Matter of Laugh or Death

By Bill Dunn

Interesting observations on this thing we call life

CADDY JOB IS IN THE BAG

I read in the sports page the other day that Tiger Woods’ caddy earned one million dollars last year. Wow, that’s a lot of money for carrying a golf bag around the course.

Mr. Woods himself made a fair amount of money last year, too. Tiger’s annual income—from winning golf tournaments, product endorsements, and collecting cans and bottles from the side of the highway—was in the neighborhood of $100 million, a figure which is slightly higher than the Gross National Product of Bolivia, but not quite as large as Bill and Hillary Clinton’s legal bills.

To earn one million dollars, Tiger Woods’ caddy had to carry the golf bag and do three simple tasks: (1) hand Tiger his driver and say, “Hit it long and straight, boss”; (2) hand Tiger whichever iron he requested and say, “Put it near the pin, boss”; and (3) hand Tiger his putter and say, “Drop it in the hole, boss.”

All the caddies on the PGA Tour do essentially the same thing. It all depends on whose bag is being carried. Take for example, Mortimer Schlub’s caddy. He did and said the same things as Tiger’s caddy, but since Schlub rarely hits it long, straight, near the pin, or in the hole, the caddy earned a total of $6,500 last year ($6,000 of which came from writing Tiger’s name on golf balls and selling them to unsuspecting fans as authentic).

Being a caddy was my first ever paying job. I was about twelve years old when I wandered into the caddy shack at the local country club looking for work. I sat there day after day waiting for a golfer to choose me. On the fourth day I discovered it was the Caddy Master who assigned caddies to the golfers, so decided it might be a good idea to introduce myself to him.

The Caddy Master asked me, “Do you know how to caddy?”

“Sure,” I lied, “I’ve been doing it for years.”

I wasn’t worried about my lack of experience because I had spent those four days asking the other caddies for helpful tips. A caddy named Scootch, a wise and worldly 14-year-old, took me under his wing. “Golf is a hard game,” he explained. “Golfers need a lot of encouragement. Your most important job is to clap and cheer as loud as you can just as the golfer is about to hit the ball.”

Finally, on a busy Sunday afternoon, the Caddy Master looked at me and said, “OK, kid, you’ve got Dr. McGillicuddy. Grab his bag and go to work.”

One of the helpful tips I forgot to ask the other caddies was how exactly to carry a golf bag. I tried to emulate their technique, but each time I picked up the bag, it tilted forward and a handful of clubs fell out.

On the second hole Dr. McGillicuddy offered to remove my spleen with his pitching wedge—no charge—the next time I clapped and cheered during his swing. On the fifth hole, Dr. Mac offered another free medical procedure, this time with his three iron (I didn’t realize he was a proctologist) the next time I spilled his clubs onto the ground.

When the round was over, I eagerly anticipated my big pay day. The going rate for 18 holes was four dollars, with some caddies being paid as much as five bucks if they did an exceptional job. After putting Dr. Mac’s bag into the trunk of his new Lincoln Continental (“Oops, well, you can barely see the scratch marks on the bumper,” I said cheerfully), he reached for his wallet.

Dr. Mac handed me a one-dollar bill and said, “This is for diving into the pond on the 15th hole to look for my ball.” Then he handed me another dollar and said, “This is for promising never, ever to come near me, my golf bag, or my Lincoln Continental for the rest of your life.”

I waited to hear “This is for…” a couple more times, but Dr. McGillicuddy jumped into the car and sped away. I didn’t mind. I had two whole dollars in my fist. Beginning a pay day tradition that has continued unbroken for over three decades, I immediately set out to spend it all in one place as quickly as possible.

If Tiger Woods’ caddy ever gets tired of carrying around that heavy golf bag—or that heavy wallet—I’d be more than happy to take over the job. At a million buck per year, I might even need two places in which to spend it all.

©2001