Last Saturday afternoon, Brad Faxon and I were walking along the 13th fairway at Westchester Country Club in Harrison, N.Y., during the third round of the Buick Classic. I was caddying for Charlie Rymer, who was one under par. Faxon, who was four under, knew that I had been at Rymer's side all week. "What's the most interesting thing you've learned about Charlie?" he asked.
"That the only things he doesn't eat are black olives and salmon," I replied without hesitation.
Faxon was stunned. The cherubic Rymer, all 6'4" and 250 pounds of him, is far and away the PGA Tour's most obsessive gourmand. His every conversation, on and off the course, somehow relates to food. To Faxon it was unfathomable that there was anything edible Rymer would pass up.
"How'd you find that out?" Faxon asked.
"Caddies know everything," I answered.
There is nowhere, not home, office, favorite barstool or shrink's couch, that a golfer bares more of his or her true self than on the golf course. And there is nobody who gets a better take on a golfer's every nuance than the caddie.
I base these claims not on hard scientific evidence but on something more reliable: 12 years of caddying. I made my first loop—one bag for nine holes—when I was 10 and toted bags every summer until I got out of college in 1989.
I spent my first six years looping at the Scarsdale (N.Y.) Golf Club and the next six at Westchester, where, before last week's adventure, I had caddied for fledgling pros in four Buick Classics: Clyde Rego ('84), Terry Snodgrass ('85), Tom Gleeton ('86) and Ted Schulz ('87).
With these experiences under my belt I was dispatched last week for an inside-the-ropes look at the life of a PGA Tour pro.
Monday, May 15