You won’t have job security, and you’re not going to make much money. That’s what a caddie told me when I started looping on the LPGA Tour a decade ago. I thought he was joking or perhaps trying to weed me out. Within a month I realised he was just telling it like it is. Well, mostly.
When people hear what I do, they ask how I got started. I happily reply, but I can tell they are waiting for me to stop talking so they can ask what they really want to know: how do I get your job?
One of my first events 30 years ago was the PGA Tour’s old Tucson Open. I remember seeing caddies who looked beat up.
When I first started caddieing, that label was reserved for players whose rounds would explode over the smallest mistake. Now, after years in this business, “land mine” means something else: anyone who could potentially blow up my career.
Will we get vaccinated? Usually I feel good about speaking for caddies as a whole.
Just last year a player fired me, and I can’t find another full-time bag on the PGA Tour. That’s why I’m here. It’s not where I want to be. Hell, it’s where I can’t be – not for very long, at least. The truth is this: I can’t make a living as a caddie on the Korn Ferry Tour.
The relationship between a player and caddie is intricate, thrilling, messy, all over the emotional spectrum. It’s basically marriage without sex. So winning a Major is, well, as close as we get to having fun in the bedroom.
To think that players have bad rounds because of bad chemistry with their pairings is only one branch of this tree.
Grabbing a bag on a professional tour means you’re perpetually on the hot seat.
With kids, homes and divorces, guys were already living pay cheque to pay cheque before the pandemic hit.
Golf, compared to other pro sports, is mostly a controversy-free game. There are rules disputes, and slow play can really get on people’s nerves, but it’s nothing to get that worked up over.
Brooks Koepka appears to have the upper hand in his feud with Bryson DeChambeau. He should use it to help stop the hate.