The Great Moofta

A sign up sheet appeared on the door to the caddie room a few days ago and it advertised a tournament taking place on July 6th. There were 39 numbered blanks for caddies to sign in their name. One day later, all of the blanks were filled with a few add-on names were written in for alternates. Fortunately, I was able to catch the sign-up sheet before it filled up. As a caddie at a private club, you NEED to work in a tournament because a good tip is all but a certainty. Obviously, all of the other caddies realized this. But there was one interesting aspect of the sign-up sheet.

"Arrive no later than 9 am."

For some reason this struck me as weird because normally the sheet would read: "Arrive AROUND 9 am." I wonder if the boss is cracking down on latecomers or if this is simply to encourage certain lazy bums to get into work on time.

I was having some trouble waking up this morning and I walked into the cart barn at 9:06 am. Two minutes later, the boss walks out, calls the meeting to order, and tells the first caddie he sees to shut the garage door. This in turn forces any of the late caddies to enter through the side door, instantly highlighting the fact that they were late.

There were three caddies that walked in around 9:12 and the boss made a point of reaming them out in front of everyone.

"Yeah, guys? Go wait outside. I don't want to see ya. I'm focusing right now on speaking with the caddies who actually got here ON TIME today. I'm going to work them and not you."

Wow. Thank God there wasn't any excess traffic this morning; otherwise I would've been benched just like those unfortunate three. But he gave me a pairing and soon I was ready to go.

The only problem was, I couldn't freakin' HEAR HIM as he called out my assignment. Once the other caddies started hearing their name being called out they realized they could stop focusing on listening and just start talking with as many people as possible.

So what I thought I heard was: "Mr. Bosteakas."

So I walk up to the carts in the circle and start looking for a name that even REMOTELY resembles this mystery member.

After I walked around the circle two or three times I finally decided I should ask the boss to clarify.

"Mr. Bosteakas."

Sure. No problem. I'm only back to square one. 30 minutes from now we’ll be teeing off and I have no idea what the hell is going on. Where are my players? Is he simply pulling my leg because I came in at 9:06 instead of 9:00? Am I even WORKING today?

So I finally built up the courage to ask the boss again.

“I’m sorry. This will be the last time I ask you. But what hole am I on? I can’t seem to find my players.”

“Hole 7. Actually, your players are right over there.”

Oh. Simple.

So I walk over and introduce myself. Kind of. Because I still don’t know my players’ names, the introduction leaves something to be desired.

“Hi, I’m Tom. I believe I’ll be helping you guys out today.”

“Hey Tom. Nice to meet you.”

And that was it. STILL no names. Damn it. I shook his hand as he was walking off of the range with 4-5 clubs in his hand, and if I was following standard operating procedures I should’ve taken his clubs from him, brought them over to his cart and started to clean them while he was making his way over.

Nope. It was “plan B” for me. I was just going to smile, turn around and run away. For some reason I thought FINDING his cart was more important than actually helping him out. And finally, there it was. The carts for hole number 7. Now I had their names and I finally knew where I should be standing before we headed out to the tee. I had a purpose in life again.

Oh yeah. And the names? NOTHING LIKE “Bosteakas.” That wasn’t even close. No wonder the other caddies looked at me like I was Tyrone Biggums asking for crack.

The cool thing about today was that the other two in my group included a caddie. One of the caddies I work with is a professional golfer, and somehow he was asked to play in the tournament with one of the members. And you should’ve seen it. Everybody and their mother was saying hi to him and wishing him luck. All of the caddies were giving him hugs and shaking his hand telling him how cool it was that he was able to play in this today.

And it was cool. It felt like one of “us” was a contender in this little tournament. Kind of like “The Longest Yard” when the convicts got the chance to play the guards. Finally, the caddies had a lone fighter able to go out into the field and blow everyone away. Now, it’s not like the caddies are treated poorly at this club, but it was a great feeling to see another caddie being treated as an equal among all of these millionaires and billionaires.

And the day couldn’t have gone any better. The two players I worked with were hilarious. The member had the worst swing I’ve ever seen in my life. AND he was left-handed. So that just amplified things for me. He would stand over the ball with both of his feet together, take the club halfway back as a part of his pre-shot routine, squat a little, pop back up, and then make the ugliest hockey check-swing you’ve ever seen. It was like a “crip-walk” with arthritis. Plus he looked like Larry David and talked like Mel Brooks. I mean, you just can’t get a funnier character than that.
”You know, it just occurred to me. My score means absolutely nothing. I think my pro has beaten me on every hole. I could put down whatever I WANTED as a score and you know what? It wouldn’t matter. So you see my ball right here? I’m lying one.”

He was pointing to his ball on the green on a 575-yard par 5.

“I am so hungry right now. I’m just going to beat the living shit out of this ball so we can go in and eat. Yes: We must eat. The great Moofta has spoken.”

And to top it all off, the caddie/professional was playing some of the best golf I’ve ever seen. All of the professionals were playing off of the “Gold Tees,” which play around 7500 yards with a slope of 145 and a rating of 76.5. Yeah, it’s a beast. We started on 7, and by the 17th hole, this caddie/professional/Cinderella-story-out-of-nowhere was 5-under par. Yeah, you heard me right. 5-under par.

He ended up making a couple of bogeys (3-putts) and one more birdie to finish with a 68. It was incredible to watch. On the 3rd hole he hit his drive 356 yards. And to think, that was one of the holes he bogeyed. Talk about ridiculous.

So it was a great day. I got to see one of my own kick some major ass, and I was working with an escaped mental patient. All I need now is a cold beer and I’m in heaven. Well, as long as the beer is good. THEN I’m in heaven.