Happy Caddie’s Day!
Michael Greller, a former 7th grade math teacher, carries the bag for Jordan Spieth. This past weekend at the U.S. Open at Oakmont (a brutal course which forces golfers to zig and zag—and throw clubs . . . and hit backward . . . and curse the rough and kick the sand . . .), he averaged walking around seven miles per eighteen holes. That’s a 28-mile weekend by the time the sun set on Father’s Day. And that’s just the steps Greller took in front of the galleries and cameras while lugging a 40-pound weight over his right shoulder. It doesn’t count the daily pre-round super sleuthing or the trips to the range and back or the post-round data collection for the upcoming day. How many steps he trod, only his Fitbit knows.
Such is the way of life for a caddie, the world’s most incognito athletes whose profession is a masterclass on how to make a difference while staying out of the way.
Phil Mickelson consults with his longtime caddy Jim "Bones" MacKay at Muirfield Village Golf Club in 2014. (Source: Ed Balaun, CC by SA-4.0)
Caddies have a slew of jobs chock full of absolutes. There are things you have to know. Like yardages and trouble spots and how the greens roll depending on the weather or the time of day. Etiquette standards… like when to pull the pin and where to stand once you have pulled it, how to rake a trap and what to do with the tool once you are done. It matters how fast you walk, how much you talk, how well you watch the ball, how clean you keep the clubs. But that’s simply the price of admission. The greater job is how you handle all the wavy things that come without a rule book. Physical fitness matters but human nature hardiness matters even more.
Phil Mickelson, winner of forty-five events on the PGA Tour and his quarter of a century caddie, Jim “Bones” Mackay, began their brilliant professional partnership in a somewhat unlikely manner. When Mickelson was ready to turn pro, his college coach, Steve Loy, assisted him in trying to identify a caddie who could add value to Phil on the bag. He sought the advice of Bones, a notable professional caddie who was working for several different golfers at the time. Bones provided some information on a short list of potential candidates before being interrupted by the player he was caddying for that day. A few days later, Loy received a note from Bones apologizing for the prematurely cut-off conversation. He also included his phone number and an availability for further questions might any remain.
That gesture sealed the deal.
I’m certain both Loy and Mickelson knew that Bones Mackay knew golf. It’s not always that hard to tell who does and doesn’t. But what his manners revealed was something they knew a young golfer turning pro would need. Bones was a savant behind the scenes. He noticed things that were wrinkled—things people who crave bright light often miss-- and took it upon himself to iron them out. He was bold enough to not need to be seen. In the shadows, it seemed Bones danced.
This is what earns a caddie his keep.
The mostly anonymous carriers of the bag must have thick skin, quick feet, open hands and ginormous servant hearts. So much happens up and down a stretch of eighteen holes that no one could have told them would. As the go-between in the war zone between the golfer and his game, a caddie’s job is to strip the chaff from the grain while delicately holding the swinger’s psyche in the sweaty palm of his hand.
A job way harder (and more “complexer”) than logging twenty-eight miles.
If a person can be a caddie, he can be most anything.