Bubba’s long drives are sure to spark lots of fan interest

THERE are stories, and then there is Bubba Watson.

First the name, then the sideburns, then the fact that he once hit a tee shot -- in a sanctioned pro tournament -- 422 yards.

Yes, the guy tied for third, heading into today's final round of the Sony Open in Hawaii, at 7 under, is the latest long-driving, free-swinging, grip-and-ripping Paul Bunyan with a Southern twang.

He didn't come from nowhere. Just the Nationwide Tour, where he launched jaw-dropping bombs and nabbed the last spot to step up this year to the show.

He did the same here Thursday, first alternate at the Sony, last man in the field.

He's been a Monday qualifier in tour events twice, once in 2002, once last year, missed the cut twice. So now here he is, his first tournament as a PGA Tour pro, on the leaderboard, in the big time, outdriving playing partner Fred Funk by an average of "50 to 40 yards."

No big deal.

"I mean," Watson said, scrambling to put a humble spin on it, "he knew it. I knew it. We just didn't even talk about it."

No, but the rest of us will. And soon. He's got it. The demeanor. The laid-back grin. The story. He has all the lovable eccentricities you want from a guy who carries a big stick.

"I don't work out, I don't exercise," he said. Perfect. Neither do we.

"I don't know," he said, of how far or short his shots go. "I just hit it."

Another star is born.

This is a guy who is a single credit shy of a college degree because "I didn't want to graduate from Georgia."

A man born in Bagdad (Florida).

This is a guy who is still playing with the first putter he ever had. A self-taught lefty who learned the game chipping a Wiffle Ball around the outside of his house at age 6.

"With trees in the way and all that stuff," he said.

There he was, a kindergartner navigating the corners, reaching all the way back to try to make that puka ball carry just a few feet more.

Maybe that's where the power comes from, who knows.

"And it would only go that much farther," he said, holding his hands fish-story length apart, "but as a 6-year-old you thought that was a long ways."

And now here he is, a tour card in his pocket, he and all the Nationwide guys sticking together, trying to believe this is really happening to them.

But the golf guys know him. Anyone who follows the game knew he was on his way. The next big bopper. Bubba. The guy who's longer than a Lord of the Rings movie. Mr. 300-plus (plus-plus).

When was the last time anyone even outdrove him?

"I don't know," he said.

Honest answer, he can't even say. It may never have happened before, for all anyone knows.

"I don't think John Daly or Hank Kuehne or Scott Hend, I don't think they can hang with me when I'm hitting it," he said. "If I hit my best, there's not too many people that can get within shouting distance."

Hear that? Shouting distance.

As in, Helloooooooooo! (Echo, echo, echo ...)

Yesterday, on 18, which he birdied to go 7 under to grab a share of third, he was ahead of Funk by more than 100 yards.

This is only his first real tournament, his coming out. The galleries are going to eat him up. Another slow-drawling, long-driving legend in the making. Another people's champion just ready to tee off.

Hits that make you giddy. Shots that bring even non-duffers through the door.

Of course, that's the future. Today he's just a rookie trying to keep his card, trying to stay up there on the board, so he can play in the next event.

Trying to keep that next swing as long and strong as the last. Because people are watching now. It's what everyone expects.

It isn't easy being golf's biggest hitter. With great power comes great responsibility (Shakespeare said that ... or Spider-Man). We all want to see him blast one. We all want him to send that little white ball to the moon.

"Yeah, I think about it every day," everyone's new favorite golfer said. "Every shot I'm nervous, I'm just happy to be here. But yeah, I think about it every day."