THERE is a slightly unusual approach shot to the Masters.

Like the Open, it is the tournament that is supported fanatically by the punter rather than any potential winner. One traditionally celebrates the scale and intrigue of the event itself before reflecting on personalities.

This year is different. My first hope is that Martin Laird, Paul Lawrie or Sandy Lyle shuffles up to try on a green jacket late on Sunday night. This chauvinism is enhanced by the memory of 25 years ago when the late, great Dougie Lowe and myself tipped the sports editor's telly in a bid to increase the pace of Sandy's ball towards the 72nd hole. Lyle, of course, drained the subsequent putt and won the tournament and Dougie became an accomplished golf correspondent for this newspaper.

Lyle is about as likely to repeat the feat in 2013 as Scotland are to be granted a late exemption to the World Cup. But all three Scots will receive vocal backing from my garret in Bearsden. However, if this Caledonian trio misfires then I have one, dear wish for the Masters: I fervently hope that Tiger Woods claims the green jacket.

Normally, one watches the closing stages with a pleasantly bumbling Peter Alliss and makes a late pick of the unfortunate soul that deserves my support. Since I laid down a small, red Labrokes pen (the most expensive writing implement in the world) in the early 90s, my support for the Masters has been pure of financial or even selfish motives.

But this year is different. I will not burden Tiger with any bet but with a deeply-held desire that he makes a return as a major winner after five years of drought.

There are several reasons for my support of the wandering Woods and not one has anything to do with a personal affection towards the man. Woods, at least when viewed from the press seats, can be glib, prickly and uncooperative.

But he is a great golfer and he has a great sporting story. The drama in four acts from Thursday to Sunday on some prime real estate in Georgia will allow Woods to return to the scene of memorable triumphs with a restored game and a shot at sporting redemption.

This prospect is enough to create a frisson of excitement even if one is just reaching for the on button on the telly rather than finding a viewing spot at Augusta.

Woods, too, was a phenomenon, someone who could make golf unmissable to an Inuit during seal-hunting season.

He changed the game in that courses, including Augusta, had to be strengthened to withstand his assaults. His fellow professionals, too, appreciated that golf was now a sport where the conditioning of the body was necessary to compete with the extraordinary tyro.

Woods has also conformed to that Hollywood cliche that the hero has to stumble, falter and then march onwards. He suffered dreadful knee injuries, lost a beloved, if flawed, father and then found himself in thrall to a swing that produced so many wayward drives that his dimpled missiles were in danger of being shot down by North Korean defence systems.

And, yes, there was the sex. And this is why I really, really want Tiger to win.

There is no doubt that there have been victims in Woods' obsessive search for sex. But one of them was not the game of golf. The most sickening aspect of a tawdry episode was Billy Payne, chairman of Augusta National, using the pre-tournament press conference in 2010 to spout a cringing, public condemnation of activities that had frankly nothing to do with him or the event.

"It is not simply the degree of his conduct that is so egregious here. It is the fact that he disappointed all of us, and more importantly, our kids and our grandkids," said Payne.

Disappointed us? As Sam Goldwyn, the legendary movie producer, once said: "Include me out."

The truth is that Woods alienated friends, upset relatives and wounded deeply his then wife. The rest of us will survive.

He has also shown himself to be a fallible man. And the rest of us might find some identification in that banal truth.

The reality is his sexual conduct has no bearing on his stature as a great golfer. Indeed, the fairways of Augusta will this weekend be walked by golfers who have shared Woods's compulsion for promiscuous, extensive extra-marital sex. But, of course, they will not be named and will receive smiles instead of censure from officials at Augusta.

The taint on Tiger remains. It would be wonderful to think, though, that he could walk into the Butler Cabin with his customary swagger on Sunday night and be fitted into a fifth green jacket by the 2012 champion Bubba Watson.

My dream has Woods then turning to Mr Payne and saying: "How egregious is this, Billy?"