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'MAN, I'M DROPPING YOUR BAG RIGHT HERE'
George Plimpton
October 28, 1968
Just about the liveliest place to listen to golf conversation, though of a slightly different nature from what you hear in the clubhouse, is along the rail fence or out back by the shed where the touring caddies perch between the big golf bags they tend. Their rialto is here, and they rock back and forth and compare notes and swap yarns and gossip and talk of their rounds, and particularly about money and how their pros let them down: "Oh my, we're doin' jes' fine and then my man he goes an' dies on me," etc., etc.
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October 28, 1968

'man, I'm Dropping Your Bag Right Here'

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"Well, it was sure a funny place to hide," the caddie said. "I mean, every Sunday, if his wife got a look at her TV set, there her husband would be—standing behind Arnie."

When I asked the caddies along the fence if there were any players they were not wildly anxious to work for, there was a quick reaction.

"Oh my!"

A chorus of dismay went up.

" Frank Beard!"

"Man, Bert Yancey's got to head that list."

"Baby, I'll tell you, Bobby Nichols is sure on the list, and there don't have to be no squeezing to get him on!"

"Cupit!"

" Tommy Aaron!"

"Shut yo' mouth. Richard Crawford, he's the cake."

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