Changing Your Grip

Lately I’ve been reading blogs that impress me, and I’m becoming a fan.

One blog is by Tour caddy Mark Huber.

Mark writes at length about his experiences on Tour, and he’s honest. He gives the kind of details and stories people love – the kind of “I was there and I know what happened” view you don’t get from sports blogs unless you lived it. He’s authentic and I like that. I guess most of the caddies I knew were authentic in some way. If you were a phony, you were exposed and if you got on a high horse, you were dismounted without mercy.

Caddies are the Dickens characters of the PGA Tour

Mark started caddying maybe a few years after TJ & I left the Tour, but he reminds me of some of the caddies I came to know. Some I liked, one I really loved (he was the assistant pro at Oak Hill and took a year off to caddy for TJ. We all loved him — Tom Cavicchi) and a couple were real nightmares. I was always fascinated by the caddies, though. They were a subculture unto themselves. I suppose I saw them as characters in the backstory that is the Tour.

I was a little in awe of the caddies when we first started out on the Tour. I know– if you’re at all familiar with the early times that Mark describes, you’d probably wonder why.

Being the wife of a “rabbit” — a Tour rookie who had to qualify on Mondays if he didn’t make the cut the week before — I was on the low rung of the Tour heirarchy.  Caddies weren’t even on that radar. Oh, I don’t mean my radar. I was very aware of the fact, as Mark describes, that caddies were not allowed in the same areas as the public, not allowed in or near the clubhouses, and could only walk around the outside tournament areas if they were accompanying their player.

Many times I walked by the area where the caddies waited for a bag if they had one that week, or where they watched for players who might need a caddy. Some of them had the relative security of being a regular for one of the more established players. Some had a regular gig, but their player wasn’t out that week.

Others tried to pick up anyone they could. Like jockeys, they appeared to follow the players who had a good tournament  and made the cut the previous week. If a player seemed like he was hot, of course he’d be desirable. Some gambled on rookies like TJ. You never knew when a bag would bring a good paycheck.

I thought sometimes — especially if the caddy area was roped off and had signs warning them to stay in it– that they looked like they were in a corral. Some were older, wizened and hardened, sitting smoking cigarettes. There were men with missing teeth, or eyes red-rimmed from a night’s drinking the evening before. Some seemed a little desperate, calling out to players with a kind of wheedling, cajoling patter as if they were in a carnival. Mixed in were young guys, new to the Tour, on some sort of life adventure.

Once a deal was made and a caddy chosen, the caddy was all business. He’d hoist the big tour bag onto his shoulder and nod at me to proceed ahead, as I followed TJ to the practice area. It was always a gentlemanly gesture, and suddenly — we were a team. A procession.

The role of the caddy — a matter of perspective

But I always sensed that divide: we were not equal. We were each in a defined role. On the course, the caddy was now a part of TJ. He went where TJ went; they were connected. He wore TJ’s colors into battle. Crowds parted for him as he hefted that heavy bag from one green to the next tee, and I used him as a pathway, trotting behind as close as I could. Then he would enter the inner sanctum with TJ– where I couldn’t go: inside the ropes.

I once wrote in Jacksonville Today magazine for a TPC issue:

He’s a valet, a squire, a pack horse. He’s a jockey to a fine thoroughbred. He plays counselor, confidante, psychologist. He’s a one-man cheering section. He is sometimes expected to be a mind-reader. Sometimes he’s a whipping boy. He’s a gambler.  A businessman. He’s the supporting actor with a stage name – “Golfball,”  “Black Rabbit,” “Mama Jack,” “Gypsy,” “Big Lee,” “Zito,” or “Six-Iron Jack.”

Above all, he’s man worthy of attention. When he’s really good at his job, his worth to a player can be inestimable.

There are legendary caddies. Do you know any? If you do, I’d love to hear about them.

Next time: Caddies who became legends to me — for better or worse.