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You
did it!
Caddying
for the elderly beginner had required great patience. He was doddery
but he was dogged and he had sworn to break 100 before the summer
was out. In fact there was a bottle of malt riding on it - his faithful
caddie would receive it when the magic score had been broken.
Then
arrived a day when dogged persistence seemed about to pay off for
both player and caddie. They were on the green at the eighteenth
and only 97 strokes had been accounted for.
Player
and caddie were excited and in the grip of such emotion it was small
wonder that the player sent his first putt racing three metres past
the hole.
In
a flash the caddie had dropped the flagstick, picked up the ball
and was crying excitedly. "Well done, sir! You've done it! You've
done it! Anyone would give you that."
Trevino's
ex caddie
Mulholland
believed himself a superior caddie. He certainly had a superior
attitude towards the man whose clubs he carried. Why only last month
he had caddied for Lee Trevino, and now each time his client asked
for a 5-wood, the boy would sneer,
"Lee
Trevino used a 4-iron from here." And so it continued all the way
around. The caddie recommended the clubs Trevino would have used
and the golfer's game went rapidly from bad to worse.
Finally, at the eighteenth, there was a huge lake to cross.
"OK,
know-all," said the golfer, "what would Trevino suggest here?"
"I think if Lee had come this far with you, he'd say, `Use an old
ball."'
He's
not my caddie
Rich Texans are fabled for their grand style but when one oil tycoon
appeared at a local British golf course followed by a servant pulling
a foamcushioned chaise-longue, his opponents thought that this was
taking style too far.
"J. R., are you going to make that poor caddie lug that couch all
over the course after you?" he was asked.
"Caddie,
my eye," explained J. R. "That's my psychiatrist."
How
old is that caddy
Caddiemaster, that boy isn't even eight years old."
"Better that way, sir. He probably can't count past ten."
I know the next shot
He'd sliced his drive and watched resignedly as the ball plummeted
into the woods. He followed after and found his ball - surrounded
by thick undergrowth and wedged firmly between two tree roots. He
contemplated the situation for a few profoundly silent minutes then
turned to his caddie and asked: "You know what shot I'm going to
take here."
"Yes,
sir," replied the boy as he took a hip flask of malt from the bag.
I
don't usually play this way
I want you to know that this is not the game I usually play," snapped
an irate golfer to his caddie.
"I should hope not, sir. But tell me," enquired the caddie, "what
game do you usually play?"
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