How Bubba has battled fame in bid to leave a legacy on and off course

Does he think he’s misunderstood?

Watson lets out a deep, throaty laugh, as though it were the most obvious question in the world.

“For sure, as you can tell, I talk a lot, I can out-talk anyone. I’d love to talk to every single person out there but I’m here trying to make history for myself.”

In a bid to show people “the real Bubba”, he’s taken to using social media as a way of breaking that 30-second window, showing off his goofy side as well as promoting children’s charities. He doesn’t want to go into detail about his philanthropy, but it’s known that he’s donated hundreds of thousands of pounds.

“I don’t want popularity,” he says sincerely. “It’s just my way of telling you who I am, not just the golfer, the person. Why be serious all the time? Why not laugh and joke? When I’m on the golf course, it’s work, it’s a job. If I’m not smiling it’s because I’m focused. Social media lets people see that I do have a fun side.”

When Watson was growing up, his father always told him: “All a poor man has is the truth.” The first time that mantra came to fruition was when he told Gerry he wanted to be a golfer instead of a baseball pitcher. He preferred an individual sport, liked his own company, and is still only surrounded by a very small group of people.

From his manager to his accountant, who he’s known since he was 14, the few people in this tight-knit circle are close friends.

After Gerry took him to the driving range, Bubba started to harness his unique swing with a cut-down nine-iron. With lanky limbs, jolting leg movement and a swing that stopped, cocked and caused his whole body to jump in the air upon impact, Watson was precocious and unteachable at the same time.

He never had a single lesson and rarely stepped onto the range, instead practicing on the thin tree-lined fairways of Tanglewood Golf Club. For that reason, despite being able to generate a ball speed of almost 200mph, he remains arguably the purest feel player on the PGA Tour.

By the time he was 12, Watson was breaking course records at junior tournaments in luminous pink socks. He leans back slightly, cutting off his rapid tone of conversation briefly. “Have I always been different? I wouldn’t say different… Well, yeah… I’m definitely different,” he laughs.

His entry into professional golf was also unconventional. When he left Milton High School, his teachers doubted if he’d graduate from college, let alone become a 12-time winner on the PGA Tour. And, unlike the majority of players, he played golf at a community college in Alabama for two years before transferring to the University of Georgia.

It was there that he met his wife, Angie, (left with Bubba, daughter Dakota and son Caleb) a basketball scholar. After their first date, she told Watson that she couldn’t have children. Two weeks before his famous Masters victory, and four years after beginning the process, the pair adopted their first son, Caleb. “My mum and dad raised me the best way they knew how, right or wrong, and I’ve turned out somewhat okay,” he laughs.

“I couldn’t have asked for better parents and I want to be the best husband and father I can be. When you’re on the road for five weeks, I feel bad. I want to go home and love and support her.

“We’ve adopted two kids and it’s not easy making sure to raise them the right way. My parents always raised me to tell the truth, never lie. Hopefully, that’s what I can teach my kids, bad or good, I’m going to tell the truth.”

Despite reaching a more sentimental state of mind, Watson has no intention of toning down his desire to win just yet, nor any desire to place another deadline on a retirement date. ‘If I’m not on the course, I’d just be playing at home anyway. I can’t see golf ever going away from my life… unless I lose my arms. Then I’ll have to start kicking the ball.”

Instead, he’s chasing a shot at a legacy that’s undefined. “I don’t know what it takes to make the hall of fame, but I feel I must be close,” he says. “Not for anybody else, just for my own satisfaction. You talk about 12 wins and two Majors… it might never be enough, who knows, but I must be close. So, for me, to win another Major… Gosh,” he pauses, imagining it. “At 40-years-old, you don’t know how many more chances you’re going to get.”

Watson is no stranger to Portrush. After graduating high school when he was 18, he travelled to the mile-long peninsula with a close group of friends. Since returning on Monday, he’s played 36 holes, feels refreshed after taking two weeks off ahead of the tournament, and insists “he’s feeling really good” about his chances. Five years since his last victory at Augusta, and after narrowly missing out to Tiger Woods there this year, he yearns for that shock of adrenaline.

“I just want the chance to feel it again,” he says. “To be there on Sunday, when your name is up there. I want to be in that situation again where you know if you pull off this shot, you’re walking away with the trophy. That’s what we’re all doing this for. I want to be there with a chance.”

But faced with a wiry and rolling links, armed with blind tee-shots and tufty rough, Watson’s captivating blend of risk and imagination stands to be exposed. His driving can be erratic and move with a high, curving arc that’s at mercy to the coastal wind. “Visually, the field is already ahead of me,” he admits.

“I hate to say it, but the British Open is the hardest tournament for me to win — that and the US Open. If you go in the rough there, you’re dead. If I can’t see it visually, I can’t feel it.”

A few friends have told him if he wants to seal that hall of fame legacy, he may need to relight and rile the emotions that characterised his earlier career; to “be fiery without freaking out”.

The type of emotions that have been subdued over the past few years where he’s learned to find a balance between life on and off the course. And, really, that’s the answer to Watson’s own question.

He’s happy, he has his family and his health — and that’s all that matters. He’s a dad, a business owner, a philanthropist and all the rest is noise.

So, is it about being healthy or winning?

“I’m healthy.”