The still-fresh memory of Bubba Watson's 40-yard slingshot from the trees makes me a little nostalgic. It's impossible to compare golfers of different generations, but amid the common lament that the landscape of professional golf is devoid of characters compared to the days of yore, Bubba, with his overcaffeinated swing and personality, harks back to the hardscrabble men who peopled the Tour before it was a big-money pursuit.

Let me begin by saying that I have nothing against crying in sports. So this is not about Bubba Watson's breaking down like a middle schooler at an Adele concert after his dramatic victory on the 74th hole of the Masters. Crying and hugging have their place, especially when Mom is involved, which was the case with Molly Watson and her son on Sunday at Augusta.
The issue is about when the crying and hugging should begin. Here's what Bubba should've done immediately after tapping in -- he should've shaken hands with his opponent, Louis Oosthuizen. Then he could've gotten on with the crying game.

Turning pro, Kelly Kraft just learned, is not that glamorous. You talk to the media, you sign a bunch of papers, you hire a caddie and -- presto-chango! -- you're an unranked golfer with zero earnings and no PGA Tour eligibility beyond a handful of sponsors' invitations, including one to this week's Valero Texas Open. "It's going to be great," Kraft said last week at his home in Dallas, but he was being brave. He had never attended a Texas Open, much less played in one. He had never laid eyes on the tournament course, TPC San Antonio.

Change was in the wind during the 2000 British Open at the Old Course. As he faced the classic closing stretch of holes at St. Andrews, Stewart Cink was all too aware of the significance of the chilly northeast breeze that for centuries has raked the ancient linksland. He would battle a fierce left-to-right wind on all of them, but his repertoire didn't include a draw -- a shot that curves right to left -- to counter that wind.
Cink was blown away. "Every shot was right edge of the green, right edge of the fairway, or worse," he recalls. "That's where I told myself, I need to develop a shot for this situation. I wanted to get better."

Change was in the wind during the 2000 British Open at the Old Course. As he faced the classic closing stretch of holes at St. Andrews, Stewart Cink was all too aware of the significance of the chilly northeast breeze that for centuries has raked the ancient linksland. He would battle a fierce left-to-right wind on all of them, but his repertoire didn't include a draw -- a shot that curves right to left -- to counter that wind.
Cink was blown away. "Every shot was right edge of the green, right edge of the fairway, or worse," he recalls. "That's where I told myself, I need to develop a shot for this situation. I wanted to get better."