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Golf has always had a certain image. Polished, traditional, structured. It’s the sport of perfect swings, textbook fundamentals, and calm, emotionless execution. But then came Bubba Watson, a guy with no swing coach, no formal training, and no interest in the conventional path. He didn’t grow up at a country club. He didn’t take lessons from elite pros. He taught himself in his backyard with a secondhand club and a bucket of whiffle balls. And somehow that kid, raw, instinctive, wildly unorthodox, went on to win two masters, become one of the longest hitters in the game, and pull off shots that looked like something out of a video game. But with Bubba, greatness, and controversy came as a package deal. He didn’t just rise, he polarized. And his story is one of the most unique and unpredictable careers golf has ever seen. Bubba wasn’t born into the game. He was born in a small Florida town called Baghdad. Yes, really. His dad, Jerry Watson, Senior, was a Vietnam War veteran who didn’t play golf, but saw something in his son’s obsession with the game. When Bubba was 6 years old, his father handed him a chop down nine iron and let him figure things out. No lessons, no drills, just trial and error. Bubba spent hours in the backyard hitting balls into the air, experimenting with curve, height, spin, everything. Most kids just want to hit it far. Bubba wanted to see how much he could make the ball dance. By high school, Bubba could already drive the ball 300 yd before he even turned 16. But it wasn’t just power. He could hook the ball 40 yards around a tree, slice it on command, and land it on a dime. He wasn’t playing the game like anyone else. And that raw, unpredictable magic earned him a scholarship to the University of Georgia, one of the top golf programs in the country. there, surrounded by players who trained under the best coaches and drilled perfect form daily, Bubba still refused to change. No swing coach, no mechanical adjustments. He relied on feel, instinct, and imagination. Some called it stubborn, others called it genius. Either way, it made him dangerous. At Georgia, Bubba stood out. He had the longest drive on the team, hands down. His shot shaping ability was borderline ridiculous. But he also struggled with control and emotions. He could light up a round with brilliance and then unravel with a bad hole. He wasn’t consistent and he wasn’t interested in being molded. For Bubba, golf wasn’t about mechanics. It was about creativity. He wasn’t just playing against the field. Most days, he was playing against himself. After college, Bubba turned pro in 2002. But like everything in his career, the path wasn’t smooth. He didn’t walk straight onto the PGA Tour. He spent three years grinding on the Nationwide Tour, now known as the Corn Fairy Tour, where his game was put to the test. One week he’d be brilliant, firing darts and launching monster drives. The next he’d fall apart with erratic T-shots and cold putters. His playing style was high risk, high reward. And early on, it brought more frustration than success. Coaches didn’t know what to do with him. Commentators didn’t know how to describe him, but fans fans were starting to notice. Then came 2010, the PGA Championship. Bubba came within inches of pulling off the biggest win of his life. At 11 under, he held the clubhouse lead until Martin Camer matched him, forcing a playoff. Bubba came out swinging, literally. On the first playoff hole, a short par4, he nearly drove the green and sank a birdie to take the lead, but Kr answered right back with a birdie of his own on the 17th. It all came down to the 18th. Both players missed the fairway. Camer played it safe. Bubba, he went for the green from the rough. Classic Bubba. Bold, fearless, maybe reckless. The shot didn’t work. His ball found the water. Then came the bunker shot. Bubba needed to hold it to keep the playoff alive. He nearly did. The ball slammed the flag stick, dropped in, and cruy bounced back out. Just like that, it was over. Most players would have been crushed. Bubba wasn’t thinking about the trophy. His first words were, “Did I make the RDER Cup team?” That told you everything you needed to know. He wasn’t driven by titles. He was driven by representing something bigger. That moment might have ended in defeat, but it marked the start of something. Bubba wasn’t going away. That same year at the Travelers Championship, he broke through. First career PGA Tour win, a playoff again, and this time, Bubba came out on top with a clutch birdie putt. When it dropped, he collapsed to his knees, sobbing. It wasn’t just relief, it was relief. His father, battling terminal throat cancer, had always dreamed of hearing his son win a tournament. That night, Bubba got to make the call. Dad, I did it. A few months later, his father passed. Bubba would never again get to share a win with him. But that moment became part of his story forever, and Bubba kept climbing. 2 years later, he arrived at Augusta, the 2012 Masters, a stage built for legends. And Bubba, he wrote his name into history in the most Bubba way possible. After 72 holes, he was tied with Lewis Ousen. A sudden death playoff. On the second hole, Bubba hooked his drive deep into the trees. It looked like the end, but Bubba looked at that lie on pine straw between the trees from a terrible angle and saw a shot that didn’t exist. A 40yard hook with a wedge bending the ball around the trees and back to the green. It was a shot no one else would even imagine. Bubba didn’t just imagine it. He pulled it off. The ball curved like a boomerang and stopped feet from the hole. Minutes later, he tapped in for par and won the Masters. He broke down in tears, hugging his mom. It was emotional, raw, unforgettable. That shot alone would have put Bubba in the history books. But two years later, in 2014, he proved it wasn’t a fluke. He won his second Masters. And this time, it wasn’t wild heroics that saved him. It was poise. It was control. It was Bubba dominating from start to finish. He took the lead on Sunday and never looked back. He beat a young Jordan Spath head-to-head and walked off Augusta’s 18th green wearing his second green jacket in three years. He wasn’t just a crowd favorite anymore. He was a two-time major champion. And his name was now cemented in golf history. But with every high in Bubba’s story, there was a shadow. For all the fans that loved his style, his fire, his uniqueness, there were others who found him difficult, unpredictable, even frustrating. and what came next in his career would take that tension and blow it wide open. After winning his second masters in 2014, Bubba Watson had finally achieved something most golfers can only dream of. He wasn’t just a major champion. He was now part of Augusta Nationals elite. Two green jackets in three years. And the way he did it couldn’t have been more different than the first. In 2012, it was chaos and miracle shots. In 2014, it was discipline and control. On Sunday, paired with the rising young star Jordan Spath, Bubba kept his composure. SPath cracked under pressure. Bubba didn’t. He surged ahead with a massive drive on the eighth. Took the lead and never gave it back. He finished with a three-shot victory, cementing not just his place in golf history, but also proving he wasn’t just about flash. He could dominate from the front, too. Bubba Watson had arrived, and the golf world was watching. But success didn’t change him. It amplified him. Going into 2015, Bubba didn’t hold back. He returned to the Travelers Championship, the place where he got his first win back in 2010. This was full circle, a personal moment. And this time, it wasn’t about proving himself. It was about showing how far he’d come. Bubba had grown, not just as a player, but as a competitor. His game had matured. He still relied on instinct, on feel, on that unpredictable spark. But now it was sharpened, more efficient, more lethal, and it showed. He tore through the tournament and picked up another signature win, reminding everyone that when Bubba’s game clicked, very few could match him. During this stretch, Bubba climbed all the way to number three in the official World Golf ranking. That’s not easy when your playing style breaks every rule in the book. He didn’t follow the template. He didn’t obsess over swing planes or balance drills. He bombed drives, curved shots around trees, chipped with his hands instead of his head, and just went for it. And fans loved it. He was the guy who played golf like we all wish we could. Fearless, creative, and unapologetically bold. On any given Sunday, Bubba could turn a tournament upside down. And that made him one of the most entertaining players in the world. But Bubba wasn’t just a show on the course. Off it, he leaned into his quirks and became something of a cult figure in the sport. He didn’t care about the serious golfer image. In fact, he pushed back against it. He joked around, pulled pranks, wore loud clothes, and stayed completely true to himself. One of the wildest things he ever did was team up with Ricky Fowler, Ben Crane, and Hunter Mahan to form a parody golf boy band called The Golf Boys. Yes, seriously. They released a music video dressed in ridiculous outfits, sang about birdies and bunkers. It went viral. Fans ate it up. Bubba didn’t care how it looked. He just wanted to have fun. And it didn’t stop there. He once bought the actual General Lee car from the Dukes of Hazard TV show. He showed up to tournaments driving a hovercraft golf car. Who else does that? No one. And that’s why people remembered him. He wasn’t trying to be Tiger Woods. He wasn’t trying to be Phil Mickelson. He was just Bubba. Loud, unpredictable, and completely original. And in a sport filled with quiet, polished athletes, Bubba was a burst of color that people either loved or didn’t know what to do with. But being that original came with a cost. The same traits that made him a fan favorite also made him a controversial figure in the locker room. Bubba didn’t always get along with everyone. He was emotional, unfiltered, and at times difficult. He didn’t sugarcoat things. If he didn’t like something, he said it, and that rubbed some people the wrong way. At the 2014 Waste Management Phoenix Open, one of the rowdiest events on the tour, Bubba openly criticized the course and the event itself. He said he was only playing because of sponsor obligations. And the Phoenix crowd, they didn’t take it lightly. The next day, Bubba was booed on every single hole. It was loud, it was personal, and it marked the beginning of a shift in how the public viewed him. Then came the caddy drama. Bubba had worked for years with Ted Scott, his right-hand man, the guy who was with him for every win, every emotional high, every fiery low. But Bubba wasn’t always easy on him. During the 2013 Travelers Championship, after a bad shot, Bubba snapped on Ted in front of the cameras. Great job, Ted,” he muttered sarcastically. It went viral, and not in a good way. People started to wonder, “Was Bubba too hotheaded, too hard to work with?” Even in press conferences, his blunt honesty would catch people off guard. He didn’t rehearse answers. He didn’t filter his emotions. Sometimes that was refreshing. Other times, it caused headlines. Despite the growing controversies, Bubba kept competing. But the game was starting to change. Younger stars were rising. The field was getting deeper. And Bubba’s high-risk, highreward style wasn’t aging gracefully. By 2017, cracks began to show. He started missing cuts. His putting became inconsistent. Mentally, he wasn’t in the same space. And for the first time, Bubba opened up publicly about his anxiety. He admitted there were days where he didn’t even want to tee it up. Days when the pressure, the criticism, the spotlight, it all got to him. He even considered walking away from the game altogether. But Bubba being Bubba, he didn’t quit. In 2018, he found a spark again, winning the Genesis Invitational at Riviera. It was a reminder of what he was still capable of. That magic, that instinct, that fearless energy, it was still in there, but the consistency that was harder to find. One week he’d be in contention. The next he’d be packing his bags early. The sport that once vowed to his creativity was now dominated by precision and youth. And Bubba, for all his brilliance, was starting to fade from the leaderboard. Then came the move that changed everything. In 2022, Bubba Watson officially left the PGA Tour and joined Live Golf, the Saudibbacked league that offered massive payouts, guaranteed money, and a completely different format. No cuts, 54 holes, smaller fields. For some players, it was a financial opportunity too big to pass up. For others, it felt like a betrayal of the game’s traditions. Bubba’s reported deal was over $50 million. And while he spoke about wanting more family time and less travel, many fans didn’t buy it. The backlash was immediate. People who had cheered for him at Augusta were now calling him a sellout. He wasn’t alone. Plenty of big names made the jump. But Bubba’s decision hit harder because of who he was. A guy who was always about passion, instinct, and heart suddenly choosing a league that many saw as driven purely by money. Critics said it wasn’t real golf. Fans pointed to Saudi Arabia’s human rights record. Commentators debated whether Bubba’s career would now be remembered for the wrong reasons. And the truth, it’s complicated. Because Bubba never fit the mold, never followed the script. And in this final chapter, he wasn’t starting now. The decision to leave the PGA Tour for LA Golf was a defining moment, not just in Bubba Watson’s career, but in how people saw him. For years, Bubba had been the fan favorite, the wild card, the guy who did things his own way. But now, that same independence was being questioned. His supporters saw it as a personal choice. A father choosing family time over a grueling schedule. A player who’d given everything to the game, finally taking something back for himself. But for critics, it was something else entirely. They saw a hero crossing over to a side they couldn’t respect. A man who once symbolized passion and grit. now cashing in on a controversial payday. It wasn’t just a new chapter in Bubba’s life. It was a turning point in how his legacy would be remembered. And maybe that’s the most fitting way to look at Bubba Watson’s career. It never followed the rules, never fit in a box, never moved in a straight line. He wasn’t born into money. He didn’t have a country club swing or a list of elite coaches. He started with a handme-down club, a patch of backyard grass, and a wild imagination. He made shots people didn’t think were possible. He turned trees, wind, and trouble into opportunity. He relied on field when the rest of the game ran on formulas. And somehow that backyard approach took him all the way to Augusta National twice. What made Bubba special is exactly what made him hard to define. One minute he’s dropping a 40yard hook wedge from the Pine Straw to win a green jacket. The next he’s in a viral video dancing in suspenders with the golf boys. One week he’s dominating a course with monster drives and buttery soft touch. The next he’s getting booed on every hole for speaking his mind. He never chased image, never polished the rough edges. Bubba was raw, emotional, honest, sometimes too honest. And that’s why people either loved him or didn’t understand him at all. His career wasn’t built on consistency. It was built on moments. Big ones. Shots that made you shake your head. Winds that came out of nowhere. tears that poured out after a putt dropped. And in those moments, Bubba gave fans something that stats and trophies can’t measure, realness. He wasn’t trying to be Tiger. He wasn’t trying to be the next anything. He was just trying to be Bubba. And for a long time, that was enough. But it’s fair to say the back half of Bubba’s journey became more complicated. The very qualities that made him magnetic, the emotion, the unpredictability, the nonconformity, also made him tough to watch when things weren’t going well. When the game stopped cooperating, when the putter went cold, when the pressure didn’t fuel him but wore him down. He spoke openly about mental health, anxiety, fear, things most athletes bury. Bubba didn’t. He let people in. And that, too, became part of his story. Even in the twilight years of his PGA Tour career, there were flashes, moments where you could still see that electric shot maker under the surface. He’d hit a T-shot so pure the gallery would gasp. He’d throw a shot around a tree and land it next to the pin like it was nothing. And you’d remember, this wasn’t just any golfer. This was Bubba Watson, the guy who made the impossible look like instinct. But the consistency was gone. The younger stars were faster, stronger, more calculated. The game was shifting and Bubba, once the disruptor, now looked like the one being disrupted. His move to Live Golf, didn’t just mark the end of his PGA days. It marked a shift in tone. He wasn’t fighting for majors anymore. He wasn’t trying to silence critics. He had found peace in a different path. Whether that path leads to more wins or simply more time at home with his kids, only time will tell. But in many ways, Bubba had already written his legacy. Because very few players can say they changed the way golf is played, and even fewer can say they changed the way it felt. You could argue all day about where Bubba Watson ranks in the all-time greats. Maybe he wasn’t the most consistent. Maybe he let emotions get the best of him. Maybe he burned bridges. But the fact that he’s even in the conversation when he started with nothing but a cut down club and a dream says everything. He became a master’s champion twice. He reached number two in the world. He won 12 times on the PGA Tour. And he did it all without a coach, without a blueprint, without ever pretending to be something he wasn’t. He also brought something to golf that it desperately needed, personality. In a sport where players often hide behind cliches and media training, Bubba showed up as himself, good, bad, or awkward. And while that sometimes got him into trouble, it also made him unforgettable. He made people laugh, made people cheer, and yeah, sometimes made people shake their heads, but he made them feel something. And in sports, that matters. Golf’s history is full of icons who did things the right way. But Bubba Watson carved a different path, his way. A way filled with risk, emotion, flare, and faith. A way that didn’t always make sense to the analysts or the critics, but one that resonated deeply with the fans who saw in him a reflection of the every man with a dream. a player who reminded us that raw talent, heart, and belief can sometimes be just as powerful as technique and stats. Today, Bubba might not be in the spotlight like he once was. He’s not winning majors or topping rankings, but his presence still lingers. His story still inspires. And for every young kid out there gripping a golf club for the first time and trying to curve the ball around a tree just because it looks cool, that’s Bubba’s legacy. He made golf fun. He made it emotional. He made it unpredictable. And whether you loved him, misunderstood him, or didn’t know what to make of him, you remembered him. Because Bubba Watson never fit the mold.
