being lonely and in need of company and a drink. I told Alex to ignore this as I wasn’t sure what he might be getting himself into. After all, we can't be sure Malachy is yet properly house trained.

What we can be sure of is that Tiger is making heavy weather of this week to date, but that he remains my man to beat. Yes, yes, I know the race doesn't always go to the swiftest, but it sure as hell is the way to bet. My other bet, by the way, is that Malachy will exit this, his first, Masters with a Best In Show Prize. I'll let you know.

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