Steve Deane: Warriors steal show, Auckland sings the Blues

And so ends another sporting weekend where, to borrow a bit of Led Zeppelin, the song remained the same.

Turns out Tiger Woods can still swing a golf club - and Michael Campbell can't.

Turns out the Blues are capable of looking like world beaters for only one week in a row.

Turns out the Chiefs aren't much chop unless their best 15 players are on the park; the Highlanders are rubbish; and the Crusaders are New Zealand's only decent Super rugby franchise.

Turns out the Warriors' on-field play is almost as dynamic as their misinformation campaign regarding the fitness of their players off it.

Turns out the stillborn Pulse still have the biggest misnomer of a sobriquet.

Whudda thunkit?

Of that lot - to someone not overly taken with men in stupid clothing poncing about on overly manicured lawns - only the Warriors' efforts were of any real entertainment value.

So Woods got more cheers than jeers at Augusta? Big deal. Tiger's unpalatable personality long ago killed off any ability many of us had to derive much enjoyment from his unfathomable talent.

The guy has always come across as a bit of a prick, and we're talking long before that part of his anatomy got him in a spot or 15 of bother.

As for Augusta National, that bastion of American corporate greed - a good proportion of its 300 or so members are Fortune 500 CEOs - bigotry, sexism, nepotism and, quite frankly, too many more isms to list, it's never been the same since Hootie Johnson (not to be confused with Hootie from Hootie and the Blowfish) stepped down as chairman.

Hootie was one of the greats, the way he stared down societal norms to defend his private club's right to exclude women.

Now all they've got is some lightweight called Billy wagging his finger and telling off Tiger for letting down rich people's kids.

Yawn. Which is what you do plenty of watching golf.

That Tiger sure is one lucky chap, though. How many other men caught cheating on their wives would be allowed to take off and play golf for four days?

A final word on Augusta. The only thing sadder than seeing grown men agreeing to wear silly white overalls so they can carry bags for men hoping to win an ugly green jacket was Michael Campbell's final(ish) demise.

I've never met Campbell but he is the sportsperson I most admire bar none. For a Maori boy from Titahi Bay to achieve what he has in the stuffy world of golf is as good as sports tales get.

Whether riding one of his glorious highs or plumbing the deepest of his ignominious depths, Campbell has always seemed like the goodest of good blokes.

So to see this Kiwi hero fall further from grace was hard to take.

"Michael Campbell should not be shooting scores like that," said Michael Campbell, several times.

It must hurt, sure, but Steve Deane thinks it's really no excuse for referring to oneself in the third person.

Campbell believes he is swinging the club just fine but "I just can't see the shots any more". Much better, Cambo. But God knows what you can do about it.

Your affliction is precisely opposite of that which troubles most weekend hackers, who can envisage hitting great golf shots just fine but lack the technique and co-ordination to actually do it.

Bless Campbell. After his second-round humiliation he gave a full, frank and remarkably good-natured interview about his predicament.

Enough was enough, he said several times, almost convincing the viewer that he might really pack it in. But then he gave himself an out clause.

He would go home, put his feet up and (a) drink a beer and eat a bag of pretzels? (b) wax his dog and shampoo his car? or (c) (no please don't say it) do whatever it takes to come back stronger. Bugger.

Weekend winner:

Wade McKinnon and his merry band of Warriors. Back in the starting line-up, the firebrand fullback was excellent against the Bulldogs.

He may have ended up looking like road kill when Jamal Idris went straight over the top of him, but he also pulled off at least four vital try-saving tackles to keep his side in the match. Welcome back.

What to watch:

The Masters will reach its thrilling conclusion this morning. Grown men will enter a log cabin and play dress up while even older men talk in hushed tones about how special it all is.

Provided Tiger doesn't win, a woman far too good looking to be married to the podgy winner will come over all misty eyed.

If the golf hasn't fulfilled your men-hitting-balls-with-a-stick fix, the Major League baseball season is under way.