I was finally chosen

Today was opening day. Now the course is officially in the swing of things. To celebrate the start of the new season, the course held an opening day scramble for the members. From what I've heard, it's rare to see more than 15 members participate. That's pretty sad. Fortunately, this year was record-setting. Over 40 members showed up. Now all I needed to get was a bag.

The way this whole caddie thing works, at least at this course, is that all of the senior caddies (the boss's go-to guys) have their name on a magnet and they are assigned a time to come in the day before (their magnets are slapped onto a dry-erase board under the time they should arrive). They may not know exactly who they'll be paired up with, but they are guaranteed work if they show up. Some of them don't, which is amazing to me. Then again, I'm still a rookie so I'm always thankful for every bag I get.

So if you're not a senior caddie, when you arrive you're supposed to write your name on the "stand-by" board. Theoretically, once all of the senior caddies have been assigned groups, the boss-man moves to the stand-by list. Caddies are given bags or groups on a first come, first serve basis. Today there were 4 guys ahead of me. Not too bad, considering that the next time I looked at the board the list had grown to 23.

But to be honest, that really doesn't mean anything. Many of the guys behind me are much more experienced, and the caddie-master knows this. So when we all move up to the "circle" (where all of the carts and members wait to be sent out onto the course), my boss starts pairing up the more experienced caddies first.

After about 10 minutes, there were only two caddies left without a bag, and I was one of them. The guy next to me was new too, and he's bitching and moaning about how "not fair" this is. I'm trying to stay optimistic and energized, but part of me would like to agree with him. Because right now, I don't know how I'm ever going to be considered an "experienced" caddie. All of the senior caddies are working regularly nowadays, and it has been hard for me to get out lately. I mean, everyone (or most everyone) knows what it's like to be chosen last for something in gym class. I'm 24, and right now, it's happening all over again.

But then the caddie-master calls my name.

Half surprised, half crapping my pants from happiness, I run over and find out that I get to caddie for a familiar face. I can't reveal his name, but I did find out this little tidbit recently: he's a "dick doctor." He takes care of dicks all day. That's interesting. I mean, I suppose there has to be a doctor that takes care of that particular aspect of the medical profession, but for some reason my mind always stopped it's inquiries after I heard the word "gynecologist." Well, you learn something new everyday. I've caddied for this guy before, and he isn't known for tipping well, but from what I hear from the other caddie, the guy riding in the cart with him IS. Well, maybe they'll cancel each other out. But that wasn't important. I was just happy to be included in something the rest of the caddies were involved in.

And I was kicking some freakin' ass out there. I was practically flawless the whole round. Yardages? BAM! Lost your ball? There it is...BAM! Juggling three balls that I need to clean with two bags over my shoulders and a sand wedge in one hand? BAM! No problem beeeeotch!

But there was one mistake. I think it was bound to happen eventually, simply because I was pitching a perfect game. I got a little excited at my ass-kicking, and choked a little on the 17th. On this particular hole, one of the guys I was forecaddying for (the doctor's original cart-buddy) asked me for a yardage that I hadn't gotten to yet (his ass was in a cart). So I stopped at his ball, walked off the yardage, and did a few things wrong. First, I read the distance to the back of the green instead of the front, so that added an extra 20 yards. Then, when he corrected me, saying, "Well it's only 77 yards on this marker," I added incorrectly when I walked it off for a second time. So by the time I was done, I had given him three yardages, only one of which was right. But other than that, I hustled, helped make some key reads on the greens, and kept my mouth shut. It was exhilarating. When everything is just clicking, man. Lots of fun.

I think the only interesting highlights came from one man. Let's see. We'll call this individual "Mr. Hooksalot."

Mr. Hooksalot had a bit of a...HOOK off of the tee. He had one of those new fancy drivers with the adjustable weights. Obviously, he needs to experiment with those a little bit.

Anyway, Mr. Hooksalot reminded me of a guy back home that never showers or wears anything but a t-shirt and shorts. Mr. Hooksalot was just the more successful, more demanding version of this friend from home. Oh, and yes, he was well dressed. Another key difference.

But the most amazing thing, at least to me, was that every time the other three players decided not to use one of his shots (which happened a lot), he would just forget about his ball. He was playing with Titleist Pro V1's. Around $4 a ball if I'm not mistaken. He would just leave it and move on. I mean, of course I ran over and picked it up for him, but he was flabbergasted when I handed him the ball. "Oh, wow. Umm, thanks."

You're welcome Mr. Hooksalot.

And that was about it for today. As for the tip, ehhhh...It was nothing to write home about. But I still felt as though I had accomplished something.