All real caddies love St. Andrews. My first time there was in 1984, when I worked for Fred Couples during the British Open. Fred had never seen the course and showed up late because he had to go back home to get his passport, but I had every church spire and monument doped out. Fred tied for fourth by hitting nothing but hooks off the tee, even though a St. Andrews caddie nicknamed the Professor had told him, "You can nae approach from the left at the Old Course." To that I replied, "Hey, pal, you have nae seen a man who can hit a wedge 150 yards." Coming up the 18th on Friday, the wind was howling in our faces, and my man pulled out an eight-iron from 115 yards. I told him, "Fred, the original 19th hole in all of golf is over those bleachers, and if you hit that eight-iron, you are going to beat me there." So he killed a nine-iron to the back of the green, and for the next 20 seconds it trickled toward the hole. When the ball finally dropped, 5,000 boozed-up Euros unleashed the loudest roar I have ever heard.