Thursday, March 31, 2005

An even longer day: my first double

I'll try to be brief. There was a lot that happened today, but let me try to pick out the highlights.
I guess first and foremost, I was curious as to how much I should say on the golf course. For example: in my first round, I caddied for a guy who was obviously coming down too steep and cutting across the ball. The resulting shots were never consistent or pleasant. He kept asking everyone, "What the hell am I doing?" Now I was told during training that the less you say as a caddie (as far as non-tour caddies are concerned), the better your tip. Because statistically, the more you say, the more you can be wrong about. I ended up not saying anything, but I felt bad. I mean, this is the first time the guy played in 6 months, so I think I made the right call. He should just be out there to try to have fun. Plus, I'm an inexperienced caddie. And I'm sure he knew that. I don't know. I think I did the right thing. Although, I suppose that's what defines you as a caddie--if you have the balls to give out advice--otherwise, you'd probably just be considered a bag carrier who does some occasional forecaddying.

Anyway, moving along.

On the 16th these guys (who were extremely cool by the way) actually let us hit a tee shot. They were having a closest-to-the-pin contest and decided to let the caddies in on it. The club I used was a little short, so I faded it off the green. But it didn't matter whether I hit the green or not. It just felt great to swing a club again.

On the 18th my man got a phone call. It wasn't a good call. I could tell before he even hung up. He looked sick. I figured a deal went bad at the office. I was right, but I had underestimated just exactly HOW bad it really was.

"I just lost $500 million."

For a second I almost laughed. It sounded ridiculous, like an Austin Powers joke or something. But no, it was no joke.

"I mean, it's not my money, but I was supposed to get a piece of that."


He left a pretty good tip for someone who had just had about the worst business day ever. I shook all their hands and was making my way out to the parking lot when my boss called out, "Hey, you good for another 18?"

Um, yeah. I guess so.

"Good. Meet me out front in about 10."

And so it went. I ended up carrying for a guy with some amazing ability. In fact, the whole foursome wasn't that bad. I would call out a yardage or read a putt, and they would hit it exactly where I told them to. It felt great. Felt like I was actually doing something.

My only problem was with the other two guys I was caddying with. One of them was new and wouldn't stop asking questions. Which I know you have to do that when you're new, but they came all the time, and his compliments to the players were all so incredibly fake. You could tell he just had one of those personalities that THOUGHT he knew how to schmooze, but he really has no idea. And the other kid was really cocky. Some young punk. On the 11th--which is a par-3 over water to a small landing area--he leans over to me and says, "I bet you at least one of them puts it in the water."

I looked up after this comment, and yep, the member heard him. Smooth move you little bastard.

But it happened again.

The second player to hit put it in the water. So he turns to me again, "I bet the next one puts it in the water too."


I mean, that's what I WANTED to say. But I ended up just staring at him.

But by the end, the tip ended up being satisfactory. But I was convinced it could've been better. I mean, I know I'm not that experienced yet, but those guys were terrible.

Anyway, another day, another dollar. Take it easy ya'll.

Tuesday, March 29, 2005

Long freakin' day

Got into work around 7:30 this morning.

Joked around with the guys, watched some golf, and after a little while, I started to realize how slow it was going to be today. The last couple of days brought rain, and although it wasn't raining today, I knew people were thinking it was going to be very wet. So that meant I was checking my watch every half hour, wondering how much longer I could stay there. Around 11:30, I was definitely at the end of my rope.

But there was word of a foursome. Great.

Well, yes, I really wanted to leave. But apparently three of these guys weren't members, which meant that they would have to tip a little more than normal because the caddies couldn't receive their normal bag fee (all caddies receive a small fee per bag, per round when caddying for members).

That meant some cold hard cash. Sweet. I'm in.

I went over to the range to meet the other caddie and the four guys I'd be seeing 5 hours of today. They all seemed nice, but I was a little skeptical about their playing abilities. And sure enough, the other caddie told me I'd be carrying the two bags with the worst swings. And one was a lefty. I mean, I got nothing against lefty's, I just can't comprehend how the hell they hit the ball. That's just weird. Why don't they stand on the other side of the ball like everybody else?

But the round progressed pretty well. Pretty slowly, but pretty well. One of my players was pissed half the time and ended up breaking his pitching wedge in half on the 12th. He screwed up on 11, and he looked like he wanted to break it over his knee right then and there. But he held back.

Hey man, I know the club didn't do anything to you, and it was all your fault, but MAN. That went way the hell over the green. Do it. That club has been an asshole to you today. It's laughing at you. You couldn't hit it if the clubhead had a sweet spot as big as your head. But hey, that's just my own personal opinion.

And then he broke it over his knee on 12 after a flubbed chip. I mean, I don't know about him, but I felt satisfied.

The lefty ended up being surprisingly good. He wasn't very strong, but he was a damn good putter. With every read the other caddie gave him, he was dead on. As long as the other caddie read it for him, he made it. I learned that very quickly, and that's why I stopped reading putts altogether after the 5th hole. I suck at reading putts. I suck at reading putts when I'm the one making the swings. I wouldn't want to put that on somebody else any more than I have to.

Oh yeah, random thought: my boss ripped a really loud fart when he came in this morning. And of the two or three I've heard out of him, I have to say, he's consistent. Bravo. Both the cheeks AND the ass-hair were clenched and positioned correctly to emit the same distinct explosion. Sounded kind of wet actually. Hope he didn't stain his pants.

But anyway, moving along.

By the 14th, I was ready to die. The day turned out to be really nice, and I was wearing a black jacket underneath my bib and the sun was baking me. The bags started growing exponentially in mass. And yes, of course they would have to split me at this moment. Lefty hit a decent drive, but Happy Gilmore over here skanked yet ANOTHER tee shot right. He was so pissed. "What the hell!!? What am I doing??" Well, first of all, you set up to the ball with the driver face WIDE OPEN. Which meant you'd either slice it or duck hook it trying to compensate. Square that bitch up and stop your whining.

But they both repaid me on 16. They both hit the green and stuck it about 10-15 feet from the hole. And from then on, it was pretty much smooth sailing. Even with all the complaining from my players (they were both mad at their performance), they said they had a great time. And it really was. I mean, I'm tired, hungry, and wind-burned, but you know, I could definitely think of worse places to be. I think I'm starting to enjoy this job whether I'd like to admit it or not.

Monday, March 28, 2005

If we hurry, we can see NCAA

Today was the day. My day's of carrying only one bag are over. Now it's on to two.

To tell you the truth, I didn't think I could do it. I know how much you have to move around for one bag. And now I will have TWO bags to worry about? Forget about it. But I found out very quickly that it isn't much different.

The worst holes were the ones that "split" me. When one of my players would hook and the other sliced, that meant trouble. And on the 8th hole, it happened not once, not twice, but three times. They seemed to use the middle of the fairway as a slalom course. And this is a long, uphill par 5. I had a quick glimpse of what climbing Mt. Everest would be like. And when I reached the top and handed them their putters, I was relieved. If they had asked me their score, that would've been another story. I would've crapped my pants. Because after all that, there's no way I could've remembered another number.

But all in all, it wasn't that bad. One of my players brought a towel with him and preferred to clean his clubs personally, and the other never seemed to want to get a yardage from me.

Until the back nine.

Now about this guy who didn't want to hear the yardages. When we started, he was all business, no conversation. And I suppose by the end he was about the same. But for a few holes in the middle, I felt like a caddie. And that was a really cool feeling.

Here's what happened.

I started realizing that the more suave and professional I behaved, the better he played, and the more he wanted yardages and advice. I would walk onto the greens quickly and give him the signal to toss me his ball, and I would clean it quickly, toss the towel over my shoulder, and hand him the ball as I knelt down to read his putt in case he asked. And he actually asked me a few times for my thoughts about the line. True, I had no clue whatsoever, and I don't think he listened anyway, but it was the thought that counts.

Yes, this stuff I'm doing is not only obvious, but it is also ridiculously obvious. I mean, it's obscene how obvious this stuff is. But I'll tell you: when you do it in a cool, collected manner like you know what the hell you're doing and you don't look rushed, you get results. And when you feel like a caddie, it is, well, wicked awesome.

And, of course, to add to the stress, they were all moving quickly because they wanted to avoid the rain and get home to watch some of the NCAA Tournament. And despite all of the rushing, I wasn't very tired when we finished. My feet didn't hurt. My back didn't hurt. Even my lower bicep on my left arm--which normally doesn't even exist--didn't hurt. But as soon as I got in my car and started to drive, whoa. My feet hurt, my back hurt, my eyes were watering and closing on their own, and yes, for all of you keeping track, my lower bicep on my left arm was EXTREMELY tired.

But even after all that, I went and played two rounds at a par-3 nine-hole course nearby. And it was great. I was hitting high wedges, imparting some wicked spin, hitting 3/4 pitching wedges into the slope of these AWESOME greens. Well, maybe they weren't. But I'll tell you, this muni-style course has greens that would OWN this ultra-exclusive club right now. True, come July I probably wouldn't even want to look at these muni-crap greens. But right now, they're gorgeous. Wonderful slopes and readable breaks, and they were receptive. So very soft. I stroked one a few times. It was nice.

But moving along. I need to get some sleep. Yes, it's only like 10:24 pm, but I've been up for too long today. I have tomorrow off. Time to sleep in.

Saturday, March 26, 2005

Another Day, Another Dollar

For some reason it was incredibly hard to wake up and/or get to work by 7:40 am. I think I'm starting to get old. But I did it. And to my surprise, there were 6 or 7 guys there already looking sharp and ready to go. So I followed suit and got on my bib.

I would sit around for about 3 hours before I got a bag. But to tell you the truth, it wasn't that bad. Lots of good conversation, lots of wisdom. My boss's sister apparently was born with certain "deficiencies." She was born with a condition similar to Terri Schiavo. His sister is blind and receives her meals through something called a "G-Tube." She's been in this vegetative state since she was born. Talk about tough.

My boss said that with all the controversy and moral questions being thrown around with this Schiavo situation, he just has one question: "Can she eat?"

He agreed with the moral implications--she could be very comfortable right now and not want to die, or she could be suffering and want you to pull the plug, but can't say so herself--but he said that if she can't eat by herself, taking out the feeding tube is murder. Wow. Well, I'll stop with this topic for the moment. All of America has been inundated with this case for a while now. But again, I just wanted to point out that just because their carrying your bags and getting yardages, caddies do have a lot to say. And most of what they say can be very enlightening.

So I finally got a bag. A Korean foursome. Deja-vu. Maybe.

Well, it started off well. They made the wagers at the start, and never exchanged any money throughout the round. And my man hit an awesome opening tee shot. The guy looked like he could shoot 75. Turns out he really sucked. But hey, he was very jovial and was a fairly easy to keep track of.

I think there were only a couple things that really annoyed me today. First and foremost, I have not played this course yet. True, it's very very ultra exclusive. But if I haven't played the course, how do you expect me to feel comfortable with yardages I'm giving people or the reads I'm making on putts? I would call out 128 for a yardage, and I KNEW there was a large uphill before the green. I'm not stupid. I know you'd need a little more distance. The two guys I caddied with today were both calling out yardages for everyone to hear. So that 128 I called out turned into 148. I was nervous, because at this point I'm not at liberty to disagree with their call. I'm still the rookie. But I wasn't sure if my guy needed all that club. And as it turned out, he didn't. He flew the green, and looked at me with this weird look on his face. Probably saying to himself: "You're a caddie. This is what you do. And you suck. I lose more and more confidence the more yardages I take from you."

And when our foursome was walking to 9, I was following closely behind two of the players, and although I couldn't hear exactly what they were saying, they sounded like they were confirming my fears. They weren't happy with the yardages they were being given. They were getting "more and more afraid to take the club back." So that deflated me a bit. I felt kinda helpless. I mean, if I KNEW what the hell I was talking about, there wouldn't be this problem.

By the time we got to the 16th I had to pee so bad I think my back teeth were starting to float. So as soon as my guy hit the green, I gave him his putter and darted into the woods in between 16 and 17, thinking this was perfect. I can set down the bag and it's ready for the next hole, and I can also take a piss, which I've been dying to do since the 11th. And that pee was feeling pretty good until I started looking around and realized that I really had no cover at all where I was standing. The trees really didn't have any leaves or pine or anything even resembling foliage. So when I looked to my right, I could see one of the players in plain sight. I can only imagine what it must've looked like from his perspective: bare tree, bare tree, a few sticks and twigs, a tall caddy taking a really long, that's pleasant...more bare trees, twigs, and so on and so forth. But hey, when you gotta go, you gotta go.

Then the big jovial Korean man I was caddying for started falling apart.

Apparently he came up with his own technique for gripping the club. I couldn't fully understand what his reasoning for this was, but apparently for his woods he would use a weak grip, and for his irons he would use a strong grip. So, needless to say, when the wheels started coming off, he started spraying his tee ball right. Way right. And then he was having trouble walking because he's really old. I kinda felt bad for him. Then he hit it in ANOTHER trap. My sympathy was gone. Come on old man. Get it there. Wow. That's a little mean. But yeah, I was getting hungry and frustrated. On the bright side, he was one hell of a putter. I counted it up, and by the end, he had 7 one-putts. I mean, he wasn't scoring well, but from 15 feet in, he was on fire.

Well that's about it for now. Talk to everyone tomorrow.

They called me "Mr. Tom"

You know, despite the fact that I really want to keep these posts as small as possible, they always end up being long. You have to scroll down to read the whole thing. Which I guess is the way it should be, but I will continue to try and be a little more concise.

Today was a little ridiculous.

Today, I met my first Korean foursome. In all actuality, however, it was a threesome, because the member had some back problems that kept acting up and he decided to ride in the cart for 18 holes. And surprisingly, all three of his guests still wanted to play the course today even though it was going to rain through most of the round.

Everyone in the caddyshack groaned when they first saw this foursome walking up to the tee. Nobody wanted to take them. But, lucky them, I was the "junior" caddie. So I was chosen. Another caddie ended up joining me, and he ended up carrying two bags. TWO. I suppose it's really not a big thing, but right now I'm so focused on carrying one that I can't seem to fathom what carrying two would be like. I guess it's just a lot of running around.

So we both found out very quickly that out of the four of them, the member was the only one who spoke English. I mean sure, the other three knew the key phrases: "good shot," and...well...I guess the rest they knew I could at least understand. Here are some examples and suggested translations so you know what I mean:

Comment: "Mr. Tom (this is what they called both me and the other caddy, because I suppose my name had the easiest phonemes to pronounce and remember), is this a PGA course?"

Translation: "Do PGA players play here?" Obvious enough, but there's more.

Comment: "Mr. Tom, I am five."

Translation: "I need my 5-iron."

Comment: "Mr. Tom, is this a middle hole?"

Translation: "Is this a par 4?"

Comment: "Oooooohhh...grrrrrauuughhhh! Montagnya...montagnya..."

Translation: "That was a shitty shot."

There were more, but you get the point. Not only did they all move very fast (quite a challenge for a junior caddie such as myself), but they loved to grunt and groan. And I'm sure they were talking about me and the other caddie. That was annoying. My man and one of the others were gambling. But it was unbelievable. In America, you set the ground rules, and you settle the bet after the round is over. These two exchanged money after EVERY HOLE. EVERY HOLE. I asked the other caddy if this is normal. He nodded and added, "I just don't think they trust each other after the first hole."

But all in all my guy was nice. And they all had fun swings to watch. You got a little rush every time they made contact. Because you knew you might not have to go into yet ANOTHER bunker and rake it.

And I'm going to end this, because I can tell it's already long. Sorry again. But there will be more attempts.

Thursday, March 24, 2005

New Approach

So I was reading over my first two posts and I noticed something. They sound funny. At least to me. And I think it's because I edit and proofread and edit some more. Ad nauseum. And I know that's a great approach for a lot of people, and all of the sites claiming that they have "tips" for bloggers will preach beautifully organized writing, but I just don't want to edit that much anymore. It makes my writing seem unoriginal and slightly impersonal. Plus, I think it takes all the fun out of blogging. You're just supposed to speak your peace whenever you want. Excessive editing does not match up well with my stream-of-consciousness, "Gonzo journalist" attempt at a writing style. So, that being said, I think the rest of my aritcles will be a little more entertaining and a little more personal. At least that's the goal.

So I jotted down seven quick conversation pieces today while I made my loop:

1. Dirty stories from a bouncer
2. Everyone trying to talk at once
3. How much I hate putter covers
4. The guy was cool
5. 15 clubs in the bag
6. I talked too much
7. My shoes got soaked

I'll touch on some of these. Perhaps all. It depends on how much time I spend on each one. But first and foremost, my boss used to be a bouncer. He spent almost 2 hours this morning telling the weirdest stories you've ever heard. I'm talking "Taxicab Confessionals." Stories of sex, drinking, whatever. It was all there. He can really tell a story man. You can't seem to focus on anything else. But man those stories were graphic. Can't believe I had the stomach for some of them.

Occasionally I'd try to get in a word edge-wise. But everyone there likes to talk so much. It was near impossible. I guess that's all I have to say about that.

Putter covers. Not until today did I call them into question. Why do we need them? I mean, you're talking titanium, steel, and a whole lot of other composites going into the mix when they make your clubs. Are you worried about denting your putter? I mean, I know you swing it pretty hard. At least I do. But anyway, I kept dropping this guy's damn putter cover. And not like four or five yards away. No. That would've been cake. We would finish a hole, and when I was grabbing the bag, I'd realize I dropped the thing two-hundred yards back down the fairway. Wait. Scratch that. He hardly ever hit the fairway. Make that deep rough. And it was a Nicklaus putter. I mean for a Scotty Cameron, sure. But a Nicklaus? I mean, I know the guy's won a lot of stuff, but come on. Some putters don't deserve covers.

The guy was cool. Well, I mean, I guess. He was really cool at first, but by the end of the round, he only left me a $30 tip. When, from what I understand, $40 is the minimum. Bastard. I probably ruined my pants and shoes raking all those freakin' traps you were in today and...well...I mean, you know. I strained my eyes looking for his ball. Cause I can't lose it. Cause that's a rule. It's also a rule not to speak unless spoken to. Guess I screwed that one up. Maybe that's why I got dicked over on that tip. Idiot.

The guy had 15 clubs in his bag. I didn't realize this until 17. I counted like 5 times. For some reason that was fascinating to me. But yeah, 15 clubs. Not sure why he needed that many. He only used like 5 of them all day. He made it a habit to skull-hook a lob wedge to run it up onto the greens. It was the most amazing shot I'd ever seen in my life. Who says you can't do that with a lob wedge? Then again, he also chunked a lot. Which sucked because he really knew how to lay over the sod and he kept spraying dirt all over me. But yeah, 15 clubs. It was pretty amazing.

And my favorite brand and make of sneakers got soaked. But it was totally worth it. I brought in a smell of sweat and goose-shit into the caddyshack. It took someone 30 minutes to say, "dude, who farted?" Reason number 4,356 why men have it better than women. Our noses aren't as alert.

But that's all for now. It was a pretty crappy day outside today. Maybe tomorrow will be better.

Wednesday, March 23, 2005

The First Loop

So this morning I woke up early. Really early. I got on some golf attire and headed out the door at 6:45 am. Was today the day? Would I finally meet the right people and learn something about caddying? Yes, yes I would.

When I arrived the setting was magnificent. The air was brisk and the morning mist was slowly lifting off of the dew-soaked grass with an elegance seldom seen on the local muni courses I had hacked around in my youth. The sunlight kept trying to cut through the fog, and after about an hour, it succeeded. The course looked beautiful. I suddenly forgot about the crazy traffic on the way in, the bills I had piling up at home, even my mother. I chuckled to myself. Am I really going to have an opportunity to play this bitch? Sweet.

The first two guys I met were alright--nonchalant, and I suppose their clothes were pressed--they soon forgot my name, however, as they were engrossed in a conversation about Texas Hold-em. But it didn't bother me. I thought: wow. Between the beauty of this course and talk of poker, I'm just about set. All I need now is a Samuel Smith Oatmeal Stout and a few dirty jokes and I'd be in heaven for the summer.

Then my boss came in.

He seemed like a nice guy. Just very intimidating. For some reason he reminded me of my brother. The only differences were that he was a little taller and he owns a business. But he can still bullshit with the best of them, just like my brother.

At one point my boss gave me "the manual." THE--or, at least HIS--OFFICIAL CADDY GUIDE. Some interesting stuff in there. Some basic stuff, like you're never supposed to go into a players' bag without their permission, or you're never supposed to speak unless spoken to, or whatever. There were even some definitions in the back, and one of them caught my eye: the definition of a shank. Something to the effect of "...when the ball hits the toe of the club and shoots off to the right." Sensing the discrepancy in laws of physics, I read it again. Nope. Still said the same thing. Now maybe I'm rusty, but I think what that should've said was: "...when the ball hits the HOZEL...blah blah blah." But I'm a rookie. What do I know. But the guide did allude to the fact that caddying is an "art-form." I like that.

And then it happened. My training was about to begin. A two-some was going out and they wanted me to caddy for a former-caddy. I'm not gonna lie. I was a little nervous. Caddying for someone who's already an expert. I wonder what I'll forget to do. But then I was like, "man, I've played golf for a while. What's the difference?" Turns out it's very different.

I threw on a bib and grabbed a scorecard. I didn't have to grab much else, because my bib was already littered with tees, pencils, and yardage booklets. Who's bib was this? Why the hell was there so much shit in here? It "chinked" whenever I moved faster than a rock--which unfortunately happened often. Stupid useless crap.

One of the caddy masters carted me up the first fairway and dropped me off. I turned around and looked at my first victim.

This former caddy was actually pretty cool. He was my age, and he'd been working on his game for a while. He'd already passed his PAT and he was going to try to make a career out of golf. More power to him.

I found out very quickly that there are a lot of weird things to remember while caddying. And by "weird things to remember," I mean I forgot these things. Often. Things like bringing the players' driver to the green with you, so when they're done putting, you can trade clubs with them and run like hell up the next fairway to watch and see where their next tee-ball ends up. Then you're supposed to use hand signals to let them know what happened with their tee shot. A football-referee's signal for a successful field goal is the symbol for a drive that ends up in the fairway. If your player goes out-of-bounds, you're supposed to create an "X" over your head with your arms. If they land in a bunker, you're supposed to blah blah blah. You get the point. So basically, I forgot a lot of stuff and I'm running in front of these rich people making airport runway gestures. I'm sure I looked like a crackhead.

And the caddy's golden rule? Don't lose your players' ball.

Fortunately, my player was a good stick, and I didn't have to stray too far from the fairway to retrieve his ball. In fact, his ball was never really in danger of being lost. But he definitely skanked a few of them. That's when I realized that there is a feel that has to be developed by a caddie. Yes, you want to run as far up the fairway as possible in order to get the best view of a players' drive, but if you head up the fairway too far, and your player SKANKS it, then you have to run back. Kind of like a walk of shame in college. That happened once today. Which was kind of ridiculous in my opinion. I mean, this kid's a scratch golfer. What's with the topped tee shot? I'm way worse than you and I can't remember the last time I did that. But anyway, where was I?

Oh yeah.

The flag on the flagstick is never supposed to touch the ground. You're supposed to stand at either 9 o'clock or 3 o'clock in relation to your player, and not at 6 or 12. This includes your shadow. Which is a "part of you." When in the fairway, you have to know when it's okay to leave a bag in another players' sight-line and when it isn't (I think I'm going to struggle with this one for a while).

Oh, and a caddy will help their player read putts. My player, even though he was cool, only let me read one putt for him today. And I quote: "As a caddy, you're going to have to learn how to read putts. So read this putt for me. ...I mean, I won't listen to you, but if it makes you feel better, you can read it." Thanks bud.

I read left center, and he aimed a couple inches right. And guess what? The ball missed the hole on the right side by just a few inches.

I'll let you think about that one for a moment Mr. Scratch-Golfer.

So I could go on, but I think this is about as long as a post should be. Plus, I'm going to be working at this course all summer, so I'm sure I'm going to keep elaborating on my experiences as a caddie for you. But I hoped you enjoyed this little segment. I'll be back soon.

Monday, March 21, 2005

Hello World

Well here I am. The first post of many.

For those of you who don't know, a "Jam Boy" is--or was--an actual title at one point in history. In the early 1920s, when the wealthy went golfing, they hired two men. A caddy, and a "Jam Boy." The Jam Boy had one job: keep the mosquitoes away from the golfer. To do this, the Jam Boy would cover himself in jelly to attract the bugs. Sounds like an amazing job.

To be honest, I'm not exactly sure why I decided to name this site after this elite class of gentlemen. I guess there are just a lot of things eating away at me these days. So, naturally I'd like to share my daily thoughts and rants with you.

I'm also going to be caddying for the first time this summer at a very prestigious golf course in Northern Virginia. I use the term "caddy" loosely here, because I realize that in order to be considered a caddy, I not only have to know what the hell I'm doing out there, but I also have to have the balls to speak up and tell a player he's being an idiot. At least on occasion.

I'm sure between the day-to-day comedy of caddying and my own personal thoughts this site should not only be fun to read but also fun to bookmark. Hint hint. I hope to be updating at least every other day, if not every day, and I also plan on customizing this site so nobody has to wade through a lot of boring links and useless material. My goal is content, content, content.