I, Cart Caddy: Tending the Flag for Donnie Troy
St. Petersburg, Fla.—Remember your college days?
The sorry excuse for dining hall food. The musty smell in the communal bathroom. The shoe box that doubled as your dorm room.
Less than ten months removed from graduating, apparently I needed a reminder.
The first Saturday in March, I made the trek down I-4 to Eckerd College, which doubles as Donnie Troy’s Institute of Higher Learning and his Snowbird Residence during the winter months.
Seven weeks working in the stuffy confines of The Golf Channel had me clamoring to resume my career as a caddy.
If you’ll remember, my first caddying experience, with Richard Drennan, resulted in 10 pages of notes, two tapes of audio recordings and a headache from trying to comprehend the language of Richard Drennan. In November, I unexpectedly resumed my looping career at Champions Tour Qualifying School in Orlando, where I botched yardages and questioned club selections all week for Steve Hakes, a retired civil litigation lawyer from San Diego who nonetheless paid me the equivalent of what I had earned for 12 newspapers while covering PGA Tour qualifying school.
I certainly wasn’t expecting any remuneration from Troy, but he did offer me something that Drennan and Hakes had failed to: the option of doing practically nothing.
Since Mr. Berkshire County Player of the Year probably wouldn’t need any help with yardages on a course he plays regularly, my responsibilities for the round suddenly dwindled to two.
- Tending the flag
- Keeping the beer on ice
As we left Eckerd, I noticed his hand inch toward his CD player and wondered what type of music Troy listened to before a round.
His unkempt, mismanaged hair suggested something heavy metal-ish. But the metro sexual quotes in his AOL IM profile about his girlfriend made me think he had some Ryan Cabrera on his play list.
Boy was I wrong.
Instead, he opted for a book on CD version of Jim Fannin, the “Zone Coach,” golf psychology’s spitting image of Bob Rotella, minus all the best-selling books, fame and notoriety.
His philosophies revolve around the S.C.O.R.E Performance System, an acronym which stands for: 1) Self-discipline; 2) Concentration; 3) Optimism; 4) Relaxation; and 5) Enjoyment.
He reminds his students that, “You have no future, and you have no past,” meaning that no matter how well or poorly you play, you must stay in the present moment.
Troy and his roommate, Justin May, enlightened each other on this idea as we drove to St. Petersburg Country Club.
It was cute, really.
From the Peanut Gallery in the backseat, I joined in.
“Remember Donnie, you have no future,” I said.
“No. Literally,” I added. “A degree from Eckerd isn’t going to get you anywhere.”
“Thanks, Dom,” he snickered.
I do what I can.
While he warmed up on the practice green near the clubhouse, Troy pointed out some of the players on the team.
To my right, Senior Danny Allen, a transfer from the University of West Florida, practiced some short range putts. In high school, Allen was the Florida Junior Golf Association co-player of the year. He also owns a career low round of 64.
“He’s the best putter I’ve ever seen,” Troy said of Allen. “He just doesn’t miss.”
I glanced over to where he was practicing, and sure enough, he missed a bunny from 4-feet. Hey, if I was expecting perfect golf I would have driven to Gainesville to caddy for All-American Matt Every.
Finally, at about 2:30, we teed off.
Troy put his opening drive down the left side, just into the rough.
As we drove down the fairway, I felt like less of a caddy and more like someone idly sitting in a cart.
Given his knowledge of the course, there was no need to get yardages. Given that we took a cart, there was no bag to carry. And given that it was my first day off in two weeks, I had no desire to clean clubs.
I felt more useless than Brian Scalabrine in the Celtics offense.
I didn’t know what to do.
So I grabbed a Keystone, the Reno-Tahoe Open of beer.
Naturally, I got to thinking bizarre thoughts. I pictured Steve Williams drinking while caddying for Tiger:
Woods: “Hey Stevie, how much do we have here?”
Williams: “Umm…I brought 12 for me, but we might need to make a stop at the turn?”
Woods: “You’re canned…and fired.”
Woods: “Where’s Fluff?”
Troy may have the luxury of being able to play year round, unlike many other Tax Paying 9-5ers, but his game wasn’t exactly Henrik Stenson-sharp. Early on, he was hitting it decent, but a few squirrelly ones ended up in some places you wouldn’t expect to find someone of Troy’s caliber.
Funny places.
At no. 7, a 184 yard par-3 with a green perched atop a plateau that slopes down to a lake on the left, his 7-iron sailed left and seemingly into the water. Instead, it came to rest inside the hazard line, just below a wooden embankment, but dry, on a mini-beach.
While Troy studied his shot, I scanned the lake for alligators. It’s Florida’s caddy equivalent of tending the flag.
I was concerned his ball was going to ricochet off the embankment and impale him, but he had his eyes set on par. He played a miraculous pitch to 12-feet then downplayed what he had just done.
“It was just like a normal bunker shot,” he deadpanned.
“That’s the confidence of D.T.,” said his teammate Scott Congdon, with a smile.
At no. 10, Troy fanned his tee shot right of the fairway, right of a line of trees and right of President Bush’s view on abortion. It wasn’t exactly a Fred Funk driving exhibition.
His game on the greens wasn’t exactly memorable either. At no. 3, he missed a kick-in for par. Ditto on no. 4.
Then again, maybe all that Jim Fannin hogwash had programmed Troy to be the opposite of memorable.
As we drove to no. 14 tee, I asked about his Greg Owen struggles with the flat stick.
“I haven’t made anything,” he said, flatly,” but I haven’t missed anything either.”
“What about those short putts you missed?” I asked.
“What are you talking about? I didn’t miss anything.”
Sure. But remember, Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt.
Don’t get me wrong, Troy wasn’t 9 & 7-ing it like Stephen Ames. He shot even-par on the back for a 4-over 76 that very easily could have been lower. But let’s just say I didn’t get a return on the $10 I put in to cover his skins.
Then again, the miniscule monetary loss was worth seeing 12 college kids try and dole out the day’s winnings in the parking lot. It made Judge Alito’s confirmation hearing look like a family reunion.
All in all, it was a good day.
Eckerd’s total population may be half the size of my graduating class at UConn, but they do have a leg up in the transportation department; throughout the campus, dozens of yellow bikes are lying around, available to anyone who doesn’t want to walk. No bike racks. No locks. Nothing. Just pick one up and go. Once you’ve arrived at your destination, you can simply drop it in the grass, give it to someone else or otherwise not worry about it.
It’s the best thing I’ve seen on a college campus since Sue Bird sat next to me in class freshman year. That is, unless you’re pedaling around blotto, and there are volleyball courts everywhere you look.
Let’s just say I’ve got sand in places you don’t want sand.
Funny places.
Other Caddying Experiences:
I, Caddy: 5 Holes with the Incomparable Richard Drennan
Champions Tour Qualifying School: Practice Round
Champions Tour Qualifying School: RD 1
Champions Tour Qualifying School: RD 2