CADDIES ROLE:The natives love their superstars, and not even other in-form Americans could detract from the Phil and Tiger shoot-out, writes COLIN BYRNE

THERE IS always a desire in the final scene of a major for the heaving throng to rally behind their favourites and act as the 15th club, if you like. The choice pairing in the final round of this year’s Masters was the American dream duo of Tiger Woods and Phil Mickelson. The patrons and TV producers just couldn’t keep their eyes off them.

With the momentum the star pairing gathered on the front nine it was a wonder there was anyone left watching any other group; it was, for a considerable part of the day, the only show in town.

The real contenders are often elsewhere, but it is hard to let go of the dream. It is not like it is purely a patriotic sentiment, because two of the three final protagonists were good old American boys: Chad Campbell from Texas and Kenny Perry from Kentucky. But the natives seem to have an insatiable appetite for superstars, and not even other in-form Americans could detract from the Phil and Tiger shoot-out.

There was a dearth of spectators with the final pair of Perry and Angel Cabrera. The gaps in the meagre rows of followers along the fairway ropes were so big on some holes the distant azaleas looked more prominent than the people.

Having watched the coverage since Thursday, I began to get a sense of who was actually in form. Of course, the leaderboard is an obvious indication of form. But watching the players’ rhythm and reaction to the shots they hit tends to be more revealing about how the player feels.

I would categorise players into two groups at this level. The superstars, who tend to be able to turn on the form at majors like it is simply a decision to flick a switch and perform regardless of how they are playing, and the other group, the quality golfers who happen to find themselves on form during a major.

Tiger and Phil were just “making it happen” because their willpower to produce at majors outweighs any reality of form. The quality group was the three who reached the play-off, Cabrera, Perry and Campbell. I always remember a former boss of mine admitting his weakness at performing consistently. But in the same breath he confidently suggested that, on any given week he may hit form, he believed he could beat anybody in the field.

So it is for most top golfers; if they hit form they are all good enough to beat whoever their main challengers are, whether it be Woods or Shingo Katayama.

Watching Cabrera shoot up the leaderboard last Friday, he exuded the air of a player getting the very best out of his huge talent. He stared down his iron shots like they were going to knock out the flagstick. If he missed a green, he seemed to see his chip shots clearly and execute them delicately, especially for such a big man. He appeared to move at a constant pace.

His sports psychologist would have been proud. Routines are the key to success, in their minds.

Of course, the lurching Argentine does not have a mind man: he admitted after his US Open victory in 2007 that cigarettes sort out his agitated golf mind. He seems to have substituted the tobacco with chewing gum.

So despite the force of the patrons rallying behind their “chosen ones”, the reality of talented golfers in form was starting to manifest itself at the top of the leaderboard. With Cabrera competing in his 10th Masters, the course was unlikely to surprise him.

As is the trend at modern Masters, the top of the leaderboard was littered with the best names in the business heavily armed with talent and experience around Augusta. The bottom of the leaderboard was laden with veterans and novices, the former too old to perform, the latter too raw to understand.

Naturally, even the fluid form of Cabrera from Cordoba was suspended with the pressures that grip a player when the finishing line is in sight and a new dynamic is added to the game: the vision of victory and with it a heightened awareness. This causes errors and a lot of unease.

As Angel got closer to capturing his second major title he chewed his gum more vigorously and guzzled water more liberally.

By early evening last Sunday at Augusta even the big-bellied frat boys who seem to make up the bulk of this sacred event’s patrons list couldn’t deny their chosen ones were out of it. Who better to embrace as the alternative Masters heroes than the full-faced Perry, Cabrera or Campbell?

They love a winner in America, especially a home-grown one. So the concept of the lurching, hulk-framed South American, raised on generous portions of barbecued Argentine beef, probably didn’t really fit into their plan. These relative unknowns, speaking their own tongue, can be welcomed, but maybe not celebrated as enthusiastically as the local superstars.

Not even the will of the expectant mob of patriotic patrons could outweigh the determination of a gifted golfer from Cordoba who found the form and finesse to take the 73rd US Masters title and work his way into superstar status, in South, if not North, America.