The Chinese must surely be celebrating The Year of The Boo. They send us toys with lead paint, we send them a redneck comedy routine. Boo does the World Cup. He doesn't know much about China except it has a wall, and it's a great one. Boo does Carnoustie in camouflage and discovers the Scots cain't cook. Sergio finds out figgers were never Boo's best subject. Boo gets two for pullin' out a flagstick for a buddy. Boo misses a three-foot putt to lose a tournament and allows as how he was shaking like a wet dog over it, then he chips in on the 71st and 72nd holes at Harbour Town to win one anyway. In a world where we complain that every threesome on the PGA Tour looks like triplets separated at birth, we have the nerve to snicker at someone who is completely genuine, utterly guileless and more comfortable in his own hide than a moose. He hasn't forgotten what real work is like and might be the only guy on tour who ever did any. Sure, he dribbles a little tobacco juice and would rather be in a deer stand than a TV tower, but this boy can flat play. One day he just might be the only Boo carved into a really important piece of silver. Now, that would scare a few suits right down to their U grooves. Until then he'll just have to be content with the biggest bank account in Scratch Ankle, Fla.