Fawning and yawning: The Masters to a tee

THE MASTERS. Even the word catches in your conversation like a fish-hook.

Play the word-association game and what do you come up with? Treacly Southern-states accents; snore-inducing TV shots zooming in on ... flat lawns; the usual nonsense being spouted about Tiger Woods; a green jacket assembled from the covering on a snooker table.

All this dewy-eyed hyperbole is about what, exactly? An exclusive suburb. A bastion of middle-class ideals dangled in front of the masses like a carrot. Creating an ambient respectful hush before the skull-warping boredom that is a professional golf tournament.