Fore!
Make way for a novice caddie

February 27, 2007

BY KEVIN O'HORAN
H-T FEATURES WRITER

This is not good.

I am standing on the driving range tee box at The Founders Golf Club, a pair of golfers not 10 feet in front of me banging golf balls all about.

I am supposed to be following the flight of the driven balls; checking the distance each golfer obtains with each club he pulls from the set; whether he's inclined, say, to slice with a driver or duff a 7-iron.

That is part of caddying, the men have told me, helping a golfer know which club to pull from the bag at which time, like knowing the 5-iron will have just enough carry and not too much run for a golfer facing a tricky shot down a fairway split by a creek.

Instead, I'm standing on the tee squinting into space -- at nothing. I can't follow the ball's track. For me, there's a momentary flash of white as the ball jumps off the face of the club, then nothing.

And good luck to you both, is what I'm thinking as I start my first spin as caddie.

I already have been told what to expect, advised by Bruce Clark, the club's caddie master, what my duties will be for the day.

I'll carry clubs, of course.

Oh, and just a bit more.

"Give measurements. Rake bunkers. Fill divots. Read greens," sprays out Clark, a retired homicide detective. "Some people will want help reading greens (for putts); others don't want you anywhere near them. You'll figure that out as you go.

"You've got to have their clubs ready for them, hand them to them. Clean their clubs after shots. And have an idea of what clubs they'll want.

"Basically, it's a pretty simple job -- with a few tricks here and there."

Uh-huh.

We head out to the 10th tee to begin. We jump onto the course here to put a cushion between our group -- sure to be slowed by a novice caddie -- and a set of golfers who started on the first hole earlier, with real caddies.

We're joined by Jim Loadman, 58, a retired insurance industry exec who, looking for something "different," opted out of a suit and tie and into a caddie's coveralls a year back. He's the oldest of the club's 16 caddies; the youngest are still in high school.

Clark and Loadman take a turn in front of the bags this day, playing the part of golfers so I can tackle the caddying.

And clad in the white jumpsuit "uniform" of a caddie, I look the part.

That is, save for my hair, which is pulled into a ponytail, and a pair of earrings dangling from my left earlobe -- not exactly dress code for the club, Clark jokes.

We start with me riding on the back of a golf cart.

It's called "fore-caddying," Clark says, and caddies who do this generally handle the caddying for an entire foursome, or even a fivesome.

They'll get the clubs for the golfers at the tees, track the first shots, hop on the cart for the ride to the second shots. Then, they run from shot to shot the remainder of the hole, repairing divots as they can, cleaning clubs when possible, reading greens as needed, and so on.

I try that for just two golfers and get flustered.

The running, I can handle. But it seems I'm never where I should be when I should be, never doing what I need to be doing.

As Clark is launching his second shot on the 515-yard, par-5 hole, I chat with Loadman. I get Clark a wedge for a greenside bunker shot, but forget about Loadman, who's just off the green. While both men study putts on the green, which I should be "reading," I'm smoothing sand in a nearby trap.

And as they head off the green for the ride to the next tee, instead of getting and cleaning their clubs, I'm wandering back up the fairway toward the clubhouse, trying to master the SkyCaddie.

It is a devilish little instrument, the SkyCaddie, a cell phone-sized computer of sorts that uses the national Global Positioning System and its array of satellites to tell golfers just how far it is from their golf balls to the greens, to the pins, to the nearest water hazards or sand traps.

In short, it's supposed to make life easier for golfers.

And caddies.

It doesn't, for me.

At one point, I look down at the SkyCaddie to get the distance on a shot, and read it as saying there are 70 yards left. Or 7,000. Or the shuttle is landing.

This is not good for a round of golf.

At the 11th, a short par-3 fronted by water and guarded by sand traps, I can't see where either man hits his tee shot -- on opposite sides of the green, as it turns out. I misread a putt for Clark and leave a towel on the green as a capper.

At the 12th, just two holes in, I'm booted off the cart.

Well, that sounds harsh. Clark and Loadman soften it by saying they want to give me the "full experience" of being a caddie. That is, they want to introduce me to the more traditional aspect of caddying.

The carrying clubs part.

So they hand me their golf bags.

They tee off on the 440-yard par-4, and I sling Clark's bag over my left shoulder and Loadman's onto my right. "Double-bagging" it, Clark calls it -- as some caddies like to do to add a little more bread to their daily take-home.

And I start walking.

I walk first to where Clark has driven his golf ball, pull out a club for him, watch his swing, amble a few yards up the fairway to where Loadman's tee shot has rolled, grab his requested club and track the arc of his second shot.

I shoulder both bags again.

And start walking.

We repeat this for the third and fourth shots. And the putts.

We repeat this on the 13th, a 365-yard par-4.

It is in the low 70s, with clear skies and just the slightest breeze wafting across the course -- so says the National Weather Service.

I disagree, basing my weather report on the fact I am four holes into my caddying day and already I have sweated out every drop of water I've swallowed today. Or ever.

Clark leaves us on the 14th hole, insisting that the beep-whine-beep we hear in the distance is his car alarm. I accept this, since it's better than believing my caddying has any part in chasing a golfer off a course.

Loadman and I shoulder on. Well, I shoulder on, but with just one bag to tote.

We settle into the routine of stroke-walk-repeat -- kind of like the lather-rinse-repeat directions on shampoo bottles -- for the remainder of the back nine, although Loadman shortens the round by cutting 15 and 16 out of the mix.

We chat as we trek around the course. Loadman tells me about his game, about his former work in insurance, about life in Ohio and elsewhere. We talk about the club, and about golf. He even shows me some tips for conquering -- OK, simply using -- the confounded SkyCaddie.

By the end, it's enjoyable, this caddying thing.

It's actually disappointing when we wander off the 18th green and back to the clubhouse, the round over.

And I realize that even though I'm on the "working" side of a round of golf, the old quip applies: A bad day on the golf course still beats a good day at the office.