The kid did what all kids do when they hear something really cool.

"Woo-hoo!" the kid shouted.

That's what you do when you're 24 and win the most prestigious award your profession can bestow. Woo-hoo! You call your dad, text your friends and then you show up at the ballpark in a black knit cap and white T-shirt looking like you just skateboarded down the Embarcadero.

Giants pitcher Tim Lincecum put the exclamation point on his meteoric rise through baseball Tuesday, winning the National League Cy Young Award after just his first full season in the majors.

The kid showed up at the ballpark Tuesday but forgot to bring an attitude or an entourage. He and his roommate were trying to reconnect to the Internet when he got the news — which shocked him. He came to the news conference alone, thanked a bunch of people and couldn't stop grinning when he was introduced as the Cy Young winner, something that will happen for, oh, only the rest of his life.

In one season, Lincecum has managed to transform the Giants' public face from surly aging superstar (Barry Bonds) to fresh, unique youngster (Lincecum). In an otherwise lost year, Lincecum gave Giants fans a reason for hope, a reason to be excited. And his electric presence wasn't just a local phenomenon; it was noticed around the country.

The vote by selected members of the Baseball Writers' Association of America wasn't even close. Lincecum won 23 of 32 first-place votes, making the tally a landslide. Giants General Manager Brian Sabean characterized the win as Obama-esque in its totality and wondered why everyone had been so worried.

The award was a victory for a true original. In a sport that rewards sameness and convention — where innate ability has to be boiled down to statistics — Lincecum is completely different. He stands out: He's too little, too lithe, too young to be throwing his wicked pitches and owning major league hitters.

"He's certainly not the profile scouts are looking for in a major league pitcher," said Mike McCormick, the only other Cy Young winner in Giants history.

The originality surely earned Lincecum votes. Back in September, the vote was expected to be much closer. While Lincecum led the league in strikeouts with 265 and winning percentage (.783), Arizona's Brandon Webb led the league in wins, with a 22-7 record. New York's Johan Santana led the league with a 2.53 ERA. Both Webb and Santana were past Cy Young winners.

But the voters recognized the special season Lincecum was having on a very bad team that, without Bonds, was traveling under the national radar. Pitching coach Dave Righetti noted that the buzz surrounding Lincecum's outings continued to build as the season went on, not just at AT&T Park but on the road, where the opposing crowd would cheer for him.

"Then you knew this is something different and special," said Righetti, who confessed to getting choked up when he heard the news. "It got pretty electric."

Lincecum's image will grace the cover of MLB 2K9 video game, a smart marketing idea. He's the kind of athlete who makes baseball a little more cool, a little more appealing, a little more accessible to the average person.

Lincecum is also the kind of athlete who inspires nicknames. Among them are "The Kid," and "The Franchise." There's also "Seabiscuit," after the famous race horse that got so much out of his small frame. "The Freak" is the name that graced the Sports Illustrated cover last summer, helping catapult Lincecum to national prominence. This season the Giants referred to him as "The Silver Lining," and "The Lone Bright Spot." There are also a couple of nicknames that Lincecum said he's "not at liberty to share."

Add "Cy" to the list, for now and the rest of his life.

Just a little more than two years ago, the Seattle-area native was dominating the Pacific-10 Conference at the University of Washington. The Giants picked him 10th in the 2006 draft; other teams, including his hometown Seattle Mariners, passed on the player who was surrounded by questions about his durability.

Lincecum's father, Chris, is credited with crafting his son's unique delivery, which gets all the power and velocity possible out of the 5-foot-10, 172-pound frame. He chose Washington after the coaches promised not to tinker with his delivery. His rise through the Giants' farm system (eight starts at Class-A, five at Triple-A) was too quick to allow tinkering.

Lincecum was asked if his stunning success might make his father a hot property as a major league consultant. Lincecum just laughed.

"They're not going to call a guy working for Boeing for 41 years," Lincecum said.

Lincecum, on the other hand. did want to call the guy at Boeing, where Chris is a parts inventory employee. Tuesday morning, Chris didn't pick up the phone on his son's first call. The second time he sounded grumpy.

"What do you want?" he barked. "I'm at work."

Lincecum told him the news. Chris was ecstatic and let out the same yelp his son did.

Woo-hoo!