For Poulter, the clothes are fancy and the round is flawless

AUGUSTA, Ga. -- The ball sailed off the tee, past the towering pines, over the still water, landed on the right side of the green, began rolling.

And rolling. And rolling. And rolling

Twenty five feet and a lifetime later, the ball dropped into the hole, and Ian Poulter’s jaw dropped with it.

His hands flew into the sky. His right fist pumped the air. The fans around him roared, he playfully held his hands to his ears, they roared even louder, the echoes bouncing from this Georgia monument to the English countryside.

A hole in one for the one-of-a-kind.

An ace for the joker.

“A huge, huge buzz,” Poulter said. “When something like this happens, you don’t want it to end.”

When something like this happens? Something like this never happens.

This doesn’t happen to someone who once worked in an English pro shop because that was the only way he could afford to join the golf club.

This doesn’t happen to someone who once camped overnight -- complete with baked bean dinners -- for a good seat to the Ryder Cup.

This doesn’t happen to someone who, after he finally turned pro eight years ago, tripped over a golf bag and injured his ankle.

This doesn’t happen to a man who is more famous for his wardrobe than his wedge.

Ian Poulter once played a round wearing Union Jack pants. Another time he wore an actual soccer jersey. On Thursday, he had the audacity to show up at the green-jacketed Masters wearing green -- awful lime green, in shoes and pants and belt buckle.

All of which paled in comparison to his most famous outfit of recent months, that being his wardrobe in a British magazine cover in which he posed nude except for a strategically placed golf bag.

A pink golf bag.

Meet golf’s anti-Tiger, golf’s Tigger, born only three weeks after Woods, yet hailing from a completely different universe.

“I was still working in a pro shop when he was out playing golf,” Poulter said of Woods. “It just gave me a massive buzz to go out and start practicing harder and harder.”

His practice made perfect on the 16th hole at Augusta National on Thursday, only the 19th hole in one in the tournament’s 71 years.

But he was so flushed, he promptly bogeyed the next hole after sailing his second shot over the green.

“It can only be down to adrenaline,” he said.

Then he momentarily misplaced the ball that had recorded the ace, and needed his caddie to dig it out of the bag.

“I’ll stick it in the trophy cabinet,” he said.

He finished with a two-under-par 70, two strokes behind the leader, called it one of the best rounds of his life, then strolled off the course to buy drinks for all the lads in the clubhouse.

Well, actually, no.

He may be a millionaire now, but he still remembers what it was like to pinch pennies.

“I don’t know if I can afford that, can I?” he said.

With this tourney needing a couple of good stories to carry it to a Tiger-dominated weekend, the Masters can’t afford to ignore Poulter, if only for the headline value.

Poulter-Heist? Poulter Express?

“I try and have fun on the golf course,” said the guy whose shock of blond hair and huge smile complement his crazy clothes.

That “fun” included once breaking his putter in anger and finishing a round putting with his wedge.

That “fun” also once included teeing off with a guitar.

What that “fun” has never included is a PGA Tour victory in his four years on the circuit.

Some folks think he is too flighty. Other folks think he is just too danged happy.

Just this week, he thanked some writers for interviewing him.

“Talking to you guys is a lot more fun than selling golf balls and Mars bars in the pro shop,” he said.

Which raises the unanswered question: What kind of pro shop still sells Mars bars?

Poulter, who grew up outside London, began playing when he was 4, but his parents struggled to support his habit, and he eventually wound up working at the Chesfield Downs Golf Club.

Even then, he was still too poor to play competitively, as the club pro charged him green fees to enter the club tournaments.

This is how he became one of the few players in history to turn pro with a four handicap.

This is also how he came to appreciate places like Augusta, and days like Thursday, which ended with him in his best place -- tied for sixth -- in his four visits here.

Your round?

“Flawless,” he said.

If you could get beyond the lime green sunglasses, you would indeed see the stare of a competitor, witness his seven European Tour victories and winning shots in a Ryder Cup a few years after he was staying up all night to get tickets.

Last year, he was one of only seven players to make the cut in all four major tournaments. This year, he is ranked 24th in the world.

And, oh yeah, did you hear about his uncovered cover story?

It was last winter, in Golf World U.K. magazine, where he posed mostly naked on the cover, under the headline, “Poulter Laid Bare: Why there’s a lot more to me than fancy pants.”

“That was a one-off,” he said of the cover, meaning he will never do it again. “Staying a one-off.”

However, he stands by the quotes, in which he had the audacity to say that he could compete with Woods.

“The trouble is, I don’t rate anyone else,” he told the magazine. “Don’t get me wrong, I really respect every professional golfer, but I know I haven’t played to my full potential and when that happens it will be just me and Tiger.”

The tour players grumbled about those words but, of course, the tour players were wrong.

Good for Poulter for not acting so deferential. Good for Poulter for not backing down.

Today Woods playfully refers to him as “No. 2,” while the Masters fans who crowded the par-three 16th hole on this muggy, magnificent opening day would rate him even higher.

The eight-iron connected, the ball rolled into the hole from 169 yards, and, while you may take issue with his trousers, give the fashion whiz props for instantly designing a new type of collar.

“The hairs on the back of your neck were standing up,” he said.

Bill Plaschke can be reached at bill.plaschke@latimes.com. To read previous columns by Plaschke, go to latimes.com/plaschke.