Sunday at the Masters

Even though I always enjoy rooting for Bubba Watson, there's no arguing the fact that the final round of The Masters was about as much fun as watching paint dry.

Now, that's a bit of an exaggeration, because it's nearly always fun to watch just to see the glorious holes that make up Augusta National.  Now that the green-jacketed members have relaxed a bit and let us see action on the front nine, we're becoming more familiar with those holes as well - but there's little doubt that if you call yourself a serious golf fan, then you really need to know the back nine as if it were the back of your hand.

Over the years I've had different favorites - 15 and 11, in particular - but now, I'm just about convinced that the 13th hole is the greatest golf hole in the world.  Or at least, the greatest parkland golf hole in the world.  It is the perfect combination of risk and reward for the great player - a hole where the difference between eagle and double bogey is inches.

So watching The Masters is always fun, I admit to that.  But Sunday afternoon held so much promise, when it appeared that we were in for one of those "duels for the ages" that people remember for decades.  But no, it was not to be.  In fact, no single player particularly distinguished themselves on the back nine on Sunday, and the back nine is what distinguishes a run-of-the-mill Masters from a great Masters.

So congratulations, Bubba Watson - perhaps the most unlikely winner of multiple majors since John Daly? (Discuss).  But it wasn't quite the show I was hoping for.