Tiger Woods roars again.

Tiger Woods roars again.

After all the thunderstorms, the turmoil, rain and turbulence the sun finally came out for Tiger Woods. Now the chances are that there was never a more popular winner of the US PGA Masters in Augusta. You could almost hear a pin drop as Woods made that final, clinching putt of the day on a day that was somehow fated to be Woods. Around Augusta, the traditional azaleas were blooming almost appropriately. the pine trees seemed to stand in a wondrous show of respect and a man who must have thought his career was over found it may have just been resurrected.

Today of course the comparisons have been made to those sporting giants from yesteryear who have similarly trodden the comeback kid trail. Of course there was Muhammad Ali, boxing's greatest who, when he was toppled by his contemporaries, just kept coming back for more when the eyes were swollen seemingly beyond repair, the body had been battered into submission and the brain had more or less been blown to smithereens by the sheer volume of punches to the head.

But when the man with the red shirt, casual trousers and blue sponsored cap threw his arms into the air with the most obvious relief and joy it was clear to see that here was a man who'd come a long way when all seemed hopelessly lost. Tiger Woods used to be yesterday's man, the sportsman who used to be one of  the most immensely gifted golfers the sport had ever produced. But then he wantonly threw it all away, engulfed by scandal, overwhelmed by bad publicity and then left to hang out to dry.

Tiger Woods last won the Masters in Augusta in 2008 and then discovered that somebody had foolishly blocked the road. There were the drunken antics, the reckless crashing of cars, the love triangles, the scorned women, the petty misdemeanours, the mood swings and then the mental confusion when everything seemed to go disastrously wrong. Time though was a great healer and yesterday Woods celebrated another glorious PGA Masters Green Jacket in the rural idyll of Augusta.

Once again everything seemed to fall into place with the most precise timing. The Woods swing from first to 18th hole was rather like a well oiled piece of machinery, the shoulders stronger than ever before and that remarkable eye on the ball from the moment it left his golf club. The smoothness was still there, the concentration barely disturbed and the mind as clear as the sound of a bell. Woods has been this way on innumerable occasions but this time it was for real. There were no false starts, no tears and tantrums, none of the tetchiness and petulance that may have characterised the man in recent years.

Behind Woods there was the British darling Ian Poulter who should have sensed that this was not to be his day. Woods birdied from impossible angles, the most treacherous rough and just dismissed them as Kipling's impostors. He chipped delicately, measured his shots with all the calculated precision of a master craftsman and then simply swept down the fairway as if he'd walked down the same path a thousand times in his memory.

It's often said that the true mark of a sporting champion can always be found in the way they prepare themselves for the big occasion. Nerves can often be either make or break the greats but Woods seemed to have everything under control. The composure was certainly there, the right irons or woods were cunningly employed and the whole of America had fallen back in love with him. It was a good day for Woods. It was a day that seemed to mature like wine before suddenly the cheering, bubbling crowd offered their biggest bottle of champagne.

There must have been times when this particular golfer would have been forgiven for throwing in the towel. surrendering helplessly to private suffering and anguish. Woods, you feel sure, would have briefly thought of those golfing geniuses, the men who once took it all in their stride, the men who were classy, cool, outstandingly stylish and never unsettled by anything that could ever be described as a major distraction.

How Woods would have dwelt on Jack Nicklaus, the late and great Arnold Palmer, the cheeky and impudent Lee Trevino who played the game like a dream and never took golf seriously. Of course Trevino, the now distinguished veteran may still be striding down the fairways with that familiar twinkle in his eye but Woods, in his moment of victory, may well have been pondering how easy golf had come to him.

And so it was that a watery sunshine shone down kindly on Tiger Woods. Sometimes you know when greatness has fallen on a major sporting occasion. There is a hushed reverence in the gallery, the birds gaze down from their lofty branches and then sigh admiringly, the crowd now on their feet. The champion walks up to the 18th hole rather like a famous conductor onto the podium. They survey their audience, wave to them and then there is a dawning realisation that a kind of perfection might have been achieved.  The Tiger has been released and the roar is a resounding one. The victory is sweeter than ever.