A review of John Feinstein's "Caddy For Life: The Bruce Edwards Story."
12:00 AM, Jul 14, 2004 • By VICTORINO MATUS
IN GOLF, there are two chronic afflictions. One is the yips and the other the shanks. I occasionally suffer from the latter when the extreme heel of my club sends the ball off on a 90 degree angle, placing whoever is standing to the right of me in jeopardy. My father recently escaped one of my shanked drives, but just barely. Others have not been so fortunate. Once I smacked another player on his knuckle. On the driving range, I actually struck a man on his lower back. It doesn't happen to me as much today, but once it starts, it's hard to stop. As soon as it enters your head, even before the club is pulled back, you already know it's coming. You brace for it. And for the embarrassment that is sure to follow--as well as the waning confidence in your game.
But I hear the yips are worse. They occur on short putts, when, even at a distance of three feet (or less) a mental block prevents the player from sinking the ball. It sometimes takes several putts back and forth to finally get it right, and by then it's a double or triple bogey. Sometimes the yips can last years. They certainly did for professional golfer Tom Watson during the early 1990s. As he recently noted, "You miss a couple you think you're going to make and you start to think more about them the next time around. The next thing you know, it's inside your head, and people start whispering that you have the yips."
Luckily, Watson had the support of his caddy of almost 30 years, Bruce Edwards, who would tell him to "knock this in for birdie" even if it wasn't. Or say to him, "Okay, that's out of your system now. It will be the last one you're going to miss all day." And even if Watson didn't respond, he had heard him loud and clear. By 2003, Watson would cherish every word his caddy had to offer, not just because the two had become close friends, but also because their relationship was nearing an end. Tom Watson was not retiring--on the contrary, he was thriving on the Senior Tour. Bruce Edwards was dying.
THIS RELATIONSHIP between a pro and his caddy, and the caddy's courageous struggle with a terminal disease is the subject of an intimate portrait by John Feinstein called Caddy For Life: The Bruce Edwards Story (Little, Brown, 300 pp., $25.95). The book was Edwards's idea and Feinstein, author of such bestsellers as Open and Season on the Brink, was wary at first of writing a book about his good friend. It would mean "spending time with him as his health deteriorated"--and initially he turned Edwards down. But "the look on his face told me he knew a blow-off when he heard it. . . . If he had punched me in the stomach, I think I would have felt better than I did at that moment. In that instant, one thought ran through my mind: You have to do this." Readers everywhere should be grateful.
On the one hand, Caddy For Life offers an inside look into the often less-than-glamorous and less-than-lucrative life of a caddy, especially in the early 1970s when Edwards decided to make a full-time living by carrying somebody else's clubs. Caddying back then, he says, was much different than it is now: "Basically your job was to carry the bag . . . maybe be encouraging at the right time, have a sense of humor. And never be late. If you could do those things, you could caddy." Edwards had all of these things plus time on his hands--he was the only student in his high school class not to apply to college, much to the concern of his parents.
According to Edwards, "Most people thought of caddies as drunks or people who were down and out or people you couldn't trust or long-haired kids like me who you probably didn't want hanging around your house for a week." But over the next few years, that image would change, in no small part due to Edwards's dedication and commitment. "Bruce tried to leave nothing to chance," writes Feinstein, "walking the course . . . early in the week to check yardage markers (usually on sprinkler heads) to make sure they were accurate and to look for hidden hazards. He was one of the first caddies to do what is now standard procedure for caddies--walking the golf course without player or bag early in the week."