Secret Life of a Country Club Caddy
From faking holes-in-one for the promise of tips, to indulging the every whim of spoiled suburbanites, one of the golf world’s silent assistants tells all.
Illustrations by Drew Weing
My testicles were unharmed by the force of the descending golf ball. In my final summer as a country club caddy, I stood next to an elevated green while the golfers teed off 150 yards away and forty feet below. One of the players popped his ball up so high I lost sight of it in the hazy sky, forcing me to pretend to follow its path towards the green. All caddies do this. On several holes, such as this one, we were expected to leave the golfers on the green and go ahead to get a better view of the next tee shot. Sometimes we don’t see that shot and have to improvise.
I craned my neck from left to right, pretending to follow the ball as it rose and fell and…smacked me in the nuts. Fortunately — and I can’t stress that word enough — I had taken a wide stance and had my hands in my pockets, creating a trampoline effect in the crotch of my khaki shorts. Instead of suffering the pain you’d expect from taking a golf ball to the groin, I was able to act like nothing …
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