You know it's the Masters when golfers, who probably couldn't tell you the difference between a potted Amaryllis and a Pot Noodle at any other time of the year, suddenly get all floral and horticultural and start gushing on about how radiant the Azaleas at Augusta look while banging on about how they are part of the Ericaceae family of flowering plants and why they tend to fare better in well-drained, acidic soil before taking a swig of lager in the Hollandbush clubhouse and cursing 'that bloody shank on the 16th' that cost them the spring medal.

Yes, nothing heralds the start of the golf season quite like the Masters ... oh, and the Scottish Boys' Championship. As those aforementioned Azaleas burst forth, so too do the clichés that are as much a part of Augusta National as the Green Jacket, the Butler Cabin, pimento cheese sandwiches and them ruddy flooers.

Cherished old chestnuts like 'it favours those who can play a draw', 'the Masters doesn't begin until the back nine on Sunday' and 'the course is much hillier than it looks on the tele' are the golfing equivalent of 'early doors', 'it's a game of two halves and 'we set our stall out', those tired football twitterings that have been used to fill air time and holes in newspapers since the days of the Byzantine Empire. There will be drifting, orchestral music to accompany soft-focus montages of memorable moments and clips of players walking across quaint, neatly pointed bridges while a voice over will whisper inspirational quotations about following in the footsteps of legends before the camera cuts to Larry Mize skittering a 5-iron into the dogwoods.

The 'timeless traditions' and schmaltzy nods to the past know no bounds in this great golfing corner of Georgia and nothing gets folk fawning quite like the ceremonial tee-off on the Thursday, when that holy trinity of Gary Player, Jack Nicklaus and Arnold Palmer plonk an opening drive down the first fairway - well, that's the hope anyway - amid ripples of polite applause from the awe-struck, slack-jawed patrons.

Of course, this is the way we all like it. It's been eight months since the last major championship and the Masters always comes with that same sense of anticipation, that same sense of spring freshness and possibility and that same sense of, well, sameness. Familiarity breeds contentment.

The prospect of Rory McIlroy completing the career grand slam, and winning a third successive major title since his back-to-back triumphs in the Open and the US PGA Championship last season, had had the golfing media cooing like turtle doves on an electric fence.

That should have been a big enough storyline to take into Masters week but the prolonged, will he, won't he palaver surrounding Tiger Woods has taken a sizeable chunk of the spotlight off the Northern Irishman. He won't mind that, of course. McIlroy has hidden himself away from the glare over the past couple of weeks to prepare for his assault on history while the questions surrounding Woods's return to action kept the former world No 1 very much in the public consciousness even though nobody has seen hide nor hair of him for weeks on end. It's almost been like a vast, golfing version of Cluedo as Woods teased and tormented and left hints of his whereabouts and future plans. The sighting of his private jet sitting in Augusta airport last week ramped up the intrigue. The fact that he has since confirmed that he will return to the cut-and-thrust of competitive ac tion means this correspondent will now have to find another parking spot for The Herald's editorial pool plane. Typical.

The scrutiny of Woods, particularly from a fevered American media who are still not ready to accept that there has to be life after Tiger, will be remorseless. McIlroy will be delighted. This isn't just a return from injury, it's a clamber back from an even deeper malaise. Two months ago, when we last clapped eyes on him, he was duffing chips and racking up scores in the 80s. It was excruciating stuff. Now he's attempting another comeback on the biggest, most unforgiving stage of the lot. Had he decided not to pitch up this week it would have been viewed as an acknowledgement of the dire depths into which his game had been plunged. Woods has always played to win. Being among the rank and file will hurt him more than any back, neck or knee injury and accepting his lot and going in with lowered expectation would go against the philosophy that made him, arguably, the game's greatest player. When he draws the club back to get his campaign underway on the first tee on Thursday the collective intake of anticipated breath from those gathered around the tee will probably be strong enough to sook Woods's semmit off.

We have Woods, we have McIlroy, we have Bubba Watson going for a third Green Jacket in four years, we have Jordan Spieth leading a new wave of US young guns, we even have good old Ben Crenshaw playing his 44th and last Masters. And we have those bloomin' Azaleas. The Masters is here again and it's just the way we like it.