The Masters of Golf Coverage

Caddy Fever

It was not just Ray Charles with Georgia on his mind last weekend. Once again the world of golf turned its gaze to the lush greens and pruned bunkers of Augusta to see Bubba Watson crowned with the historic green jacket.

Thankfully, the most relaxing sports coverage available to the license fee payer was again provided by the BBC. The Beeb has been racked by a year of shameful scandal but I would still not have the Masters shown by anyone else.

Bubba Watson was followed throughout his special weekend by a dedicated team of reporters, pundits and cameramen which granted the humble armchair viewer a glorious perspective on some fabulous putting action. The good folks at Sky Sports tried to pull in the crowds with Jack Nicklaus on their sofa. Judging by the response on Twitter though, it seems 'Auntie' knew best all along.

My own highlight of the weekend was Ken Brown's regular walk through from the green of each hole. These short pieces to camera really let Augusta's notoriously tricky course run wild in the viewer's imagination. The unmistakable sound of crackling bark and splashes of water in these segments created a real sense of the immaculately tamed nature in each manicured yard of Augusta.

Ken (I'm sure he won't mind being addressed by his first name) clearly has a wealth of experience in the game and has won many admirers with his calm approach to commentating. These exploits have even earned the affable Scotsman his own parody twitter account. Is there any greater honour?

In the paddock Rishi Persad was there to consolidate the swathes of deflated famous faces. Every question was delicately presented to prevent stirring the wrath of bitterly dejected contenders. Ian Poulter - he of the flamboyant trousers - described himself as 'raged' and 'disgusted' after a tough third round. His final 18 did not improve his mood much either. Persad did not pry; he simply allowed his interview subject to talk himself into a pit of melancholic regret. In contrast, there was a sympathetic tone for Lee Westwood (as always at the Masters) and a warm welcome for the weekend's surprise package, twenty-year old Jordan Spieth.

And what of the saintly Hazel Irvine? Well, the Scottish presenter is a national treasure beyond reproach. On the day that Britain becomes a republic she has my vote for president. Even if that never happens, somebody really ought to offer her the crown jewels before she retreats back across Hadrian's Wall for the last time.

Viewers are often more eager to criticise than to praise what they see on the box, but on this occasion I want to congratulate everyone involved in showing another fine tournament. Job well done. Now let's see how you cope with the Open.