Not to make facile comparisons, but a tournament that had started with an almost exclusive concentration on the fallout from the marital problems of one multiple Masters champion closed with another sort of story altogether, and it was something of relief that Tiger Woods ended the weekend among the supporting cast.

Woods snarled at his failures, but a fourth-place finish in his first tournament in five months represented a considerable achievement, leaving no doubt that he will be in contention for a 15th major at Pebble Beach or St Andrews this summer. It was a relief, however, to see the spotlight turn elsewhere, and in the circumstances it could have fallen on no better subject than the Mickelsons.

It has always been easy for a European to snigger at Phil with his college-boy lope, his permanent goofy smile and his white-bread aura, and to dismiss Amy as the archetype of the perfectly formed, orthodontically corrected blondes who parade alongside their husbands at the opening ceremony of the Ryder Cup every other year. It has taken a dose of serious misfortune to make us realise that the Mickelsons are more than Barbie and Ken in golfing gear.

Lee Westwood finished second at Augusta, having led the tournament at the end of the second and third days. Westwood is still searching for his first major, but a recent spate of top-three finishes augurs well for his chances of securing one in future. James Lawton, writing in the Independent, says that Westwood's resolve is the sign of a future champion:

After the tumultuous, brilliant 74th US Masters, far from the least uplifting chore was to sit amid the Georgian nightfall and listen to Lee Westwood proclaiming that his personal fight is still far from over.

Westwood had been here before in very similar circumstances and his thoughts, naturally enough, were centred on a precise location. It was Amen Corner, somewhere you might have thought he wanted to bury his competitive heart after watching Phil Mickelson an hour or so earlier produce one of the greatest of golf shots on his way to a third Green Jacket.

For a second time in his career, Westwood was losing a lead he had crafted here over three days of monumental dedication.

He came to one of the most fabled pieces of real estate in all of golf with every reason to believe that, just a week or so before his 37th birthday, he was still contending for his first major title. The trouble was the company he was keeping, as it was back in 1999 when Westwood first saw all his work drain away.

Eleven years ago he was paired with Tiger Woods, who, as it was for him this last Sunday when almost everything in his life had changed, could not produce a game that made him comfortable. So the Tiger turned to Westwood and said, "Go on, now bring it home."

Westwood would later recall, "I'd never been in that position before and when Tiger said that my legs turned to jelly."

This, at least, did not happen when Mickelson unfurled his singular piece of brilliance at the 13th hole, the exit of Amen Corner, sending his shot flying off the pine shavings between two giant trees and setting up a stunning birdie, and this is another reason not to stop believing in Westwood.

He didn't unravel this time, he just slugged it out with a man who, when the golfing muse settles on his shoulders, is capable of producing some of the most arresting, improbable shot-making we are ever likely to see.

Indeed, Westwood took defeat at the highest level of the game in the manner to which over the last few years we have become accustomed. He took it as another of those blows that can make a man who may be destined, one day, to be a champion strong at the latest broken place.