Goodbye Augusta, hello Bethpage

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…