The Angry Golfer

Don't Be This Guy

When I was 11 years old, I started caddying at a local country club. The caddies were mostly older men. I was the only boy in the group.

My Dad dropped me off at the club one Saturday morning to caddy. I remember the air being cool, and the dew glistening on the yet to be mowed greens as drove up to the clubhouse.

I sat on one of the benches near the first tee with other caddies waiting for a loop. Members started arriving and waving caddies over for their morning round. After an hour, the caddy ranks had shrunk to a handful of us left on the benches.

Suddenly, the older caddies on the benches got up and started to walk towards the driving range. I didn’t think anything of it because a few had wandered over there before to smoke cigarettes while they waited for a loop.

Behind me I heard the familiar click of golf spikes on pavement and turned my attention back towards the sound. A younger man, late twenties to early thirties, was walking towards me. He struck me immediately as a serious golfer with a serious game.

“You want to caddy for me?” he asked in a somewhat cordial tone.

I nodded and jumped to my feet excited at getting my first loop.

“My bag’s over on the rail. The brown one. We tee off in a few minutes.”

I ran over grabbed the bag and lugged it over to the first tee. Three other men joined my player all riding carts. I stood there with bag and waited.

“You ever caddy before?” my man asked.

“No.”

“Okay. Just do what I tell you and stay out of the way of the other players, and you’ll be fine. Do a good job today, and you can caddy for me every weekend.”

I cannot tell you how excited I was. A regular loop every weekend. I was thrilled and determined to do a good job.

My assessment of my player was correct. He was a scratch golfer and hit the ball as far as anyone I had seen before. His swing looked flawless. Dutifully, I did as I was told and stayed out of the way of the other players in the group. At the end of the round, my player handed me $50 and told me I had done a great job. If I wanted to caddy for him, he played every Saturday and Sunday at 9am.

I had my Dad bring me back the next morning and caddied for the man again. Again, he handed me $50 and told me he would see me next weekend. I was thrilled. And I was learning a lot about caddying and playing golf. It was the best learning experience while getting paid I could have ever wanted.

But the biggest lesson I would learn was coming, and it was going to be eye opening.

The next several weeks went pretty much the same. My man played pretty consistent golf. Occasionally when he hit a bad shot, he’d slam his club into the ground in anger and drop an F bomb, but he usually returned to his normal self. I ignored the occasional angry outburst.

All that was about to change.

Towards the end of July, I experienced an outburst which crossed over into unhinged anger. When it happened, I realized the caddies who went over to the range hadn’t gone over there to smoke. They had gone over there to not get picked by my player because they knew him.

The third hole was a par-3 of 187 yards from the blue tees. A cornfield ran down the right side. My player had bogeyed the first two holes without any sign of anger. I handed him his 6-iron. He went through his routine and swung. The ball took off high and right. It sailed over the trees and into the cornfield.

What happened next was something I had never seen before. My player screamed in anger and snapped his 6-iron over his knee. He turned and tossed the two pieces of the broken 6-iron to the ground at my feet and yelled at me to throw him his 5-iron.

I pulled the 5-iron and started to hand it to him.

“I said throw it to me!” he screamed red faced.

I tossed the club, and he snatched it out of the air. He teed up another ball, and rifled the 5-iron over the back of the green muttering to himself as I picked up the bag and broken 3-iron.

The rest of the day continued without another incident, but the coming few weeks would continue with ever increasing angry outbursts. Even so, he continued to pay me well, and I kept showing up to caddy for him.

The last time I caddied for him was the club championship a month later. The 3-iron had long been repaired, but the outbursts had become more frequent and angrier. I had told my Dad about this a week after the 3-iron incident, and he said to just stay out of his way. If it continued, my Dad would say something to the pro.

The finals of the club championship arrived. My player was a past champion. The match was all square going to the 13th hole. A long par-4 with blind tee shot and a second shot across a creek to the green. The hardest hole on the golf course. My player ripped a drive down the center of the fairway. His opponent also found the fairway but a few yards behind my man.

The opponent hit his second shot over the back of the green avoiding the creek in front of the green but leaving a difficult up and down. My player asked for an 8-iron. I hesitated for a moment because I thought 7-iron was the club. He glared at me and asked again for the 8-iron. I handed him the 8-iron and stepped back.

He took his swing and caught the ball just slightly fat. The ball hit the bank on the greenside of the creek and bounced back into the creek. Without looking at me, he stuck out his hand and said, “Give me another ball.”

It was then I made a mistake. The moment got the better of me. I wanted to help my player.

“You can drop up closer to the green and a hit wedge.”

I can honestly say I had never felt anger emanating from another person before. The anger coming from him was tangible. I shrunk in the moment.

“Take every ball out of my bag and dump them on the ground,” he seethed. “Do what I tell you to do.”

There were ten balls in his bag. I took every one out and dumped them on the ground. He proceeded to hit each of those balls onto the green.

After the last ball landed, he screamed, “That’s how you f$#@ing hit an 8-iron!”

And then he threw the 8-iron down the fairway and started walking towards the clubhouse. I just stood there not knowing what to do.

Without turning around, he yelled, “Go get the 8-iron and the balls. Make sure to fix all the ballmarks on the green.”

I scooped up the bag and did as I was told.

At the green, his opponent stared at me just as uncertain as I was at what had just happened. I congratulated him on being the new club champion, grabbed the balls and fixed the ballmarks. A few minutes later I was back at the clubhouse and looking for my player to get paid. He came storming out of the locker room towards me.

I asked him for my money. He glared at me.

“You didn’t carry the bag for 18-holes, so you didn’t finish your job. When you don’t finish your job, you don’t get paid.”

He pushed past me, got in his car and tore out of the parking lot. It was the last time I ever saw him because I never went back after that day.

But my Dad did. He went to see the pro. A few weeks later, an envelope arrived from the club with $50 in it for me. No note. No apology. Just $50.

Why am I sharing this story? There have been some viral videos of late showing unhinged golfers on the course. My mantra is always to be thankful and grateful to be playing. I’m no different than other golfers. I’ve had my angry outbursts on the golf course. I’ve slammed clubs into the ground. I’ve thrown a few. But, when I have had those moments, one of the things I think about is that golfer. I don’t ever want to be like that on a golf course. I don’t ever want to play with people like that on the golf course. It ruins the experience. It takes the joy out of the game. I was embarrassed by my behavior each time it happened. Golf is hard. It is frustrating. It is also rewarding and thrilling. Enjoy the challenge, don’t get upset at it. Don’t be the angry golfer.

As always, be humble and grateful when you get to set foot on a course for some golf. Enjoy the weather. Enjoy the good and bad shots. Enjoy the comradery with your fellow players. Now, go golf!