Caddie appreciation: an introspective tale from the original stone wall

By James Steinbauer

Opinion Editor

"Are you in school, son?" the man asks as he pops up from reading his putt and starts to lumber back into me.

He's a big man. Like Uncle Vernon from the Harry Potter series - bushy mustache and all.

"Yes, actually, I'm going into my junior year at Miami Ohio," I respond in bits as I tiptoe backwards in unison.

It's a common occurrence on the golf course. A guest, who isn't used to having a caddie, will almost always forget that we're standing right behind them reading their putt. The dance that ensues when the player rapidly snaps up and starts walking backwards can be comical, like something out of a Three Stooges episode. Once, an unassuming caddie was walked right off the edge of a green into a pond - a six-foot drop.

I know what is coming next. Something along the lines of how nice the campus is, how his daughter went to school there or how he used to visit his friends for the Green Beer Day festivities.

"Ah, the Redskins! Beautiful campus," the man retorts. "And a great business school - two of my nephews graduated from there. Hey, is that bar on the corner still there? What's it called … Skippers?"

"It's still there," I laugh. "Put this one a little right-of-center. It won't break as much as it looks like."

"Eh, I'm gonna put it outside the hole a little further and lag it in."

Okie dokie.

He misses the putt about a foot past the hole on the right side, staring at the ball dumbfounded, as if saying, "How did that not go in?" He pulls it away with his putter and fumes off to the next tee box.

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"So, what are you studying?"

"I'm double-majoring in journalism and international studies with a concentration in environmental sustainability."

This is what I have been waiting for. After two years, the feigned look of interest on the man's face is one I've become familiar with; the head nod that speaks to nothing of understanding is one that I've come to cherish.

…

Throughout my years as a caddie at a small country club east of Cleveland I amassed a collection of regulars - people who I caddied for three or more times a week.

Although they acted like they supported my chosen career path, that look of feigned interest on their faces more often revealed one of concern. You could just hear gears in their heads turning, trying to wrap around how that this kid who showed so much potential could be throwing away his life for a journalism degree.

One of the constantly touted benefits of being a caddie is making connections. Many caddies have boosted their finance careers through the connections made with prominent members, but unless they're covering the story on the member/bookie who was picked up by the feds in the middle of his approach shot on the ninth hole, there aren't many journalists frequenting a country club.

…

"I've been in environmental law for over 30 years," the man said quickly. "And these new EPA laws that Obama has passed are the most heinous I have ever seen. They just aren't feasible."

Now was not a time to talk. Oh, no. Now was a time to be quiet.

"He is going to ruin the last business that America has got going for it," another player interjected. "The coal workers hate him. He's turned the entire state of West Virginia against him. A blue state!"

"And for what? Global warming?" Mustache chimes in.

And there, on the fifth fairway, the men began their brutal crusade of the entire gamut of conservative woes.

"You know what is getting me, though? That everyone is so preoccupied with this Cecil the lion shit, yet nobody is even raising an eyebrow over Planned Parenthood selling baby parts!"

"I'll tell you now, there's a special place in hell reserved for those people."

"So, what does your parish think of the new Supreme Court ruling?"

"All I'm gonna say is that Roberts got it right in the final sentence of his dissent when he said 'celebrate today's decision … but do not celebrate the constitution.'"

Why should I break a sweat over, why should I even remotely care that this man, this dangerously ignorant, conservative stranger, sinks his putt? Because after eight years of building a reputation, of gaining regulars, I just fucking do.

I could stop everything I'm doing; I could throw this man's clubs in his face, rattle off a volley of debates against his feckless comments and walk off the course. But, at the same time, I have a profound longing to be valued by this person - to be appreciated. For him to respect the decisions I make and the service I give. So is the paradox of working as a caddie.