"Thank goodness for Bubba Watson, who reminds us with his every shot that golf in its purest sense is an art form to be savoured, not a lifeless organism to be studied in a test tube."

John Huggan with one final Masters column looking at a little bit of everything from a memorable week, including this salute to the retro way Bubba Watson plays:

In the battle between art and science that rages within professional golf, the former has long been trapped on the ropes. True virtuosos such as Seve Ballesteros and Lee Trevino once roamed the links, but no more. Plodding is the way of things for the vast majority, the result of equipment that renders the shaping of shots all but obsolete. Where identifying a player after one swing was once the easiest of tasks from 400 yards away, that same feat today, with few exceptions, is all but impossible from a distance of 30 feet.

Thank goodness then, for the true eccentric, a goofy extrovert who cries at supermarket openings and plays exclusively through feel and imagination. Thank goodness for Bubba Watson, who reminds us with his every shot that golf in its purest sense is an art form to be savoured, not a lifeless organism to be studied in a test tube. Although, it must be said, the pink driver has to go.