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No one will ever know. Though if you polled the caddies at the Grill after the third round last Saturday—"Tiger misread about five or six putts: 13, 15 and 16," they chimed—they'd all tell you that Woods's caddie, Steve Williams, is very good at stomping around, marking off yardage for Tiger. Excellent stomper, in fact.
Putting eye? Not so good. "That's why players come here," said one 60ish caddie who declined to give his name for fear of losing future jobs. "They need us, but they don't want us. Know what I mean?"
The snub occurred 25 years ago, but it still smarts. Once the servile job of caddying went white-collar, the evolving corporate class of millionaire bagmen—from Fluff Inc. to Steve ( Valvoline) Williams—pushed Augusta National's everyday caddies behind the ropes of the Masters.
Scratch that. "Ropes? We can't even get a badge to get in the gate from Billy Payne," Harrison said of the Augusta National chairman. It wasn't Payne but one of his predecessors, Hord Hardin, who marked the beginning of the caddies' end in working the Masters. He waived the club-caddies-only policy before the 1983 tournament, relenting to players who demanded a bag carrier of their own choosing.
Some have chosen wisely over the years. Others turn to brothers-in-law, childhood pals or celebrities. Whatever decision they make, many golfers return to the Augusta National caddies at the Masters, if only when they steer toward the Grill. And when they pull up to the building on Wheeler Road, they'll see the faded mural of Burnt Biscuits.
Maybe they know him: He was the Masters caddie for a 19-year-old amateur named Tiger Woods in 1995. It was also the year that Crenshaw, who couldn't break 70 in the month before Augusta, took a couple of tips from Jackson. Four swings later he was ripping the ball. Five days later he was slipping on the green jacket.
Did that really happen? It seems like a mirage.