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hex--vex · 5 months
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Erp. Wanna mark my progress so im posting the ones I haven't! A while ago I said I was drawing charas I knew chris liked, yhen forgor. This time im on top of it so 🪄🧙‍♀️
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emmagoldberg · 7 months
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TODAY 5PM -- AUJOURD'HUI 17H SHOW N°99 -- "JUST LIKE EMMA " ON 242 RADIO UK"
"Just Like Emma" Sur 242 RADIO UK will be broadcasted every 2 weeks at the following times; "Just Like Emma" Sur 242 RADIO UK sera diffusée pendant 2 semaines aux heures suivantes; https://www.242radio.com/
Monday -Lundi 16h 00 UK/17h 00 France / 11h 00 EAST COAST/ 07h00 PST Tuesday- Mardi 22h 00PST Wednesday - Mercredi 06h 00 UK/ 07h 00 France/ 01h 00 EAST COAST Thursday - Jeudi 19h00 EAST COAST /16h 00 PST Friday - Vendredi 00h 00 UK/ 01h 00 FRANCE
SHOW N°99 – JUST LIKE EMMA ON 242 RADIO UK --THE GUESTS
1- T-TRI « WIN MY LIFE » 2- SEBASTIEN MASSON « BOUT DE CHOU » 3 – SEBASTIEN CHARLES « LES BOUGIES DE JE NE SAIS QUOI» 4- MS BUTTERFLY « THE LOVE » 5- MICKAEL PETRAU « AIME » 6 – LES AMOUREUX DU SACRE-COEUR « DALI-DALIDA » 7 - HEATHER WALTON « IT’S OVER » 8-CHRIS BONAMOUR « JE VEUX DU REEL » 9- CORINNE JACKSON « GIMME SOME FUNCK » 10- LUCAS PARTON « LES DIMANCHES » 11- FREDERICK ARNO « TU SAIS » 12 - EMILE KOJIDIE « MANDELA » 13 – JONIECE JAMISON & FRANCOIS FELDMAN « RESSUSCITE » 14 – MICHAEL JACOB « I CAN FEEL » 15 – CHRIS V « SHE’S AMAZING 16 – GENERIQUE « I LOVE YOU THE WAY YOU ARE » EMMA GOLDBERG
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jayther · 2 years
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How petrol pumps know when to turn themselves off Head to https://ift.tt/6d7vLer to start planning a career that is meaningful, fulfilling, and helps solve one of the world’s most pressing problems. Gas or petrol pump nozzles turn off automatically when your tank is full. The way it works is really clever and uses the venturi effect. You can buy my books here: https://ift.tt/auW9vdN You can support me on Patreon and get access to the exclusive Discord: https://ift.tt/KgB8hoa just like these amazing people: Frank Hereford Will Ackerly Brendan Williams Cameron Leigh Middleton Matthew Cocke Frederic Merizen Jeremy Cole Lizzy and Jack Alan Wilderland Joel Van der loo Glenn Watson Doug Peterson Paul Warelis John Zelinka Alnitak Grant Hay Heather Liu Marshall Fitzpatrik Lukas Biewalk JJ Masson Ben McIntosh Damien Szerszinski Twitter: http://twitter.com/moulds Instagram: https://ift.tt/zg72xh5 Facebook: https://ift.tt/N8HeqBD Buy nerdy maths things: http://mathsgear.co.uk via YouTube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fT2KhJ8W-Kg
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scotianostra · 7 years
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Another actors birthday today is Alan Cumming born on January 27, 1965, in Aberfeldy to Mary (Darling), an insurance company secretary, and Alex Cumming. His family lived nearby in Dunkeld, where his father was a forester for Atholl Estate. The family (including his brother, Tom) moved to Fassfern near Fort William, before moving to the east coast of Scotland in 1969, where Alan's father took up the position of Head Forester of Panmure Estate; it was there that Alan grew up. He went to Monikie Primary School and Carnoustie High School, where he began appearing in plays, and soon after that began working with with the Carnoustie Theatre Club and Carnoustie Musical Society. In 1981, he left high school with 8 'O' Grades and 4 Highers, but because he was too young to enter any university or drama school he worked for just over a year as a sub-editor at D.C. Thomson Publishers in Dundee. There he worked on the launch of a new magazine, "Tops", and was also the "Young Alan" who answered readers' letters. In September 1982 he began a three-year course at the Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama in Glasgow. He graduated in 1985 with a B.A. (Dramatic Studies) and awards for verse speaking and direction. He also had formed a cabaret double act with fellow student Forbes Masson called Victor and Barry, which went on to become hugely successful with tours (including two Perrier Pick of the Fringe seasons in London and a month-long engagement at the Sydney Opera House as part of an Australian tour), records ("Hear Victor and Barry and Faint", "Are We Too Loud?") and many TV appearances throughout the UK. Before graduating Alan made his professional theater and film debuts in "Macbeth" at the Tron Theatre in Glasgow and in Gillies MacKinnon's "Passing Glory". After graduating, Alan worked extensively in Scottish theater and television, including a stint on the soap opera High Road (1980) before moving to London when "Conquest of the South Pole", a play by German playwright Manfred Karge, transferred from the Traverse Theatre in, Edinburgh to the the Royal Court in London, earning him his first Olivier award nomination for Most Promising Newcomer of 1988. Alan performed with the Royal Shakespeare Company and then the Royal National Theatre, where he starred in "Accidental Death of an Anarchist", which he also adapted with director Tim Supple. The production was nominated for Best revival at the 1991 Olivier awards and Alan won for Comedy Performance of the Year. His film career began with Ian Sellar's Prague (1992), in which he starred with Sandrine Bonnaire and Bruno Ganz. The film premiered at the 1992 Cannes film festival and went on to win him Best Actor award at the Atlantic Film Festival and a Scottish BAFTA Best Actor nomination. In the same year he made two films for the BBC - Screen Two: The Last Romantics (1992) and Bernard and the Genie (1991), the latter winning him the Top Television Newcomer award at 1992 British Comedy Awards. In the 1992 Olivier awards he was also nominated for Comedy Performance of the Year for "La Bete". In 1993 he played Hamlet for the English Touring Theare to great critical acclaim ("An actor knocking on the door of greatness" - Daily Mail; ranked first and second--with his performance in "Cabaret"--in the Daily Telegraph's performances of the year) and then immediately went on to play the Emcee in Sam Mendes' revival of "Cabaret" at the same venue (London's Donmar Warehouse). He received a 1994 Olivier award nomination for Best Actor in a Musical for "Cabaret", and for Hamlet he received the 1994 TMA Best Actor award and a Shakespeare Globe award nomination. In 1994, he made his first Hollywood film, Circle of Friends (1995), and his performance as the oleaginous Sean Walsh along with those in two films released in quick succession (Emma (1996) and GoldenEye (1995)) brought him to the attention of American producers, and he appeared in several Hollywood films, such as Romy and Michele's High School Reunion (1997) and Buddy (1997). He returned to the UK in 1997 to work with Stanley Kubrick and the Spice Girls before returning stateside in 1998 to reprise his role in "Cabaret" on Broadway. The show and his portrayal were a sensation, and he received the Tony, Drama Desk, Outer Critics' Circle, Theatre World, FANY, New York Press and New York Public Advocate's awards for his performance. Since then he has alternated between theater and films, and also between smaller independent films and more mainstream fare. His theater work includes 2001's "Design for Living" on Broadway and the hugely successful off-Broadway "Elle" by Jean Genet, which he adapted and played the lead in 2002. His films include Julie Taymor's Titus, the "Spy Kids" trilogy, X-Men 2, Son of the Mask and the Showtime movie musical Reefer Madness: The Movie Musical. He wrote, directed, produced and acted in The Anniversary Party (2001) with Jennifer Jason Leigh, which premiered at the Cannes Film festival in 2002 and went on to win a National Board of Review award and two Independent Spirit award nominations. More recently he has produced the documentary Show People and the films Sweet Land and Full Grown Men (and appears in both) and acted in Gray Matters opposite Heather Graham and Bam Bam and Celeste , opposite Margaret Cho. In 2006, he returned to Broadway as Macheath in "The Threepenny Opera". He has also found the time to write a novel, "Tommy's Tale", in 2002. Cumming's TV wok unused, Travelling Man, Third Rock from the Sun, Sex and the City, and of course that good old Scottish favourite Taggart.
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antheas-blog · 4 years
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I have found during lockdown that my saviour that has been helping me with my grief is producing these books. Thank goodness for the invaluable help with contributing pieces and support teams. Kerry-Ann Scrase Melanie Walker Delia Vipond Heather Masson Today is one of many that is NOT a good one. Each book is a labour of love. The "Finding your INNER YOU" has been refreshed from "Finding your INNER Goddess" "Colour Me Happy" is a colouring book with beautiful quote and hand drawn pictures by me. "A giftbook to Inspire You" a complimentary gift book from EcoBalance Lifestyle & Delia Vipond, this was a hard one to do as it was in time for Mothers Day knowing I had just lost Brigitte a few weeks before. "A Gift Book To Inspire Fathers" a complementary gift book from EcoBalance Lifestyle Magazine and Delia Vipond out in time for Father's day. "Celebrating Mothers and Daughters" a complimentary gift book out in time for Womens Month. At the same time working on a belated issue of EcoBalance Lifestyle Magazine which will be out within the next 2 week as well as working on getting justice for Brigitte Campbell Ellis. So yip I am emotionally and mentality exhausted. Please check out our website to down load the complementary issues and can you consider purchasing our other books, within our stable. Thank you advance. www.ecobalancelifestyle.com #ecobalancelifestyle #ecobalancelifestylemagazine #FindingYou #FindingYourInnerYou #BraveBeing #bekind #consciouschange https://www.instagram.com/p/CDgX6Hnp13I/?igshid=1vdn4fuosw8q3
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ripplegrovepress · 7 years
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5th Annual Children's Author Meet & Greet
Enjoy an Autumn afternoon with 12 amazing authors of books for children of all ages including Salad Pie author Wendy BooydeGraaff!
Come meet and greet Michigan authors, buy some of their books and spend a couple of hours with the Monroe County Library System. Our Guest Authors Include: • Ruth McNally Barshaw • Wendy BooydeGraaff • Kelly DiPucchio • Debbie Diesen • Tim Dziobak • Kathy Higgs-Coulthard • Dena Jayson • Kristin Bartley Lenz • Sierra Masson • Heather Smith Meloche • Amy Nielander • Jordan J. Scavone
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evolocity-blog1 · 7 years
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Byron Writers Festival 2017
Byron Writers festival is set for it’s 21st birthday in 2017! This year, on 4-6th August, there will be over 130 writers. 
Their work will inspire and educate visors and help you grow as a novice, or experienced writer.
Do you want to be a better storyteller? If so, join Byron Writers Festival in 2017.
Here’s the full 2017 Guest Line-Up:
Nicole Abadee, Deng Thiak Adut, Sarah Armstrong, Melissa Ashley, Hilary Badger, Julia Baird, Tristan Bancks, Paul Barclay, Jimmy Barnes, Kuna Basu, Caroline Baum, Jesse Blackadder, Sarah Blasko, Merlinda Bobis, Lisa Brockwell, Phil Brown, Jennifer Byrne, Edna Carew, Susan Carland, Barrie Cassidy, Alan Close, Roger Cohen, Kate Cole-Adams, Matt Condon, Cosentino, Arielle Cottingham, Bryan Dawe, Tony Doherty, Jennifer Down, Robert Drewe, Jill Eddington, Malcolm Farr, Richard  Fidler, Angie Fiedler, Peter FitzSimons, Tim Flannery, Mei Fong, Andrew Ford, Clementine Ford, David Free, Antony Funnell, Nikki Gemmell, David Gillespie, Madeline Gleeson, Morris Gleitzman, Roanna Gonsalves, Kate Grenville, Sophie Hamley, Chris Hanley, Peter Harrison, David George Haskell, Lynda Hawryluk, Ashley Hay, Jerath Head, Jim  Hearn, Anita Heiss, Peter Helliar, Lex Hirst, Mark Holden, Rebecca Huntley, Jane Hutcheon, Graeme Innes, Zacharey Jane, Erik Jensen, Barry Jones, Tony Jones, Sarah Kanowski, Delta Kay, Hannah Kent, Andrew  Knight, Anneli Knight, Ben Knight, Laura Kroetsch, Eka Kurniawan, Christina Lamb, Steven Lang, Meshel  Laurie, Sylvie  Le Clezio , Bri Lee, David Leser, Hans Lovejoy, John Lyons, Bec Mac, Kim Mahood, Kenan Malik, David Marr, Pippa Masson, Charles Massy, Ben Mckelvey, Caro  Meldrum-Hanna, Miles Merrill, Rosemarie Milsom, Vayu Naidu, Mandy Nolan, Kerry O’Brien, Mick O’Regan, Bruce Pascoe, A.S. Patric, Tex  Perkins, Ailsa Piper, Lucas Proudfoot, Alice Pung, Karen Radzyner, Sally Riley, Sally Rippin, Mirandi Riwoe, Michael Robotham, Henry Rosenbloom, Nicholas Rothwell, Richard Roxburgh, Magdalena Roze, Jonathan Safran, Michael Sala, Julianne Schultz, Kim Scott, Jock Serong, Adam Shoemaker, Venkat Raman Singh Shyam, Sebastian Smee, Dava Sobel, Adam Spencer, Tracey Spicer, Adam Suckling, Heather Taylor Johnson, Peter Thompson, Holly Throsby, Laura Tingle, Ian Townsend, Charlie Veron, Sandy Verschoor, Lisa Walker, Wendy Were, Emrys Westacott, Kayla Rae Whitaker, Lisa Wilkinson, Robyn Williams, Geordie Williamson, Susan Wyndham, Josh Yeldham, Lawrie Zion.
When looking for event transport for Byron Writers festival, use Byron’s all Luxury, All European fleet. 
With local drivers and all amenities covered, there’s no better transport option than Byron Bay Luxe!
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LPGA Tour - For the Love of Caddieing
On the LPGA Tour, a small band of devoted loopers live a thrilling, nomadic existence requiring perseverance, imagination and supportive families
Some are household names among golf fans. Mike (Fluff) Cowan—and his walrus mustache—comes to mind. A few struck it rich, such as Steve Williams in his 13 years with Tiger Woods, and Jim (Bones) Mackay, who has worked with Phil Mickelson since 1992. But those are the exceptions, and they work on the PGA Tour. Among caddies, they are the haves.
The have-nots are those who shoulder bags on the LPGA Tour, trying to survive where the prize money—and potential income—is one-fifth of what’s available on the men’s tour, with the same lack of job security, healthcare and pension.
Looping on the LPGA Tour is a labor of love laced with economic hardships requiring perseverance, imagination and a supportive family. It’s a life where veteran caddies say only about 30 percent last more than 10 years. Yet, a hardy handful of lifers have blown past the quarter-century mark.
John Killeen, 58, is among those captivated by the lifestyle that is alien and often absurd. He has been a caddie on the LPGA Tour for nearly 35 years, with Patty Sheehan, Juli Inkster, Ayako Okamoto, Meg Mallon, Cristie Kerr and others, before landing his current gig with Mirim Lee, winner of last week’s Kia Classic.
Last year, when Killeen was still working for Angela Stanford, he said goodbye to his wife, two teenage kids and home near Atlanta for a swing that took him to the Bahamas, Florida, Thailand, Singapore, Arizona, California, Hawaii, Texas and Alabama. From mid-May, when he took a week off for his son’s high school graduation, until the Olympics in August, Killeen had only one other scheduled week off.
How do you make a life like that work financially and emotionally? For starters, you need a lot of help from your friends. Imagine that house you shared with your buddies in college and the fun you had. Now imagine that house moves around the country—one golf tournament after another. That’s what life is like for Killeen and a handful of his fellow caddies who share living quarters when possible to save money and find sanity in each other’s company. They love the life, each other, golf and the competition. It’s not the money that keeps them chasing this nomadic existence.
In recent years, Killeen was one of eight caddies who rented a house at the Bank of Hope Founders Cup in Phoenix. I spent a week with them, and there are few experiences more valuable and fun for a journalist than hanging with caddies. They know everything—or at least think they do. And they know how to have a good time.
In 1984, John Killeen was 23 and planning to be a stockbroker before going on a two-week stint caddieing that turned into a 30-plus-year career.J.D. Cuban
Killeen is the “godfather” who finds the house, coordinates the Monday run to Costco to buy food and drink—in Phoenix the first 60-pack of beer was knocked off by Tuesday night—and does all the cooking.
Also in this Gang of Eight was Barry (Rock) Cesarz, 47, who has worked with Morgan Pressel since 2009, an eternity to be with one player on any tour, especially the LPGA. He also caddied for Donald Trump at one of his Florida courses for nine years, an experience he describes as “very interesting.”
Craig Castrale, 39, who works with Mo Martin, is Mr. Spreadsheet. Laptop in hand, he shouts across the living room over the big-screen TV that’s always on sports: “Kyle, you going to be in Toledo?” as he records who will be where, who owes what and who has paid.
Scott Lubin, 45, a former caddie for Jack Nicklaus on the Champions Tour who looped for Yani Tseng at the 2016 Founders Cup, was part of the group. He has since opted for the security of being caddiemaster at Loxahatchee Club in Florida. At 27, Drew Ernst is the youngest of the group. He carries for his sister, Austin Ernst. Then there are the boys from Augusta, Ga.: Kyle Bradley (Jessica Korda), Jack Fulghum, (Nelly Korda) and Derrick Redd (Caroline Masson).
Bradley, 36, caddied at Augusta National, home of the Masters, and played mini-tours for nine years before picking up Korda’s bag in 2014. “The best part of our job is helping top-notch players try to win a championship,” Bradley says, something he has done with Korda three times. Then he makes a confession that applies to many LPGA caddies: “No chance I could work in an office.”
Redd, 48, also known as “168,” his Augusta National caddie number, and Fulghum, 45, still work at Augusta National, which is conveniently closed from mid-May to mid-October, when the LPGA schedule is in full swing.
•••
EKING OUT A LIVING
Fulghum has been at Augusta National for more than 20 years, and for many LPGA caddies, those private-club jobs are too lucrative and reliable to give up. T.J. Jones, a longtime caddie at Seminole, heads back to the exclusive Florida club whenever he has an off-week with Christina Kim.
“You have to finish in the top 40 [on the money list] out here to have a significant year,” says Killeen, who in 1984 at age 23 and planning to be a stockbroker, told his mother and girlfriend in Portland, Ore., he’d be back after a two-week stint caddieing, then came home eight months later and said he’d found his calling.
In Phoenix, the eight men in the house paid $430 each for rent. There were two rental cars, plus Castrale’s car he drove from Palm Desert, Calif. Food and drink came to $125 a man, with the rental cars totaling $100 each. Castrale says the seven guys who flew in averaged about $250 for airfare. That put the total expenses per person at $905 for the week, much less than it would have cost to stay in a hotel, not to mention food and drink.
These days, caddies are sometimes fired by text message. One was fired by telephone on Christmas Eve and told: ‘We were disappointed we didn’t win a major this year.’
“Some weeks, like Asia events, all we pay for is food and hotel because we have no rental cars and 99 percent of the players pay for international caddie flights,” says Castrale. “But then Hawaii and San Francisco, for example, I spend $1,500 at least. Overall, $1,000 to $1,200 per week is our typical average expense for the 25 to 30 events played.”
The way it works, the caddies say, is they get on average a guarantee of $1,000 to $1,500 for each week the player competes. If your player misses the cut, that’s all you get. On average, a caddie gets 5 percent of a made-cut check, 7 percent of a top-10 check and 10 percent for a win. Some players are more generous than others.
Now what kind of money are we talking here? No. 40 on the LPGA money list last year—Moriya Jutanugarn, older sister to player-of-the-year Ariya—earned $446,948 in 29 starts with two top-10 finishes. Those two top-10s earned $170,895, with the caddie’s 7-percent share coming to $11,962.65. The other 22 cuts made earned $276,053, and 5 percent of that is $13,802.65. Assume the caddie got $1,000 a week, and the total for the year would be $54,765.30 before taxes. And then there is about $35,000 in expenses. That’s a break-even proposition.
Since 2009, Barry (Rock) Cesarz has worked with Morgan Pressel, an eternity to be with one player on any tour, especially the LPGA. He also caddied for Donald Trump at one of his Florida courses for nine years.J.D. Cuban
On the PGA Tour, prize money is north of $300 million annually (plus $35 million in FedEx Cup bonus money), and the LPGA Tour purse is $67.3 million. No. 40 on the PGA Tour last year—James Hahn—earned $2,367,521, which would have been No. 3 on the LPGA Tour, with a whopping 10 missed cuts but a victory among his three top-10 finishes in 26 starts. Let’s assume the caddie got $1,200 a week. With the $195,321 he would earn on the course, in 26 weeks he’d total $226,521—more than four times what the caddie for No. 40 on the LPGA made.
In other words, the caddie for No. 40 on the PGA Tour made more money than the player ranked No. 74 on the LPGA Tour money list.
To make ends meet, most caddies on the LPGA Tour rely on income from a spouse or another job. Jeremy Young, who caddies for Minjee Lee, is married to Heather Bowie Young, who played 17 years on the LPGA Tour. Heather is now an assistant coach at Clemson, but when she was on tour, Jeremy rarely caddied for her, doubling their chances of making money that week. Killeen married Denise Baldwin, a longtime LPGA player who now has the financial security of being a teaching pro.
•••
CADDIES WEAR MANY HATS
Besides the financial challenges, the job of a caddie has become a lot more complicated. Golf has evolved into a sport in which players practice harder and want their caddie at their side as they hit balls. The travel is also vastly different from when Killeen started.
Instead of a stretch with four tournaments in Ohio, three in New York and two in New Jersey, the LPGA this year goes from France to New Zealand to China to South Korea to Taiwan to Malaysia to Japan and back to China before ending in Florida. The 2017 LPGA schedule has 35 events, 17 of those in 14 countries outside the United States.
Although it’s fun to recite the caddie creed of “Show Up, Keep Up, Shut Up,” the job is way more complicated than that. Pretty much the only time off is the weeks your player is not competing. Monday and Tuesday used to be an opportunity for a caddie to sneak in some golf. Now those days are reserved for working with players on the range or playing a practice round.
The days of the hard-living bag-toter who would close the bars at night and work the next day through bloodshot eyes are mostly gone. These loopers are more than mere porters lugging around a 45-pound staff bag. Caddies have evolved into a mix of mathematician, psychologist, cartographer and bodyguard, all while remaining a Sherpa.
“Oh, my, those early days,” says Killeen, smiling. “At our house in Oakmont in 1992 [for the U.S. Women’s Open] we had empties stacked up this high,” he said, holding his hand over his head. “What do I like the most about this job? The people. The travel. The fact I have half the year off.”
And Killeen clearly relishes his role as house father of the group.
The life of a caddie includes many roles on and off the course.“You should have smelled it this morning,” Castrale says about their shared house in Phoenix on Thursday. “At 5 a.m., he’s already got the Irish stew simmering. John sent out a group text telling us where the car was parked and saying, ‘Early guys, when you get home, don’t forget to stir the stew.’ ”
On Monday it was spaghetti and meat sauce, salad, red wine and beer. Tuesday was a caddie party with free food and drink at a local bar. On Wednesday, Killeen made tacos, refried beans and rice, and Thursday was the Irish stew.
“We’re all prepping for the tournament, and he’s prepping for the meals,” Bradley says with a laugh.
Spending a week with eight caddies is like that house you remember from college in another way: You wake up the next morning with your body aching from how much you laughed the night before.
Caddies refer to a former player as “my ex,” as if talking about a divorced wife. In Phoenix, when picking five-woman $20 calcutta teams, which must include your own player, one of the eight says: “My player ain’t ready. How about we be creative this week and pick another guy’s player?” He was right: His player missed the cut.
As you might expect, there’s a great deal of good-natured ribbing. One caddie says to another: “You get your degree yet?” That prompts a befuddled: “What degree?” And then the zinger: “Your nursing degree,” the first caddie says, nodding toward the other guy’s half-empty drink glass.
Caddies also look out for one another. When the tee times start to arrive on smartphones, the coordination of eight players and three cars begins. “Kyle is right before me, and I’m with Drew, that’s one car,” says Castrale, ever the organizer.
•••
YOU’RE HIRED, YOU’RE FIRED
The LPGA says about 150 caddie ID cards are issued annually. Some show up at tournaments without a bag, hoping to pick up a Monday qualifier or catch on with a player who just fired her caddie—not a rare experience.
These days, caddies are sometimes fired by text message. One was fired by telephone on Christmas Eve and told: “We were disappointed we didn’t win a major this year.” To which the caddie said he was thinking: Hey, I’m not the one who hit that ball that’s still bouncing down Bob Hope Drive.
Another caddie was fired by his player’s agent at a gate at the Manchester airport the Monday after the 2006 Ricoh Women’s British Open. And then there was Jason Gilroyed, who was fired by Jessica Korda at the turn of the third round of the 2013 U.S. Women’s Open and replaced by her boyfriend.
“I was in that group, and we were on No. 10 tee,” says Killeen, who was working for Lizette Salas at the time. “I look over, and Jason wasn’t on the bag. I had no idea what was going on.” Later that evening, while sitting at a bar, Killeen nudged me and showed me his phone. On it was a text from Gilroyed that read: “Miss me yet?”
The good memories, however, tend to outweigh the bad ones.
The Evian Championship in France, with its rich purse, exotic setting on Lake Geneva and free beer garden for caddies, is the source of many of those memories. Hotels have combination locks activated after 11 p.m. That has confused more than one over-served caddie returning after an evening out.
At the Founders Cup in Phoenix, the Gang of Eight shares a house, building comraderie while saving on travel expenses.J.D. Cuban
One who couldn’t get in tossed a plastic chair at his room window, hoping to wake his roommate, who had an early tee time. Instead, police were called, the caddie was hauled to jail, and his player had to bail him out at 4 a.m. Another caddie took a more humble rout. He curled up on the curb and slept there.
Then there was the father who berated his daughter’s caddie so badly he quit. The next day, with Dad on the bag, the player got a bad yardage and hit a 7-iron out-of-bounds over a green. The caddie waited for his ex to finish then politely told Dad: “At least I can f---ing add.”
And in the days when Evian ended on Saturday and the pro-am was Sunday, there was often the amusing situation of caddies hiring caddies because they were too hung over to hoof the mountainous course.
But as carefree as caddies can be, they are amazingly devoted to golf, often the frontline conscience of the tour when it comes to the Rules of Golf. As committed as most players are to the rules, caddies are even more.
When two competitors played the wrong ball, it was a caddie who blew the whistle on his player. When a player used a training aid during competition, it was a caddie who called it to the attention of officials. And one caddie insisted they play her original ball, and not the better-positioned provisional. She relented—then fired the caddie.
There is also no question gender makes the relationship between an LPGA player and her caddie more complicated than it is on the men’s tour. Successful pairings become like old married couples sniping at each other.
“OK, let’s pretend like you’re working and take some video,” Pressel says to Cesarz on the range in Phoenix. The two are very close and enjoy poking fun at each other’s idiosyncrasies. “She hates the balls in the bag [on the practice range], and she hates them in a pyramid,” Cesarz says. “First thing I do is mess them all up.”
Lubin is one who has worked the men’s and women’s tours. “What’s the difference?” he says. “That’s a loaded question. I guess the pace. It’s a slower pace out here. Also, because it’s a male-female thing, it’s a much more volatile situation. Guys have a fight, and by the time you leave the tee box, it’s done. Out here it can linger for a few holes—or nine, or 18 or 36,” he says, laughing.
“The competition is the best, the adrenaline rush,” says Scott Lubin. “That’s why we’re here, trying to help our players win.”J.D. Cuban
The important thing is knowing who’s boss.
“There are times they are just so mad at you,” says Cesarz, a mountain of a man with the Rock of Gibraltar tattooed on his leg. “But the thing you have to remember is that the back of my shirt doesn’t say ‘Rock’ or ‘Cesarz.’ It says ‘Pressel.’ ”
Caddies say there is no substitute for being part of the action. “The competition is the best, the adrenaline rush,” Lubin says. “That’s why we’re here, trying to help our players win.”
And there is no substitute for the relationships they’ve developed. “You trust these guys, and you become a part of their lives,” says Lubin, who has a wife of 13 years and daughters 11 and 9. “The toughest part is leaving your family. Honestly, this is not something I want to do for the next 20 years,” says Lubin, reciting a line uttered by many caddies who’ve been out there longer than that.
“I love the game of golf, and I have a very supportive wife,” Killeen says. “I put in 150,000 miles on Delta last year. But I have 22 weeks off a year.”
Killeen’s first year on tour, in Las Vegas, he left his wallet on top of his car and drove off. Stranded with no money and no credit cards, he suddenly felt very far away from home.
“Roscoe Jones, who caddied for [Nancy] Lopez, handed me $500 and said, ‘Pay me back when you can.’ ” Killeen still shakes his head when he tells that story. “This job has helped me to be a father and let my children develop their own personality,” he says. “I’ve learned a lot about character out here, and I hope I’ve taught my children.”
That week in Phoenix, six of the eight missed the cut. The next week, Lubin was fired by Tseng. The week after that, the caddies were gathered around a table in the Beer Hunter Sports Pub & Grill in La Quinta, Calif., telling stories and laughing.
That’s what keeps them coming back: the laughter, the love of the game, the thrill of the hunt, and a real appreciation of each other. It’s a bond that never breaks.
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LPGA Tour - For the Love of Caddieing
On the LPGA Tour, a small band of devoted loopers live a thrilling, nomadic existence requiring perseverance, imagination and supportive families
Some are household names among golf fans. Mike (Fluff) Cowan—and his walrus mustache—comes to mind. A few struck it rich, such as Steve Williams in his 13 years with Tiger Woods, and Jim (Bones) Mackay, who has worked with Phil Mickelson since 1992. But those are the exceptions, and they work on the PGA Tour. Among caddies, they are the haves.
The have-nots are those who shoulder bags on the LPGA Tour, trying to survive where the prize money—and potential income—is one-fifth of what’s available on the men’s tour, with the same lack of job security, healthcare and pension.
Looping on the LPGA Tour is a labor of love laced with economic hardships requiring perseverance, imagination and a supportive family. It’s a life where veteran caddies say only about 30 percent last more than 10 years. Yet, a hardy handful of lifers have blown past the quarter-century mark.
John Killeen, 58, is among those captivated by the lifestyle that is alien and often absurd. He has been a caddie on the LPGA Tour for nearly 35 years, with Patty Sheehan, Juli Inkster, Ayako Okamoto, Meg Mallon, Cristie Kerr and others, before landing his current gig with Mirim Lee, winner of last week’s Kia Classic.
Last year, when Killeen was still working for Angela Stanford, he said goodbye to his wife, two teenage kids and home near Atlanta for a swing that took him to the Bahamas, Florida, Thailand, Singapore, Arizona, California, Hawaii, Texas and Alabama. From mid-May, when he took a week off for his son’s high school graduation, until the Olympics in August, Killeen had only one other scheduled week off.
How do you make a life like that work financially and emotionally? For starters, you need a lot of help from your friends. Imagine that house you shared with your buddies in college and the fun you had. Now imagine that house moves around the country—one golf tournament after another. That’s what life is like for Killeen and a handful of his fellow caddies who share living quarters when possible to save money and find sanity in each other’s company. They love the life, each other, golf and the competition. It’s not the money that keeps them chasing this nomadic existence.
In recent years, Killeen was one of eight caddies who rented a house at the Bank of Hope Founders Cup in Phoenix. I spent a week with them, and there are few experiences more valuable and fun for a journalist than hanging with caddies. They know everything—or at least think they do. And they know how to have a good time.
In 1984, John Killeen was 23 and planning to be a stockbroker before going on a two-week stint caddieing that turned into a 30-plus-year career.J.D. Cuban
Killeen is the “godfather” who finds the house, coordinates the Monday run to Costco to buy food and drink—in Phoenix the first 60-pack of beer was knocked off by Tuesday night—and does all the cooking.
Also in this Gang of Eight was Barry (Rock) Cesarz, 47, who has worked with Morgan Pressel since 2009, an eternity to be with one player on any tour, especially the LPGA. He also caddied for Donald Trump at one of his Florida courses for nine years, an experience he describes as “very interesting.”
Craig Castrale, 39, who works with Mo Martin, is Mr. Spreadsheet. Laptop in hand, he shouts across the living room over the big-screen TV that’s always on sports: “Kyle, you going to be in Toledo?” as he records who will be where, who owes what and who has paid.
Scott Lubin, 45, a former caddie for Jack Nicklaus on the Champions Tour who looped for Yani Tseng at the 2016 Founders Cup, was part of the group. He has since opted for the security of being caddiemaster at Loxahatchee Club in Florida. At 27, Drew Ernst is the youngest of the group. He carries for his sister, Austin Ernst. Then there are the boys from Augusta, Ga.: Kyle Bradley (Jessica Korda), Jack Fulghum, (Nelly Korda) and Derrick Redd (Caroline Masson).
Bradley, 36, caddied at Augusta National, home of the Masters, and played mini-tours for nine years before picking up Korda’s bag in 2014. “The best part of our job is helping top-notch players try to win a championship,” Bradley says, something he has done with Korda three times. Then he makes a confession that applies to many LPGA caddies: “No chance I could work in an office.”
Redd, 48, also known as “168,” his Augusta National caddie number, and Fulghum, 45, still work at Augusta National, which is conveniently closed from mid-May to mid-October, when the LPGA schedule is in full swing.
•••
EKING OUT A LIVING
Fulghum has been at Augusta National for more than 20 years, and for many LPGA caddies, those private-club jobs are too lucrative and reliable to give up. T.J. Jones, a longtime caddie at Seminole, heads back to the exclusive Florida club whenever he has an off-week with Christina Kim.
“You have to finish in the top 40 [on the money list] out here to have a significant year,” says Killeen, who in 1984 at age 23 and planning to be a stockbroker, told his mother and girlfriend in Portland, Ore., he’d be back after a two-week stint caddieing, then came home eight months later and said he’d found his calling.
In Phoenix, the eight men in the house paid $430 each for rent. There were two rental cars, plus Castrale’s car he drove from Palm Desert, Calif. Food and drink came to $125 a man, with the rental cars totaling $100 each. Castrale says the seven guys who flew in averaged about $250 for airfare. That put the total expenses per person at $905 for the week, much less than it would have cost to stay in a hotel, not to mention food and drink.
These days, caddies are sometimes fired by text message. One was fired by telephone on Christmas Eve and told: ‘We were disappointed we didn’t win a major this year.’
“Some weeks, like Asia events, all we pay for is food and hotel because we have no rental cars and 99 percent of the players pay for international caddie flights,” says Castrale. “But then Hawaii and San Francisco, for example, I spend $1,500 at least. Overall, $1,000 to $1,200 per week is our typical average expense for the 25 to 30 events played.”
The way it works, the caddies say, is they get on average a guarantee of $1,000 to $1,500 for each week the player competes. If your player misses the cut, that’s all you get. On average, a caddie gets 5 percent of a made-cut check, 7 percent of a top-10 check and 10 percent for a win. Some players are more generous than others.
Now what kind of money are we talking here? No. 40 on the LPGA money list last year—Moriya Jutanugarn, older sister to player-of-the-year Ariya—earned $446,948 in 29 starts with two top-10 finishes. Those two top-10s earned $170,895, with the caddie’s 7-percent share coming to $11,962.65. The other 22 cuts made earned $276,053, and 5 percent of that is $13,802.65. Assume the caddie got $1,000 a week, and the total for the year would be $54,765.30 before taxes. And then there is about $35,000 in expenses. That’s a break-even proposition.
Since 2009, Barry (Rock) Cesarz has worked with Morgan Pressel, an eternity to be with one player on any tour, especially the LPGA. He also caddied for Donald Trump at one of his Florida courses for nine years.J.D. Cuban
On the PGA Tour, prize money is north of $300 million annually (plus $35 million in FedEx Cup bonus money), and the LPGA Tour purse is $67.3 million. No. 40 on the PGA Tour last year—James Hahn—earned $2,367,521, which would have been No. 3 on the LPGA Tour, with a whopping 10 missed cuts but a victory among his three top-10 finishes in 26 starts. Let’s assume the caddie got $1,200 a week. With the $195,321 he would earn on the course, in 26 weeks he’d total $226,521—more than four times what the caddie for No. 40 on the LPGA made.
In other words, the caddie for No. 40 on the PGA Tour made more money than the player ranked No. 74 on the LPGA Tour money list.
To make ends meet, most caddies on the LPGA Tour rely on income from a spouse or another job. Jeremy Young, who caddies for Minjee Lee, is married to Heather Bowie Young, who played 17 years on the LPGA Tour. Heather is now an assistant coach at Clemson, but when she was on tour, Jeremy rarely caddied for her, doubling their chances of making money that week. Killeen married Denise Baldwin, a longtime LPGA player who now has the financial security of being a teaching pro.
•••
CADDIES WEAR MANY HATS
Besides the financial challenges, the job of a caddie has become a lot more complicated. Golf has evolved into a sport in which players practice harder and want their caddie at their side as they hit balls. The travel is also vastly different from when Killeen started.
Instead of a stretch with four tournaments in Ohio, three in New York and two in New Jersey, the LPGA this year goes from France to New Zealand to China to South Korea to Taiwan to Malaysia to Japan and back to China before ending in Florida. The 2017 LPGA schedule has 35 events, 17 of those in 14 countries outside the United States.
Although it’s fun to recite the caddie creed of “Show Up, Keep Up, Shut Up,” the job is way more complicated than that. Pretty much the only time off is the weeks your player is not competing. Monday and Tuesday used to be an opportunity for a caddie to sneak in some golf. Now those days are reserved for working with players on the range or playing a practice round.
The days of the hard-living bag-toter who would close the bars at night and work the next day through bloodshot eyes are mostly gone. These loopers are more than mere porters lugging around a 45-pound staff bag. Caddies have evolved into a mix of mathematician, psychologist, cartographer and bodyguard, all while remaining a Sherpa.
“Oh, my, those early days,” says Killeen, smiling. “At our house in Oakmont in 1992 [for the U.S. Women’s Open] we had empties stacked up this high,” he said, holding his hand over his head. “What do I like the most about this job? The people. The travel. The fact I have half the year off.”
And Killeen clearly relishes his role as house father of the group.
The life of a caddie includes many roles on and off the course.“You should have smelled it this morning,” Castrale says about their shared house in Phoenix on Thursday. “At 5 a.m., he’s already got the Irish stew simmering. John sent out a group text telling us where the car was parked and saying, ‘Early guys, when you get home, don’t forget to stir the stew.’ ”
On Monday it was spaghetti and meat sauce, salad, red wine and beer. Tuesday was a caddie party with free food and drink at a local bar. On Wednesday, Killeen made tacos, refried beans and rice, and Thursday was the Irish stew.
“We’re all prepping for the tournament, and he’s prepping for the meals,” Bradley says with a laugh.
Spending a week with eight caddies is like that house you remember from college in another way: You wake up the next morning with your body aching from how much you laughed the night before.
Caddies refer to a former player as “my ex,” as if talking about a divorced wife. In Phoenix, when picking five-woman $20 calcutta teams, which must include your own player, one of the eight says: “My player ain’t ready. How about we be creative this week and pick another guy’s player?” He was right: His player missed the cut.
As you might expect, there’s a great deal of good-natured ribbing. One caddie says to another: “You get your degree yet?” That prompts a befuddled: “What degree?” And then the zinger: “Your nursing degree,” the first caddie says, nodding toward the other guy’s half-empty drink glass.
Caddies also look out for one another. When the tee times start to arrive on smartphones, the coordination of eight players and three cars begins. “Kyle is right before me, and I’m with Drew, that’s one car,” says Castrale, ever the organizer.
•••
YOU’RE HIRED, YOU’RE FIRED
The LPGA says about 150 caddie ID cards are issued annually. Some show up at tournaments without a bag, hoping to pick up a Monday qualifier or catch on with a player who just fired her caddie—not a rare experience.
These days, caddies are sometimes fired by text message. One was fired by telephone on Christmas Eve and told: “We were disappointed we didn’t win a major this year.” To which the caddie said he was thinking: Hey, I’m not the one who hit that ball that’s still bouncing down Bob Hope Drive.
Another caddie was fired by his player’s agent at a gate at the Manchester airport the Monday after the 2006 Ricoh Women’s British Open. And then there was Jason Gilroyed, who was fired by Jessica Korda at the turn of the third round of the 2013 U.S. Women’s Open and replaced by her boyfriend.
“I was in that group, and we were on No. 10 tee,” says Killeen, who was working for Lizette Salas at the time. “I look over, and Jason wasn’t on the bag. I had no idea what was going on.” Later that evening, while sitting at a bar, Killeen nudged me and showed me his phone. On it was a text from Gilroyed that read: “Miss me yet?”
The good memories, however, tend to outweigh the bad ones.
The Evian Championship in France, with its rich purse, exotic setting on Lake Geneva and free beer garden for caddies, is the source of many of those memories. Hotels have combination locks activated after 11 p.m. That has confused more than one over-served caddie returning after an evening out.
At the Founders Cup in Phoenix, the Gang of Eight shares a house, building comraderie while saving on travel expenses.J.D. Cuban
One who couldn’t get in tossed a plastic chair at his room window, hoping to wake his roommate, who had an early tee time. Instead, police were called, the caddie was hauled to jail, and his player had to bail him out at 4 a.m. Another caddie took a more humble rout. He curled up on the curb and slept there.
Then there was the father who berated his daughter’s caddie so badly he quit. The next day, with Dad on the bag, the player got a bad yardage and hit a 7-iron out-of-bounds over a green. The caddie waited for his ex to finish then politely told Dad: “At least I can f---ing add.”
And in the days when Evian ended on Saturday and the pro-am was Sunday, there was often the amusing situation of caddies hiring caddies because they were too hung over to hoof the mountainous course.
But as carefree as caddies can be, they are amazingly devoted to golf, often the frontline conscience of the tour when it comes to the Rules of Golf. As committed as most players are to the rules, caddies are even more.
When two competitors played the wrong ball, it was a caddie who blew the whistle on his player. When a player used a training aid during competition, it was a caddie who called it to the attention of officials. And one caddie insisted they play her original ball, and not the better-positioned provisional. She relented—then fired the caddie.
There is also no question gender makes the relationship between an LPGA player and her caddie more complicated than it is on the men’s tour. Successful pairings become like old married couples sniping at each other.
“OK, let’s pretend like you’re working and take some video,” Pressel says to Cesarz on the range in Phoenix. The two are very close and enjoy poking fun at each other’s idiosyncrasies. “She hates the balls in the bag [on the practice range], and she hates them in a pyramid,” Cesarz says. “First thing I do is mess them all up.”
Lubin is one who has worked the men’s and women’s tours. “What’s the difference?” he says. “That’s a loaded question. I guess the pace. It’s a slower pace out here. Also, because it’s a male-female thing, it’s a much more volatile situation. Guys have a fight, and by the time you leave the tee box, it’s done. Out here it can linger for a few holes—or nine, or 18 or 36,” he says, laughing.
“The competition is the best, the adrenaline rush,” says Scott Lubin. “That’s why we’re here, trying to help our players win.”J.D. Cuban
The important thing is knowing who’s boss.
“There are times they are just so mad at you,” says Cesarz, a mountain of a man with the Rock of Gibraltar tattooed on his leg. “But the thing you have to remember is that the back of my shirt doesn’t say ‘Rock’ or ‘Cesarz.’ It says ‘Pressel.’ ”
Caddies say there is no substitute for being part of the action. “The competition is the best, the adrenaline rush,” Lubin says. “That’s why we’re here, trying to help our players win.”
And there is no substitute for the relationships they’ve developed. “You trust these guys, and you become a part of their lives,” says Lubin, who has a wife of 13 years and daughters 11 and 9. “The toughest part is leaving your family. Honestly, this is not something I want to do for the next 20 years,” says Lubin, reciting a line uttered by many caddies who’ve been out there longer than that.
“I love the game of golf, and I have a very supportive wife,” Killeen says. “I put in 150,000 miles on Delta last year. But I have 22 weeks off a year.”
Killeen’s first year on tour, in Las Vegas, he left his wallet on top of his car and drove off. Stranded with no money and no credit cards, he suddenly felt very far away from home.
“Roscoe Jones, who caddied for [Nancy] Lopez, handed me $500 and said, ‘Pay me back when you can.’ ” Killeen still shakes his head when he tells that story. “This job has helped me to be a father and let my children develop their own personality,” he says. “I’ve learned a lot about character out here, and I hope I’ve taught my children.”
That week in Phoenix, six of the eight missed the cut. The next week, Lubin was fired by Tseng. The week after that, the caddies were gathered around a table in the Beer Hunter Sports Pub & Grill in La Quinta, Calif., telling stories and laughing.
That’s what keeps them coming back: the laughter, the love of the game, the thrill of the hunt, and a real appreciation of each other. It’s a bond that never breaks.
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elmiragc · 7 years
Text
LPGA Tour - For the Love of Caddieing
On the LPGA Tour, a small band of devoted loopers live a thrilling, nomadic existence requiring perseverance, imagination and supportive families
Some are household names among golf fans. Mike (Fluff) Cowan—and his walrus mustache—comes to mind. A few struck it rich, such as Steve Williams in his 13 years with Tiger Woods, and Jim (Bones) Mackay, who has worked with Phil Mickelson since 1992. But those are the exceptions, and they work on the PGA Tour. Among caddies, they are the haves.
The have-nots are those who shoulder bags on the LPGA Tour, trying to survive where the prize money—and potential income—is one-fifth of what’s available on the men’s tour, with the same lack of job security, healthcare and pension.
Looping on the LPGA Tour is a labor of love laced with economic hardships requiring perseverance, imagination and a supportive family. It’s a life where veteran caddies say only about 30 percent last more than 10 years. Yet, a hardy handful of lifers have blown past the quarter-century mark.
John Killeen, 58, is among those captivated by the lifestyle that is alien and often absurd. He has been a caddie on the LPGA Tour for nearly 35 years, with Patty Sheehan, Juli Inkster, Ayako Okamoto, Meg Mallon, Cristie Kerr and others, before landing his current gig with Mirim Lee, winner of last week’s Kia Classic.
Last year, when Killeen was still working for Angela Stanford, he said goodbye to his wife, two teenage kids and home near Atlanta for a swing that took him to the Bahamas, Florida, Thailand, Singapore, Arizona, California, Hawaii, Texas and Alabama. From mid-May, when he took a week off for his son’s high school graduation, until the Olympics in August, Killeen had only one other scheduled week off.
How do you make a life like that work financially and emotionally? For starters, you need a lot of help from your friends. Imagine that house you shared with your buddies in college and the fun you had. Now imagine that house moves around the country—one golf tournament after another. That’s what life is like for Killeen and a handful of his fellow caddies who share living quarters when possible to save money and find sanity in each other’s company. They love the life, each other, golf and the competition. It’s not the money that keeps them chasing this nomadic existence.
In recent years, Killeen was one of eight caddies who rented a house at the Bank of Hope Founders Cup in Phoenix. I spent a week with them, and there are few experiences more valuable and fun for a journalist than hanging with caddies. They know everything—or at least think they do. And they know how to have a good time.
In 1984, John Killeen was 23 and planning to be a stockbroker before going on a two-week stint caddieing that turned into a 30-plus-year career.J.D. Cuban
Killeen is the “godfather” who finds the house, coordinates the Monday run to Costco to buy food and drink—in Phoenix the first 60-pack of beer was knocked off by Tuesday night—and does all the cooking.
Also in this Gang of Eight was Barry (Rock) Cesarz, 47, who has worked with Morgan Pressel since 2009, an eternity to be with one player on any tour, especially the LPGA. He also caddied for Donald Trump at one of his Florida courses for nine years, an experience he describes as “very interesting.”
Craig Castrale, 39, who works with Mo Martin, is Mr. Spreadsheet. Laptop in hand, he shouts across the living room over the big-screen TV that’s always on sports: “Kyle, you going to be in Toledo?” as he records who will be where, who owes what and who has paid.
Scott Lubin, 45, a former caddie for Jack Nicklaus on the Champions Tour who looped for Yani Tseng at the 2016 Founders Cup, was part of the group. He has since opted for the security of being caddiemaster at Loxahatchee Club in Florida. At 27, Drew Ernst is the youngest of the group. He carries for his sister, Austin Ernst. Then there are the boys from Augusta, Ga.: Kyle Bradley (Jessica Korda), Jack Fulghum, (Nelly Korda) and Derrick Redd (Caroline Masson).
Bradley, 36, caddied at Augusta National, home of the Masters, and played mini-tours for nine years before picking up Korda’s bag in 2014. “The best part of our job is helping top-notch players try to win a championship,” Bradley says, something he has done with Korda three times. Then he makes a confession that applies to many LPGA caddies: “No chance I could work in an office.”
Redd, 48, also known as “168,” his Augusta National caddie number, and Fulghum, 45, still work at Augusta National, which is conveniently closed from mid-May to mid-October, when the LPGA schedule is in full swing.
•••
EKING OUT A LIVING
Fulghum has been at Augusta National for more than 20 years, and for many LPGA caddies, those private-club jobs are too lucrative and reliable to give up. T.J. Jones, a longtime caddie at Seminole, heads back to the exclusive Florida club whenever he has an off-week with Christina Kim.
“You have to finish in the top 40 [on the money list] out here to have a significant year,” says Killeen, who in 1984 at age 23 and planning to be a stockbroker, told his mother and girlfriend in Portland, Ore., he’d be back after a two-week stint caddieing, then came home eight months later and said he’d found his calling.
In Phoenix, the eight men in the house paid $430 each for rent. There were two rental cars, plus Castrale’s car he drove from Palm Desert, Calif. Food and drink came to $125 a man, with the rental cars totaling $100 each. Castrale says the seven guys who flew in averaged about $250 for airfare. That put the total expenses per person at $905 for the week, much less than it would have cost to stay in a hotel, not to mention food and drink.
These days, caddies are sometimes fired by text message. One was fired by telephone on Christmas Eve and told: ‘We were disappointed we didn’t win a major this year.’
“Some weeks, like Asia events, all we pay for is food and hotel because we have no rental cars and 99 percent of the players pay for international caddie flights,” says Castrale. “But then Hawaii and San Francisco, for example, I spend $1,500 at least. Overall, $1,000 to $1,200 per week is our typical average expense for the 25 to 30 events played.”
The way it works, the caddies say, is they get on average a guarantee of $1,000 to $1,500 for each week the player competes. If your player misses the cut, that’s all you get. On average, a caddie gets 5 percent of a made-cut check, 7 percent of a top-10 check and 10 percent for a win. Some players are more generous than others.
Now what kind of money are we talking here? No. 40 on the LPGA money list last year—Moriya Jutanugarn, older sister to player-of-the-year Ariya—earned $446,948 in 29 starts with two top-10 finishes. Those two top-10s earned $170,895, with the caddie’s 7-percent share coming to $11,962.65. The other 22 cuts made earned $276,053, and 5 percent of that is $13,802.65. Assume the caddie got $1,000 a week, and the total for the year would be $54,765.30 before taxes. And then there is about $35,000 in expenses. That’s a break-even proposition.
Since 2009, Barry (Rock) Cesarz has worked with Morgan Pressel, an eternity to be with one player on any tour, especially the LPGA. He also caddied for Donald Trump at one of his Florida courses for nine years.J.D. Cuban
On the PGA Tour, prize money is north of $300 million annually (plus $35 million in FedEx Cup bonus money), and the LPGA Tour purse is $67.3 million. No. 40 on the PGA Tour last year—James Hahn—earned $2,367,521, which would have been No. 3 on the LPGA Tour, with a whopping 10 missed cuts but a victory among his three top-10 finishes in 26 starts. Let’s assume the caddie got $1,200 a week. With the $195,321 he would earn on the course, in 26 weeks he’d total $226,521—more than four times what the caddie for No. 40 on the LPGA made.
In other words, the caddie for No. 40 on the PGA Tour made more money than the player ranked No. 74 on the LPGA Tour money list.
To make ends meet, most caddies on the LPGA Tour rely on income from a spouse or another job. Jeremy Young, who caddies for Minjee Lee, is married to Heather Bowie Young, who played 17 years on the LPGA Tour. Heather is now an assistant coach at Clemson, but when she was on tour, Jeremy rarely caddied for her, doubling their chances of making money that week. Killeen married Denise Baldwin, a longtime LPGA player who now has the financial security of being a teaching pro.
•••
CADDIES WEAR MANY HATS
Besides the financial challenges, the job of a caddie has become a lot more complicated. Golf has evolved into a sport in which players practice harder and want their caddie at their side as they hit balls. The travel is also vastly different from when Killeen started.
Instead of a stretch with four tournaments in Ohio, three in New York and two in New Jersey, the LPGA this year goes from France to New Zealand to China to South Korea to Taiwan to Malaysia to Japan and back to China before ending in Florida. The 2017 LPGA schedule has 35 events, 17 of those in 14 countries outside the United States.
Although it’s fun to recite the caddie creed of “Show Up, Keep Up, Shut Up,” the job is way more complicated than that. Pretty much the only time off is the weeks your player is not competing. Monday and Tuesday used to be an opportunity for a caddie to sneak in some golf. Now those days are reserved for working with players on the range or playing a practice round.
The days of the hard-living bag-toter who would close the bars at night and work the next day through bloodshot eyes are mostly gone. These loopers are more than mere porters lugging around a 45-pound staff bag. Caddies have evolved into a mix of mathematician, psychologist, cartographer and bodyguard, all while remaining a Sherpa.
“Oh, my, those early days,” says Killeen, smiling. “At our house in Oakmont in 1992 [for the U.S. Women’s Open] we had empties stacked up this high,” he said, holding his hand over his head. “What do I like the most about this job? The people. The travel. The fact I have half the year off.”
And Killeen clearly relishes his role as house father of the group.
The life of a caddie includes many roles on and off the course.“You should have smelled it this morning,” Castrale says about their shared house in Phoenix on Thursday. “At 5 a.m., he’s already got the Irish stew simmering. John sent out a group text telling us where the car was parked and saying, ‘Early guys, when you get home, don’t forget to stir the stew.’ ”
On Monday it was spaghetti and meat sauce, salad, red wine and beer. Tuesday was a caddie party with free food and drink at a local bar. On Wednesday, Killeen made tacos, refried beans and rice, and Thursday was the Irish stew.
“We’re all prepping for the tournament, and he’s prepping for the meals,” Bradley says with a laugh.
Spending a week with eight caddies is like that house you remember from college in another way: You wake up the next morning with your body aching from how much you laughed the night before.
Caddies refer to a former player as “my ex,” as if talking about a divorced wife. In Phoenix, when picking five-woman $20 calcutta teams, which must include your own player, one of the eight says: “My player ain’t ready. How about we be creative this week and pick another guy’s player?” He was right: His player missed the cut.
As you might expect, there’s a great deal of good-natured ribbing. One caddie says to another: “You get your degree yet?” That prompts a befuddled: “What degree?” And then the zinger: “Your nursing degree,” the first caddie says, nodding toward the other guy’s half-empty drink glass.
Caddies also look out for one another. When the tee times start to arrive on smartphones, the coordination of eight players and three cars begins. “Kyle is right before me, and I’m with Drew, that’s one car,” says Castrale, ever the organizer.
•••
YOU’RE HIRED, YOU’RE FIRED
The LPGA says about 150 caddie ID cards are issued annually. Some show up at tournaments without a bag, hoping to pick up a Monday qualifier or catch on with a player who just fired her caddie—not a rare experience.
These days, caddies are sometimes fired by text message. One was fired by telephone on Christmas Eve and told: “We were disappointed we didn’t win a major this year.” To which the caddie said he was thinking: Hey, I’m not the one who hit that ball that’s still bouncing down Bob Hope Drive.
Another caddie was fired by his player’s agent at a gate at the Manchester airport the Monday after the 2006 Ricoh Women’s British Open. And then there was Jason Gilroyed, who was fired by Jessica Korda at the turn of the third round of the 2013 U.S. Women’s Open and replaced by her boyfriend.
“I was in that group, and we were on No. 10 tee,” says Killeen, who was working for Lizette Salas at the time. “I look over, and Jason wasn’t on the bag. I had no idea what was going on.” Later that evening, while sitting at a bar, Killeen nudged me and showed me his phone. On it was a text from Gilroyed that read: “Miss me yet?”
The good memories, however, tend to outweigh the bad ones.
The Evian Championship in France, with its rich purse, exotic setting on Lake Geneva and free beer garden for caddies, is the source of many of those memories. Hotels have combination locks activated after 11 p.m. That has confused more than one over-served caddie returning after an evening out.
At the Founders Cup in Phoenix, the Gang of Eight shares a house, building comraderie while saving on travel expenses.J.D. Cuban
One who couldn’t get in tossed a plastic chair at his room window, hoping to wake his roommate, who had an early tee time. Instead, police were called, the caddie was hauled to jail, and his player had to bail him out at 4 a.m. Another caddie took a more humble rout. He curled up on the curb and slept there.
Then there was the father who berated his daughter’s caddie so badly he quit. The next day, with Dad on the bag, the player got a bad yardage and hit a 7-iron out-of-bounds over a green. The caddie waited for his ex to finish then politely told Dad: “At least I can f---ing add.”
And in the days when Evian ended on Saturday and the pro-am was Sunday, there was often the amusing situation of caddies hiring caddies because they were too hung over to hoof the mountainous course.
But as carefree as caddies can be, they are amazingly devoted to golf, often the frontline conscience of the tour when it comes to the Rules of Golf. As committed as most players are to the rules, caddies are even more.
When two competitors played the wrong ball, it was a caddie who blew the whistle on his player. When a player used a training aid during competition, it was a caddie who called it to the attention of officials. And one caddie insisted they play her original ball, and not the better-positioned provisional. She relented—then fired the caddie.
There is also no question gender makes the relationship between an LPGA player and her caddie more complicated than it is on the men’s tour. Successful pairings become like old married couples sniping at each other.
“OK, let’s pretend like you’re working and take some video,” Pressel says to Cesarz on the range in Phoenix. The two are very close and enjoy poking fun at each other’s idiosyncrasies. “She hates the balls in the bag [on the practice range], and she hates them in a pyramid,” Cesarz says. “First thing I do is mess them all up.”
Lubin is one who has worked the men’s and women’s tours. “What’s the difference?” he says. “That’s a loaded question. I guess the pace. It’s a slower pace out here. Also, because it’s a male-female thing, it’s a much more volatile situation. Guys have a fight, and by the time you leave the tee box, it’s done. Out here it can linger for a few holes—or nine, or 18 or 36,” he says, laughing.
“The competition is the best, the adrenaline rush,” says Scott Lubin. “That’s why we’re here, trying to help our players win.”J.D. Cuban
The important thing is knowing who’s boss.
“There are times they are just so mad at you,” says Cesarz, a mountain of a man with the Rock of Gibraltar tattooed on his leg. “But the thing you have to remember is that the back of my shirt doesn’t say ‘Rock’ or ‘Cesarz.’ It says ‘Pressel.’ ”
Caddies say there is no substitute for being part of the action. “The competition is the best, the adrenaline rush,” Lubin says. “That’s why we’re here, trying to help our players win.”
And there is no substitute for the relationships they’ve developed. “You trust these guys, and you become a part of their lives,” says Lubin, who has a wife of 13 years and daughters 11 and 9. “The toughest part is leaving your family. Honestly, this is not something I want to do for the next 20 years,” says Lubin, reciting a line uttered by many caddies who’ve been out there longer than that.
“I love the game of golf, and I have a very supportive wife,” Killeen says. “I put in 150,000 miles on Delta last year. But I have 22 weeks off a year.”
Killeen’s first year on tour, in Las Vegas, he left his wallet on top of his car and drove off. Stranded with no money and no credit cards, he suddenly felt very far away from home.
“Roscoe Jones, who caddied for [Nancy] Lopez, handed me $500 and said, ‘Pay me back when you can.’ ” Killeen still shakes his head when he tells that story. “This job has helped me to be a father and let my children develop their own personality,” he says. “I’ve learned a lot about character out here, and I hope I’ve taught my children.”
That week in Phoenix, six of the eight missed the cut. The next week, Lubin was fired by Tseng. The week after that, the caddies were gathered around a table in the Beer Hunter Sports Pub & Grill in La Quinta, Calif., telling stories and laughing.
That’s what keeps them coming back: the laughter, the love of the game, the thrill of the hunt, and a real appreciation of each other. It’s a bond that never breaks.
Brought to you byElmira Golf Club
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emmagoldberg · 7 months
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TODAY 5PM -- AUJOURD'HUI 17H SHOW N°99 -- "JUST LIKE EMMA " ON 242 RADIO UK"
"Just Like Emma" Sur 242 RADIO UK will be broadcasted every 2 weeks at the following times; "Just Like Emma" Sur 242 RADIO UK sera diffusée pendant 2 semaines aux heures suivantes; https://www.242radio.com/
Monday -Lundi 16h 00 UK/17h 00 France / 11h 00 EAST COAST/ 07h00 PST Tuesday- Mardi 22h 00PST Wednesday - Mercredi 06h 00 UK/ 07h 00 France/ 01h 00 EAST COAST Thursday - Jeudi 19h00 EAST COAST /16h 00 PST Friday - Vendredi 00h 00 UK/ 01h 00 FRANCE
SHOW N°99 – JUST LIKE EMMA ON 242 RADIO UK --THE GUESTS
1- T-TRI « WIN MY LIFE » 2- SEBASTIEN MASSON « BOUT DE CHOU » 3 – SEBASTIEN CHARLES « LES BOUGIES DE JE NE SAIS QUOI» 4- MS BUTTERFLY « THE LOVE » 5- MICKAEL PETRAU « AIME » 6 – LES AMOUREUX DU SACRE-COEUR « DALI-DALIDA » 7 - HEATHER WALTON « IT’S OVER » 8-CHRIS BONAMOUR « JE VEUX DU REEL » 9- CORINNE JACKSON « GIMME SOME FUNCK » 10- LUCAS PARTON « LES DIMANCHES » 11- FREDERICK ARNO « TU SAIS » 12 - EMILE KOJIDIE « MANDELA » 13 – JONIECE JAMISON & FRANCOIS FELDMAN « RESSUSCITE » 14 – MICHAEL JACOB « I CAN FEEL » 15 – CHRIS V « SHE’S AMAZING 16 – GENERIQUE « I LOVE YOU THE WAY YOU ARE » EMMA GOLDBERG
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lowvillegolfclub · 7 years
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LPGA Tour - For the Love of Caddieing
On the LPGA Tour, a small band of devoted loopers live a thrilling, nomadic existence requiring perseverance, imagination and supportive families
Some are household names among golf fans. Mike (Fluff) Cowan—and his walrus mustache—comes to mind. A few struck it rich, such as Steve Williams in his 13 years with Tiger Woods, and Jim (Bones) Mackay, who has worked with Phil Mickelson since 1992. But those are the exceptions, and they work on the PGA Tour. Among caddies, they are the haves.
The have-nots are those who shoulder bags on the LPGA Tour, trying to survive where the prize money—and potential income—is one-fifth of what’s available on the men’s tour, with the same lack of job security, healthcare and pension.
Looping on the LPGA Tour is a labor of love laced with economic hardships requiring perseverance, imagination and a supportive family. It’s a life where veteran caddies say only about 30 percent last more than 10 years. Yet, a hardy handful of lifers have blown past the quarter-century mark.
John Killeen, 58, is among those captivated by the lifestyle that is alien and often absurd. He has been a caddie on the LPGA Tour for nearly 35 years, with Patty Sheehan, Juli Inkster, Ayako Okamoto, Meg Mallon, Cristie Kerr and others, before landing his current gig with Mirim Lee, winner of last week’s Kia Classic.
Last year, when Killeen was still working for Angela Stanford, he said goodbye to his wife, two teenage kids and home near Atlanta for a swing that took him to the Bahamas, Florida, Thailand, Singapore, Arizona, California, Hawaii, Texas and Alabama. From mid-May, when he took a week off for his son’s high school graduation, until the Olympics in August, Killeen had only one other scheduled week off.
How do you make a life like that work financially and emotionally? For starters, you need a lot of help from your friends. Imagine that house you shared with your buddies in college and the fun you had. Now imagine that house moves around the country—one golf tournament after another. That’s what life is like for Killeen and a handful of his fellow caddies who share living quarters when possible to save money and find sanity in each other’s company. They love the life, each other, golf and the competition. It’s not the money that keeps them chasing this nomadic existence.
In recent years, Killeen was one of eight caddies who rented a house at the Bank of Hope Founders Cup in Phoenix. I spent a week with them, and there are few experiences more valuable and fun for a journalist than hanging with caddies. They know everything—or at least think they do. And they know how to have a good time.
In 1984, John Killeen was 23 and planning to be a stockbroker before going on a two-week stint caddieing that turned into a 30-plus-year career.J.D. Cuban
Killeen is the “godfather” who finds the house, coordinates the Monday run to Costco to buy food and drink—in Phoenix the first 60-pack of beer was knocked off by Tuesday night—and does all the cooking.
Also in this Gang of Eight was Barry (Rock) Cesarz, 47, who has worked with Morgan Pressel since 2009, an eternity to be with one player on any tour, especially the LPGA. He also caddied for Donald Trump at one of his Florida courses for nine years, an experience he describes as “very interesting.”
Craig Castrale, 39, who works with Mo Martin, is Mr. Spreadsheet. Laptop in hand, he shouts across the living room over the big-screen TV that’s always on sports: “Kyle, you going to be in Toledo?” as he records who will be where, who owes what and who has paid.
Scott Lubin, 45, a former caddie for Jack Nicklaus on the Champions Tour who looped for Yani Tseng at the 2016 Founders Cup, was part of the group. He has since opted for the security of being caddiemaster at Loxahatchee Club in Florida. At 27, Drew Ernst is the youngest of the group. He carries for his sister, Austin Ernst. Then there are the boys from Augusta, Ga.: Kyle Bradley (Jessica Korda), Jack Fulghum, (Nelly Korda) and Derrick Redd (Caroline Masson).
Bradley, 36, caddied at Augusta National, home of the Masters, and played mini-tours for nine years before picking up Korda’s bag in 2014. “The best part of our job is helping top-notch players try to win a championship,” Bradley says, something he has done with Korda three times. Then he makes a confession that applies to many LPGA caddies: “No chance I could work in an office.”
Redd, 48, also known as “168,” his Augusta National caddie number, and Fulghum, 45, still work at Augusta National, which is conveniently closed from mid-May to mid-October, when the LPGA schedule is in full swing.
•••
EKING OUT A LIVING
Fulghum has been at Augusta National for more than 20 years, and for many LPGA caddies, those private-club jobs are too lucrative and reliable to give up. T.J. Jones, a longtime caddie at Seminole, heads back to the exclusive Florida club whenever he has an off-week with Christina Kim.
“You have to finish in the top 40 [on the money list] out here to have a significant year,” says Killeen, who in 1984 at age 23 and planning to be a stockbroker, told his mother and girlfriend in Portland, Ore., he’d be back after a two-week stint caddieing, then came home eight months later and said he’d found his calling.
In Phoenix, the eight men in the house paid $430 each for rent. There were two rental cars, plus Castrale’s car he drove from Palm Desert, Calif. Food and drink came to $125 a man, with the rental cars totaling $100 each. Castrale says the seven guys who flew in averaged about $250 for airfare. That put the total expenses per person at $905 for the week, much less than it would have cost to stay in a hotel, not to mention food and drink.
These days, caddies are sometimes fired by text message. One was fired by telephone on Christmas Eve and told: ‘We were disappointed we didn’t win a major this year.’
“Some weeks, like Asia events, all we pay for is food and hotel because we have no rental cars and 99 percent of the players pay for international caddie flights,” says Castrale. “But then Hawaii and San Francisco, for example, I spend $1,500 at least. Overall, $1,000 to $1,200 per week is our typical average expense for the 25 to 30 events played.”
The way it works, the caddies say, is they get on average a guarantee of $1,000 to $1,500 for each week the player competes. If your player misses the cut, that’s all you get. On average, a caddie gets 5 percent of a made-cut check, 7 percent of a top-10 check and 10 percent for a win. Some players are more generous than others.
Now what kind of money are we talking here? No. 40 on the LPGA money list last year—Moriya Jutanugarn, older sister to player-of-the-year Ariya—earned $446,948 in 29 starts with two top-10 finishes. Those two top-10s earned $170,895, with the caddie’s 7-percent share coming to $11,962.65. The other 22 cuts made earned $276,053, and 5 percent of that is $13,802.65. Assume the caddie got $1,000 a week, and the total for the year would be $54,765.30 before taxes. And then there is about $35,000 in expenses. That’s a break-even proposition.
Since 2009, Barry (Rock) Cesarz has worked with Morgan Pressel, an eternity to be with one player on any tour, especially the LPGA. He also caddied for Donald Trump at one of his Florida courses for nine years.J.D. Cuban
On the PGA Tour, prize money is north of $300 million annually (plus $35 million in FedEx Cup bonus money), and the LPGA Tour purse is $67.3 million. No. 40 on the PGA Tour last year—James Hahn—earned $2,367,521, which would have been No. 3 on the LPGA Tour, with a whopping 10 missed cuts but a victory among his three top-10 finishes in 26 starts. Let’s assume the caddie got $1,200 a week. With the $195,321 he would earn on the course, in 26 weeks he’d total $226,521—more than four times what the caddie for No. 40 on the LPGA made.
In other words, the caddie for No. 40 on the PGA Tour made more money than the player ranked No. 74 on the LPGA Tour money list.
To make ends meet, most caddies on the LPGA Tour rely on income from a spouse or another job. Jeremy Young, who caddies for Minjee Lee, is married to Heather Bowie Young, who played 17 years on the LPGA Tour. Heather is now an assistant coach at Clemson, but when she was on tour, Jeremy rarely caddied for her, doubling their chances of making money that week. Killeen married Denise Baldwin, a longtime LPGA player who now has the financial security of being a teaching pro.
•••
CADDIES WEAR MANY HATS
Besides the financial challenges, the job of a caddie has become a lot more complicated. Golf has evolved into a sport in which players practice harder and want their caddie at their side as they hit balls. The travel is also vastly different from when Killeen started.
Instead of a stretch with four tournaments in Ohio, three in New York and two in New Jersey, the LPGA this year goes from France to New Zealand to China to South Korea to Taiwan to Malaysia to Japan and back to China before ending in Florida. The 2017 LPGA schedule has 35 events, 17 of those in 14 countries outside the United States.
Although it’s fun to recite the caddie creed of “Show Up, Keep Up, Shut Up,” the job is way more complicated than that. Pretty much the only time off is the weeks your player is not competing. Monday and Tuesday used to be an opportunity for a caddie to sneak in some golf. Now those days are reserved for working with players on the range or playing a practice round.
The days of the hard-living bag-toter who would close the bars at night and work the next day through bloodshot eyes are mostly gone. These loopers are more than mere porters lugging around a 45-pound staff bag. Caddies have evolved into a mix of mathematician, psychologist, cartographer and bodyguard, all while remaining a Sherpa.
“Oh, my, those early days,” says Killeen, smiling. “At our house in Oakmont in 1992 [for the U.S. Women’s Open] we had empties stacked up this high,” he said, holding his hand over his head. “What do I like the most about this job? The people. The travel. The fact I have half the year off.”
And Killeen clearly relishes his role as house father of the group.
The life of a caddie includes many roles on and off the course.“You should have smelled it this morning,” Castrale says about their shared house in Phoenix on Thursday. “At 5 a.m., he’s already got the Irish stew simmering. John sent out a group text telling us where the car was parked and saying, ‘Early guys, when you get home, don’t forget to stir the stew.’ ”
On Monday it was spaghetti and meat sauce, salad, red wine and beer. Tuesday was a caddie party with free food and drink at a local bar. On Wednesday, Killeen made tacos, refried beans and rice, and Thursday was the Irish stew.
“We’re all prepping for the tournament, and he’s prepping for the meals,” Bradley says with a laugh.
Spending a week with eight caddies is like that house you remember from college in another way: You wake up the next morning with your body aching from how much you laughed the night before.
Caddies refer to a former player as “my ex,” as if talking about a divorced wife. In Phoenix, when picking five-woman $20 calcutta teams, which must include your own player, one of the eight says: “My player ain’t ready. How about we be creative this week and pick another guy’s player?” He was right: His player missed the cut.
As you might expect, there’s a great deal of good-natured ribbing. One caddie says to another: “You get your degree yet?” That prompts a befuddled: “What degree?” And then the zinger: “Your nursing degree,” the first caddie says, nodding toward the other guy’s half-empty drink glass.
Caddies also look out for one another. When the tee times start to arrive on smartphones, the coordination of eight players and three cars begins. “Kyle is right before me, and I’m with Drew, that’s one car,” says Castrale, ever the organizer.
•••
YOU’RE HIRED, YOU’RE FIRED
The LPGA says about 150 caddie ID cards are issued annually. Some show up at tournaments without a bag, hoping to pick up a Monday qualifier or catch on with a player who just fired her caddie—not a rare experience.
These days, caddies are sometimes fired by text message. One was fired by telephone on Christmas Eve and told: “We were disappointed we didn’t win a major this year.” To which the caddie said he was thinking: Hey, I’m not the one who hit that ball that’s still bouncing down Bob Hope Drive.
Another caddie was fired by his player’s agent at a gate at the Manchester airport the Monday after the 2006 Ricoh Women’s British Open. And then there was Jason Gilroyed, who was fired by Jessica Korda at the turn of the third round of the 2013 U.S. Women’s Open and replaced by her boyfriend.
“I was in that group, and we were on No. 10 tee,” says Killeen, who was working for Lizette Salas at the time. “I look over, and Jason wasn’t on the bag. I had no idea what was going on.” Later that evening, while sitting at a bar, Killeen nudged me and showed me his phone. On it was a text from Gilroyed that read: “Miss me yet?”
The good memories, however, tend to outweigh the bad ones.
The Evian Championship in France, with its rich purse, exotic setting on Lake Geneva and free beer garden for caddies, is the source of many of those memories. Hotels have combination locks activated after 11 p.m. That has confused more than one over-served caddie returning after an evening out.
At the Founders Cup in Phoenix, the Gang of Eight shares a house, building comraderie while saving on travel expenses.J.D. Cuban
One who couldn’t get in tossed a plastic chair at his room window, hoping to wake his roommate, who had an early tee time. Instead, police were called, the caddie was hauled to jail, and his player had to bail him out at 4 a.m. Another caddie took a more humble rout. He curled up on the curb and slept there.
Then there was the father who berated his daughter’s caddie so badly he quit. The next day, with Dad on the bag, the player got a bad yardage and hit a 7-iron out-of-bounds over a green. The caddie waited for his ex to finish then politely told Dad: “At least I can f---ing add.”
And in the days when Evian ended on Saturday and the pro-am was Sunday, there was often the amusing situation of caddies hiring caddies because they were too hung over to hoof the mountainous course.
But as carefree as caddies can be, they are amazingly devoted to golf, often the frontline conscience of the tour when it comes to the Rules of Golf. As committed as most players are to the rules, caddies are even more.
When two competitors played the wrong ball, it was a caddie who blew the whistle on his player. When a player used a training aid during competition, it was a caddie who called it to the attention of officials. And one caddie insisted they play her original ball, and not the better-positioned provisional. She relented—then fired the caddie.
There is also no question gender makes the relationship between an LPGA player and her caddie more complicated than it is on the men’s tour. Successful pairings become like old married couples sniping at each other.
“OK, let’s pretend like you’re working and take some video,” Pressel says to Cesarz on the range in Phoenix. The two are very close and enjoy poking fun at each other’s idiosyncrasies. “She hates the balls in the bag [on the practice range], and she hates them in a pyramid,” Cesarz says. “First thing I do is mess them all up.”
Lubin is one who has worked the men’s and women’s tours. “What’s the difference?” he says. “That’s a loaded question. I guess the pace. It’s a slower pace out here. Also, because it’s a male-female thing, it’s a much more volatile situation. Guys have a fight, and by the time you leave the tee box, it’s done. Out here it can linger for a few holes—or nine, or 18 or 36,” he says, laughing.
“The competition is the best, the adrenaline rush,” says Scott Lubin. “That’s why we’re here, trying to help our players win.”J.D. Cuban
The important thing is knowing who’s boss.
“There are times they are just so mad at you,” says Cesarz, a mountain of a man with the Rock of Gibraltar tattooed on his leg. “But the thing you have to remember is that the back of my shirt doesn’t say ‘Rock’ or ‘Cesarz.’ It says ‘Pressel.’ ”
Caddies say there is no substitute for being part of the action. “The competition is the best, the adrenaline rush,” Lubin says. “That’s why we’re here, trying to help our players win.”
And there is no substitute for the relationships they’ve developed. “You trust these guys, and you become a part of their lives,” says Lubin, who has a wife of 13 years and daughters 11 and 9. “The toughest part is leaving your family. Honestly, this is not something I want to do for the next 20 years,” says Lubin, reciting a line uttered by many caddies who’ve been out there longer than that.
“I love the game of golf, and I have a very supportive wife,” Killeen says. “I put in 150,000 miles on Delta last year. But I have 22 weeks off a year.”
Killeen’s first year on tour, in Las Vegas, he left his wallet on top of his car and drove off. Stranded with no money and no credit cards, he suddenly felt very far away from home.
“Roscoe Jones, who caddied for [Nancy] Lopez, handed me $500 and said, ‘Pay me back when you can.’ ” Killeen still shakes his head when he tells that story. “This job has helped me to be a father and let my children develop their own personality,” he says. “I’ve learned a lot about character out here, and I hope I’ve taught my children.”
That week in Phoenix, six of the eight missed the cut. The next week, Lubin was fired by Tseng. The week after that, the caddies were gathered around a table in the Beer Hunter Sports Pub & Grill in La Quinta, Calif., telling stories and laughing.
That’s what keeps them coming back: the laughter, the love of the game, the thrill of the hunt, and a real appreciation of each other. It’s a bond that never breaks.
Brought to you byLowville Golf Club
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4seasonscountryclub · 7 years
Text
LPGA Tour - For the Love of Caddieing
On the LPGA Tour, a small band of devoted loopers live a thrilling, nomadic existence requiring perseverance, imagination and supportive families
Some are household names among golf fans. Mike (Fluff) Cowan—and his walrus mustache—comes to mind. A few struck it rich, such as Steve Williams in his 13 years with Tiger Woods, and Jim (Bones) Mackay, who has worked with Phil Mickelson since 1992. But those are the exceptions, and they work on the PGA Tour. Among caddies, they are the haves.
The have-nots are those who shoulder bags on the LPGA Tour, trying to survive where the prize money—and potential income—is one-fifth of what’s available on the men’s tour, with the same lack of job security, healthcare and pension.
Looping on the LPGA Tour is a labor of love laced with economic hardships requiring perseverance, imagination and a supportive family. It’s a life where veteran caddies say only about 30 percent last more than 10 years. Yet, a hardy handful of lifers have blown past the quarter-century mark.
John Killeen, 58, is among those captivated by the lifestyle that is alien and often absurd. He has been a caddie on the LPGA Tour for nearly 35 years, with Patty Sheehan, Juli Inkster, Ayako Okamoto, Meg Mallon, Cristie Kerr and others, before landing his current gig with Mirim Lee, winner of last week’s Kia Classic.
Last year, when Killeen was still working for Angela Stanford, he said goodbye to his wife, two teenage kids and home near Atlanta for a swing that took him to the Bahamas, Florida, Thailand, Singapore, Arizona, California, Hawaii, Texas and Alabama. From mid-May, when he took a week off for his son’s high school graduation, until the Olympics in August, Killeen had only one other scheduled week off.
How do you make a life like that work financially and emotionally? For starters, you need a lot of help from your friends. Imagine that house you shared with your buddies in college and the fun you had. Now imagine that house moves around the country—one golf tournament after another. That’s what life is like for Killeen and a handful of his fellow caddies who share living quarters when possible to save money and find sanity in each other’s company. They love the life, each other, golf and the competition. It’s not the money that keeps them chasing this nomadic existence.
In recent years, Killeen was one of eight caddies who rented a house at the Bank of Hope Founders Cup in Phoenix. I spent a week with them, and there are few experiences more valuable and fun for a journalist than hanging with caddies. They know everything—or at least think they do. And they know how to have a good time.
In 1984, John Killeen was 23 and planning to be a stockbroker before going on a two-week stint caddieing that turned into a 30-plus-year career.J.D. Cuban
Killeen is the “godfather” who finds the house, coordinates the Monday run to Costco to buy food and drink—in Phoenix the first 60-pack of beer was knocked off by Tuesday night—and does all the cooking.
Also in this Gang of Eight was Barry (Rock) Cesarz, 47, who has worked with Morgan Pressel since 2009, an eternity to be with one player on any tour, especially the LPGA. He also caddied for Donald Trump at one of his Florida courses for nine years, an experience he describes as “very interesting.”
Craig Castrale, 39, who works with Mo Martin, is Mr. Spreadsheet. Laptop in hand, he shouts across the living room over the big-screen TV that’s always on sports: “Kyle, you going to be in Toledo?” as he records who will be where, who owes what and who has paid.
Scott Lubin, 45, a former caddie for Jack Nicklaus on the Champions Tour who looped for Yani Tseng at the 2016 Founders Cup, was part of the group. He has since opted for the security of being caddiemaster at Loxahatchee Club in Florida. At 27, Drew Ernst is the youngest of the group. He carries for his sister, Austin Ernst. Then there are the boys from Augusta, Ga.: Kyle Bradley (Jessica Korda), Jack Fulghum, (Nelly Korda) and Derrick Redd (Caroline Masson).
Bradley, 36, caddied at Augusta National, home of the Masters, and played mini-tours for nine years before picking up Korda’s bag in 2014. “The best part of our job is helping top-notch players try to win a championship,” Bradley says, something he has done with Korda three times. Then he makes a confession that applies to many LPGA caddies: “No chance I could work in an office.”
Redd, 48, also known as “168,” his Augusta National caddie number, and Fulghum, 45, still work at Augusta National, which is conveniently closed from mid-May to mid-October, when the LPGA schedule is in full swing.
•••
EKING OUT A LIVING
Fulghum has been at Augusta National for more than 20 years, and for many LPGA caddies, those private-club jobs are too lucrative and reliable to give up. T.J. Jones, a longtime caddie at Seminole, heads back to the exclusive Florida club whenever he has an off-week with Christina Kim.
“You have to finish in the top 40 [on the money list] out here to have a significant year,” says Killeen, who in 1984 at age 23 and planning to be a stockbroker, told his mother and girlfriend in Portland, Ore., he’d be back after a two-week stint caddieing, then came home eight months later and said he’d found his calling.
In Phoenix, the eight men in the house paid $430 each for rent. There were two rental cars, plus Castrale’s car he drove from Palm Desert, Calif. Food and drink came to $125 a man, with the rental cars totaling $100 each. Castrale says the seven guys who flew in averaged about $250 for airfare. That put the total expenses per person at $905 for the week, much less than it would have cost to stay in a hotel, not to mention food and drink.
These days, caddies are sometimes fired by text message. One was fired by telephone on Christmas Eve and told: ‘We were disappointed we didn’t win a major this year.’
“Some weeks, like Asia events, all we pay for is food and hotel because we have no rental cars and 99 percent of the players pay for international caddie flights,” says Castrale. “But then Hawaii and San Francisco, for example, I spend $1,500 at least. Overall, $1,000 to $1,200 per week is our typical average expense for the 25 to 30 events played.”
The way it works, the caddies say, is they get on average a guarantee of $1,000 to $1,500 for each week the player competes. If your player misses the cut, that’s all you get. On average, a caddie gets 5 percent of a made-cut check, 7 percent of a top-10 check and 10 percent for a win. Some players are more generous than others.
Now what kind of money are we talking here? No. 40 on the LPGA money list last year—Moriya Jutanugarn, older sister to player-of-the-year Ariya—earned $446,948 in 29 starts with two top-10 finishes. Those two top-10s earned $170,895, with the caddie’s 7-percent share coming to $11,962.65. The other 22 cuts made earned $276,053, and 5 percent of that is $13,802.65. Assume the caddie got $1,000 a week, and the total for the year would be $54,765.30 before taxes. And then there is about $35,000 in expenses. That’s a break-even proposition.
Since 2009, Barry (Rock) Cesarz has worked with Morgan Pressel, an eternity to be with one player on any tour, especially the LPGA. He also caddied for Donald Trump at one of his Florida courses for nine years.J.D. Cuban
On the PGA Tour, prize money is north of $300 million annually (plus $35 million in FedEx Cup bonus money), and the LPGA Tour purse is $67.3 million. No. 40 on the PGA Tour last year—James Hahn—earned $2,367,521, which would have been No. 3 on the LPGA Tour, with a whopping 10 missed cuts but a victory among his three top-10 finishes in 26 starts. Let’s assume the caddie got $1,200 a week. With the $195,321 he would earn on the course, in 26 weeks he’d total $226,521—more than four times what the caddie for No. 40 on the LPGA made.
In other words, the caddie for No. 40 on the PGA Tour made more money than the player ranked No. 74 on the LPGA Tour money list.
To make ends meet, most caddies on the LPGA Tour rely on income from a spouse or another job. Jeremy Young, who caddies for Minjee Lee, is married to Heather Bowie Young, who played 17 years on the LPGA Tour. Heather is now an assistant coach at Clemson, but when she was on tour, Jeremy rarely caddied for her, doubling their chances of making money that week. Killeen married Denise Baldwin, a longtime LPGA player who now has the financial security of being a teaching pro.
•••
CADDIES WEAR MANY HATS
Besides the financial challenges, the job of a caddie has become a lot more complicated. Golf has evolved into a sport in which players practice harder and want their caddie at their side as they hit balls. The travel is also vastly different from when Killeen started.
Instead of a stretch with four tournaments in Ohio, three in New York and two in New Jersey, the LPGA this year goes from France to New Zealand to China to South Korea to Taiwan to Malaysia to Japan and back to China before ending in Florida. The 2017 LPGA schedule has 35 events, 17 of those in 14 countries outside the United States.
Although it’s fun to recite the caddie creed of “Show Up, Keep Up, Shut Up,” the job is way more complicated than that. Pretty much the only time off is the weeks your player is not competing. Monday and Tuesday used to be an opportunity for a caddie to sneak in some golf. Now those days are reserved for working with players on the range or playing a practice round.
The days of the hard-living bag-toter who would close the bars at night and work the next day through bloodshot eyes are mostly gone. These loopers are more than mere porters lugging around a 45-pound staff bag. Caddies have evolved into a mix of mathematician, psychologist, cartographer and bodyguard, all while remaining a Sherpa.
“Oh, my, those early days,” says Killeen, smiling. “At our house in Oakmont in 1992 [for the U.S. Women’s Open] we had empties stacked up this high,” he said, holding his hand over his head. “What do I like the most about this job? The people. The travel. The fact I have half the year off.”
And Killeen clearly relishes his role as house father of the group.
The life of a caddie includes many roles on and off the course.“You should have smelled it this morning,” Castrale says about their shared house in Phoenix on Thursday. “At 5 a.m., he’s already got the Irish stew simmering. John sent out a group text telling us where the car was parked and saying, ‘Early guys, when you get home, don’t forget to stir the stew.’ ”
On Monday it was spaghetti and meat sauce, salad, red wine and beer. Tuesday was a caddie party with free food and drink at a local bar. On Wednesday, Killeen made tacos, refried beans and rice, and Thursday was the Irish stew.
“We’re all prepping for the tournament, and he’s prepping for the meals,” Bradley says with a laugh.
Spending a week with eight caddies is like that house you remember from college in another way: You wake up the next morning with your body aching from how much you laughed the night before.
Caddies refer to a former player as “my ex,” as if talking about a divorced wife. In Phoenix, when picking five-woman $20 calcutta teams, which must include your own player, one of the eight says: “My player ain’t ready. How about we be creative this week and pick another guy’s player?” He was right: His player missed the cut.
As you might expect, there’s a great deal of good-natured ribbing. One caddie says to another: “You get your degree yet?” That prompts a befuddled: “What degree?” And then the zinger: “Your nursing degree,” the first caddie says, nodding toward the other guy’s half-empty drink glass.
Caddies also look out for one another. When the tee times start to arrive on smartphones, the coordination of eight players and three cars begins. “Kyle is right before me, and I’m with Drew, that’s one car,” says Castrale, ever the organizer.
•••
YOU’RE HIRED, YOU’RE FIRED
The LPGA says about 150 caddie ID cards are issued annually. Some show up at tournaments without a bag, hoping to pick up a Monday qualifier or catch on with a player who just fired her caddie—not a rare experience.
These days, caddies are sometimes fired by text message. One was fired by telephone on Christmas Eve and told: “We were disappointed we didn’t win a major this year.” To which the caddie said he was thinking: Hey, I’m not the one who hit that ball that’s still bouncing down Bob Hope Drive.
Another caddie was fired by his player’s agent at a gate at the Manchester airport the Monday after the 2006 Ricoh Women’s British Open. And then there was Jason Gilroyed, who was fired by Jessica Korda at the turn of the third round of the 2013 U.S. Women’s Open and replaced by her boyfriend.
“I was in that group, and we were on No. 10 tee,” says Killeen, who was working for Lizette Salas at the time. “I look over, and Jason wasn’t on the bag. I had no idea what was going on.” Later that evening, while sitting at a bar, Killeen nudged me and showed me his phone. On it was a text from Gilroyed that read: “Miss me yet?”
The good memories, however, tend to outweigh the bad ones.
The Evian Championship in France, with its rich purse, exotic setting on Lake Geneva and free beer garden for caddies, is the source of many of those memories. Hotels have combination locks activated after 11 p.m. That has confused more than one over-served caddie returning after an evening out.
At the Founders Cup in Phoenix, the Gang of Eight shares a house, building comraderie while saving on travel expenses.J.D. Cuban
One who couldn’t get in tossed a plastic chair at his room window, hoping to wake his roommate, who had an early tee time. Instead, police were called, the caddie was hauled to jail, and his player had to bail him out at 4 a.m. Another caddie took a more humble rout. He curled up on the curb and slept there.
Then there was the father who berated his daughter’s caddie so badly he quit. The next day, with Dad on the bag, the player got a bad yardage and hit a 7-iron out-of-bounds over a green. The caddie waited for his ex to finish then politely told Dad: “At least I can f---ing add.”
And in the days when Evian ended on Saturday and the pro-am was Sunday, there was often the amusing situation of caddies hiring caddies because they were too hung over to hoof the mountainous course.
But as carefree as caddies can be, they are amazingly devoted to golf, often the frontline conscience of the tour when it comes to the Rules of Golf. As committed as most players are to the rules, caddies are even more.
When two competitors played the wrong ball, it was a caddie who blew the whistle on his player. When a player used a training aid during competition, it was a caddie who called it to the attention of officials. And one caddie insisted they play her original ball, and not the better-positioned provisional. She relented—then fired the caddie.
There is also no question gender makes the relationship between an LPGA player and her caddie more complicated than it is on the men’s tour. Successful pairings become like old married couples sniping at each other.
“OK, let’s pretend like you’re working and take some video,” Pressel says to Cesarz on the range in Phoenix. The two are very close and enjoy poking fun at each other’s idiosyncrasies. “She hates the balls in the bag [on the practice range], and she hates them in a pyramid,” Cesarz says. “First thing I do is mess them all up.”
Lubin is one who has worked the men’s and women’s tours. “What’s the difference?” he says. “That’s a loaded question. I guess the pace. It’s a slower pace out here. Also, because it’s a male-female thing, it’s a much more volatile situation. Guys have a fight, and by the time you leave the tee box, it’s done. Out here it can linger for a few holes—or nine, or 18 or 36,” he says, laughing.
“The competition is the best, the adrenaline rush,” says Scott Lubin. “That’s why we’re here, trying to help our players win.”J.D. Cuban
The important thing is knowing who’s boss.
“There are times they are just so mad at you,” says Cesarz, a mountain of a man with the Rock of Gibraltar tattooed on his leg. “But the thing you have to remember is that the back of my shirt doesn’t say ‘Rock’ or ‘Cesarz.’ It says ‘Pressel.’ ”
Caddies say there is no substitute for being part of the action. “The competition is the best, the adrenaline rush,” Lubin says. “That’s why we’re here, trying to help our players win.”
And there is no substitute for the relationships they’ve developed. “You trust these guys, and you become a part of their lives,” says Lubin, who has a wife of 13 years and daughters 11 and 9. “The toughest part is leaving your family. Honestly, this is not something I want to do for the next 20 years,” says Lubin, reciting a line uttered by many caddies who’ve been out there longer than that.
“I love the game of golf, and I have a very supportive wife,” Killeen says. “I put in 150,000 miles on Delta last year. But I have 22 weeks off a year.”
Killeen’s first year on tour, in Las Vegas, he left his wallet on top of his car and drove off. Stranded with no money and no credit cards, he suddenly felt very far away from home.
“Roscoe Jones, who caddied for [Nancy] Lopez, handed me $500 and said, ‘Pay me back when you can.’ ” Killeen still shakes his head when he tells that story. “This job has helped me to be a father and let my children develop their own personality,” he says. “I’ve learned a lot about character out here, and I hope I’ve taught my children.”
That week in Phoenix, six of the eight missed the cut. The next week, Lubin was fired by Tseng. The week after that, the caddies were gathered around a table in the Beer Hunter Sports Pub & Grill in La Quinta, Calif., telling stories and laughing.
That’s what keeps them coming back: the laughter, the love of the game, the thrill of the hunt, and a real appreciation of each other. It’s a bond that never breaks.
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LPGA Tour - For the Love of Caddieing
On the LPGA Tour, a small band of devoted loopers live a thrilling, nomadic existence requiring perseverance, imagination and supportive families
Some are household names among golf fans. Mike (Fluff) Cowan—and his walrus mustache—comes to mind. A few struck it rich, such as Steve Williams in his 13 years with Tiger Woods, and Jim (Bones) Mackay, who has worked with Phil Mickelson since 1992. But those are the exceptions, and they work on the PGA Tour. Among caddies, they are the haves.
The have-nots are those who shoulder bags on the LPGA Tour, trying to survive where the prize money—and potential income—is one-fifth of what’s available on the men’s tour, with the same lack of job security, healthcare and pension.
Looping on the LPGA Tour is a labor of love laced with economic hardships requiring perseverance, imagination and a supportive family. It’s a life where veteran caddies say only about 30 percent last more than 10 years. Yet, a hardy handful of lifers have blown past the quarter-century mark.
John Killeen, 58, is among those captivated by the lifestyle that is alien and often absurd. He has been a caddie on the LPGA Tour for nearly 35 years, with Patty Sheehan, Juli Inkster, Ayako Okamoto, Meg Mallon, Cristie Kerr and others, before landing his current gig with Mirim Lee, winner of last week’s Kia Classic.
Last year, when Killeen was still working for Angela Stanford, he said goodbye to his wife, two teenage kids and home near Atlanta for a swing that took him to the Bahamas, Florida, Thailand, Singapore, Arizona, California, Hawaii, Texas and Alabama. From mid-May, when he took a week off for his son’s high school graduation, until the Olympics in August, Killeen had only one other scheduled week off.
How do you make a life like that work financially and emotionally? For starters, you need a lot of help from your friends. Imagine that house you shared with your buddies in college and the fun you had. Now imagine that house moves around the country—one golf tournament after another. That’s what life is like for Killeen and a handful of his fellow caddies who share living quarters when possible to save money and find sanity in each other’s company. They love the life, each other, golf and the competition. It’s not the money that keeps them chasing this nomadic existence.
In recent years, Killeen was one of eight caddies who rented a house at the Bank of Hope Founders Cup in Phoenix. I spent a week with them, and there are few experiences more valuable and fun for a journalist than hanging with caddies. They know everything—or at least think they do. And they know how to have a good time.
In 1984, John Killeen was 23 and planning to be a stockbroker before going on a two-week stint caddieing that turned into a 30-plus-year career.J.D. Cuban
Killeen is the “godfather” who finds the house, coordinates the Monday run to Costco to buy food and drink—in Phoenix the first 60-pack of beer was knocked off by Tuesday night—and does all the cooking.
Also in this Gang of Eight was Barry (Rock) Cesarz, 47, who has worked with Morgan Pressel since 2009, an eternity to be with one player on any tour, especially the LPGA. He also caddied for Donald Trump at one of his Florida courses for nine years, an experience he describes as “very interesting.”
Craig Castrale, 39, who works with Mo Martin, is Mr. Spreadsheet. Laptop in hand, he shouts across the living room over the big-screen TV that’s always on sports: “Kyle, you going to be in Toledo?” as he records who will be where, who owes what and who has paid.
Scott Lubin, 45, a former caddie for Jack Nicklaus on the Champions Tour who looped for Yani Tseng at the 2016 Founders Cup, was part of the group. He has since opted for the security of being caddiemaster at Loxahatchee Club in Florida. At 27, Drew Ernst is the youngest of the group. He carries for his sister, Austin Ernst. Then there are the boys from Augusta, Ga.: Kyle Bradley (Jessica Korda), Jack Fulghum, (Nelly Korda) and Derrick Redd (Caroline Masson).
Bradley, 36, caddied at Augusta National, home of the Masters, and played mini-tours for nine years before picking up Korda’s bag in 2014. “The best part of our job is helping top-notch players try to win a championship,” Bradley says, something he has done with Korda three times. Then he makes a confession that applies to many LPGA caddies: “No chance I could work in an office.”
Redd, 48, also known as “168,” his Augusta National caddie number, and Fulghum, 45, still work at Augusta National, which is conveniently closed from mid-May to mid-October, when the LPGA schedule is in full swing.
•••
EKING OUT A LIVING
Fulghum has been at Augusta National for more than 20 years, and for many LPGA caddies, those private-club jobs are too lucrative and reliable to give up. T.J. Jones, a longtime caddie at Seminole, heads back to the exclusive Florida club whenever he has an off-week with Christina Kim.
“You have to finish in the top 40 [on the money list] out here to have a significant year,” says Killeen, who in 1984 at age 23 and planning to be a stockbroker, told his mother and girlfriend in Portland, Ore., he’d be back after a two-week stint caddieing, then came home eight months later and said he’d found his calling.
In Phoenix, the eight men in the house paid $430 each for rent. There were two rental cars, plus Castrale’s car he drove from Palm Desert, Calif. Food and drink came to $125 a man, with the rental cars totaling $100 each. Castrale says the seven guys who flew in averaged about $250 for airfare. That put the total expenses per person at $905 for the week, much less than it would have cost to stay in a hotel, not to mention food and drink.
These days, caddies are sometimes fired by text message. One was fired by telephone on Christmas Eve and told: ‘We were disappointed we didn’t win a major this year.’
“Some weeks, like Asia events, all we pay for is food and hotel because we have no rental cars and 99 percent of the players pay for international caddie flights,” says Castrale. “But then Hawaii and San Francisco, for example, I spend $1,500 at least. Overall, $1,000 to $1,200 per week is our typical average expense for the 25 to 30 events played.”
The way it works, the caddies say, is they get on average a guarantee of $1,000 to $1,500 for each week the player competes. If your player misses the cut, that’s all you get. On average, a caddie gets 5 percent of a made-cut check, 7 percent of a top-10 check and 10 percent for a win. Some players are more generous than others.
Now what kind of money are we talking here? No. 40 on the LPGA money list last year—Moriya Jutanugarn, older sister to player-of-the-year Ariya—earned $446,948 in 29 starts with two top-10 finishes. Those two top-10s earned $170,895, with the caddie’s 7-percent share coming to $11,962.65. The other 22 cuts made earned $276,053, and 5 percent of that is $13,802.65. Assume the caddie got $1,000 a week, and the total for the year would be $54,765.30 before taxes. And then there is about $35,000 in expenses. That’s a break-even proposition.
Since 2009, Barry (Rock) Cesarz has worked with Morgan Pressel, an eternity to be with one player on any tour, especially the LPGA. He also caddied for Donald Trump at one of his Florida courses for nine years.J.D. Cuban
On the PGA Tour, prize money is north of $300 million annually (plus $35 million in FedEx Cup bonus money), and the LPGA Tour purse is $67.3 million. No. 40 on the PGA Tour last year—James Hahn—earned $2,367,521, which would have been No. 3 on the LPGA Tour, with a whopping 10 missed cuts but a victory among his three top-10 finishes in 26 starts. Let’s assume the caddie got $1,200 a week. With the $195,321 he would earn on the course, in 26 weeks he’d total $226,521—more than four times what the caddie for No. 40 on the LPGA made.
In other words, the caddie for No. 40 on the PGA Tour made more money than the player ranked No. 74 on the LPGA Tour money list.
To make ends meet, most caddies on the LPGA Tour rely on income from a spouse or another job. Jeremy Young, who caddies for Minjee Lee, is married to Heather Bowie Young, who played 17 years on the LPGA Tour. Heather is now an assistant coach at Clemson, but when she was on tour, Jeremy rarely caddied for her, doubling their chances of making money that week. Killeen married Denise Baldwin, a longtime LPGA player who now has the financial security of being a teaching pro.
•••
CADDIES WEAR MANY HATS
Besides the financial challenges, the job of a caddie has become a lot more complicated. Golf has evolved into a sport in which players practice harder and want their caddie at their side as they hit balls. The travel is also vastly different from when Killeen started.
Instead of a stretch with four tournaments in Ohio, three in New York and two in New Jersey, the LPGA this year goes from France to New Zealand to China to South Korea to Taiwan to Malaysia to Japan and back to China before ending in Florida. The 2017 LPGA schedule has 35 events, 17 of those in 14 countries outside the United States.
Although it’s fun to recite the caddie creed of “Show Up, Keep Up, Shut Up,” the job is way more complicated than that. Pretty much the only time off is the weeks your player is not competing. Monday and Tuesday used to be an opportunity for a caddie to sneak in some golf. Now those days are reserved for working with players on the range or playing a practice round.
The days of the hard-living bag-toter who would close the bars at night and work the next day through bloodshot eyes are mostly gone. These loopers are more than mere porters lugging around a 45-pound staff bag. Caddies have evolved into a mix of mathematician, psychologist, cartographer and bodyguard, all while remaining a Sherpa.
“Oh, my, those early days,” says Killeen, smiling. “At our house in Oakmont in 1992 [for the U.S. Women’s Open] we had empties stacked up this high,” he said, holding his hand over his head. “What do I like the most about this job? The people. The travel. The fact I have half the year off.”
And Killeen clearly relishes his role as house father of the group.
The life of a caddie includes many roles on and off the course.“You should have smelled it this morning,” Castrale says about their shared house in Phoenix on Thursday. “At 5 a.m., he’s already got the Irish stew simmering. John sent out a group text telling us where the car was parked and saying, ‘Early guys, when you get home, don’t forget to stir the stew.’ ”
On Monday it was spaghetti and meat sauce, salad, red wine and beer. Tuesday was a caddie party with free food and drink at a local bar. On Wednesday, Killeen made tacos, refried beans and rice, and Thursday was the Irish stew.
“We’re all prepping for the tournament, and he’s prepping for the meals,” Bradley says with a laugh.
Spending a week with eight caddies is like that house you remember from college in another way: You wake up the next morning with your body aching from how much you laughed the night before.
Caddies refer to a former player as “my ex,” as if talking about a divorced wife. In Phoenix, when picking five-woman $20 calcutta teams, which must include your own player, one of the eight says: “My player ain’t ready. How about we be creative this week and pick another guy’s player?” He was right: His player missed the cut.
As you might expect, there’s a great deal of good-natured ribbing. One caddie says to another: “You get your degree yet?” That prompts a befuddled: “What degree?” And then the zinger: “Your nursing degree,” the first caddie says, nodding toward the other guy’s half-empty drink glass.
Caddies also look out for one another. When the tee times start to arrive on smartphones, the coordination of eight players and three cars begins. “Kyle is right before me, and I’m with Drew, that’s one car,” says Castrale, ever the organizer.
•••
YOU’RE HIRED, YOU’RE FIRED
The LPGA says about 150 caddie ID cards are issued annually. Some show up at tournaments without a bag, hoping to pick up a Monday qualifier or catch on with a player who just fired her caddie—not a rare experience.
These days, caddies are sometimes fired by text message. One was fired by telephone on Christmas Eve and told: “We were disappointed we didn’t win a major this year.” To which the caddie said he was thinking: Hey, I’m not the one who hit that ball that’s still bouncing down Bob Hope Drive.
Another caddie was fired by his player’s agent at a gate at the Manchester airport the Monday after the 2006 Ricoh Women’s British Open. And then there was Jason Gilroyed, who was fired by Jessica Korda at the turn of the third round of the 2013 U.S. Women’s Open and replaced by her boyfriend.
“I was in that group, and we were on No. 10 tee,” says Killeen, who was working for Lizette Salas at the time. “I look over, and Jason wasn’t on the bag. I had no idea what was going on.” Later that evening, while sitting at a bar, Killeen nudged me and showed me his phone. On it was a text from Gilroyed that read: “Miss me yet?”
The good memories, however, tend to outweigh the bad ones.
The Evian Championship in France, with its rich purse, exotic setting on Lake Geneva and free beer garden for caddies, is the source of many of those memories. Hotels have combination locks activated after 11 p.m. That has confused more than one over-served caddie returning after an evening out.
At the Founders Cup in Phoenix, the Gang of Eight shares a house, building comraderie while saving on travel expenses.J.D. Cuban
One who couldn’t get in tossed a plastic chair at his room window, hoping to wake his roommate, who had an early tee time. Instead, police were called, the caddie was hauled to jail, and his player had to bail him out at 4 a.m. Another caddie took a more humble rout. He curled up on the curb and slept there.
Then there was the father who berated his daughter’s caddie so badly he quit. The next day, with Dad on the bag, the player got a bad yardage and hit a 7-iron out-of-bounds over a green. The caddie waited for his ex to finish then politely told Dad: “At least I can f---ing add.”
And in the days when Evian ended on Saturday and the pro-am was Sunday, there was often the amusing situation of caddies hiring caddies because they were too hung over to hoof the mountainous course.
But as carefree as caddies can be, they are amazingly devoted to golf, often the frontline conscience of the tour when it comes to the Rules of Golf. As committed as most players are to the rules, caddies are even more.
When two competitors played the wrong ball, it was a caddie who blew the whistle on his player. When a player used a training aid during competition, it was a caddie who called it to the attention of officials. And one caddie insisted they play her original ball, and not the better-positioned provisional. She relented—then fired the caddie.
There is also no question gender makes the relationship between an LPGA player and her caddie more complicated than it is on the men’s tour. Successful pairings become like old married couples sniping at each other.
“OK, let’s pretend like you’re working and take some video,” Pressel says to Cesarz on the range in Phoenix. The two are very close and enjoy poking fun at each other’s idiosyncrasies. “She hates the balls in the bag [on the practice range], and she hates them in a pyramid,” Cesarz says. “First thing I do is mess them all up.”
Lubin is one who has worked the men’s and women’s tours. “What’s the difference?” he says. “That’s a loaded question. I guess the pace. It’s a slower pace out here. Also, because it’s a male-female thing, it’s a much more volatile situation. Guys have a fight, and by the time you leave the tee box, it’s done. Out here it can linger for a few holes—or nine, or 18 or 36,” he says, laughing.
“The competition is the best, the adrenaline rush,” says Scott Lubin. “That’s why we’re here, trying to help our players win.”J.D. Cuban
The important thing is knowing who’s boss.
“There are times they are just so mad at you,” says Cesarz, a mountain of a man with the Rock of Gibraltar tattooed on his leg. “But the thing you have to remember is that the back of my shirt doesn’t say ‘Rock’ or ‘Cesarz.’ It says ‘Pressel.’ ”
Caddies say there is no substitute for being part of the action. “The competition is the best, the adrenaline rush,” Lubin says. “That’s why we’re here, trying to help our players win.”
And there is no substitute for the relationships they’ve developed. “You trust these guys, and you become a part of their lives,” says Lubin, who has a wife of 13 years and daughters 11 and 9. “The toughest part is leaving your family. Honestly, this is not something I want to do for the next 20 years,” says Lubin, reciting a line uttered by many caddies who’ve been out there longer than that.
“I love the game of golf, and I have a very supportive wife,” Killeen says. “I put in 150,000 miles on Delta last year. But I have 22 weeks off a year.”
Killeen’s first year on tour, in Las Vegas, he left his wallet on top of his car and drove off. Stranded with no money and no credit cards, he suddenly felt very far away from home.
“Roscoe Jones, who caddied for [Nancy] Lopez, handed me $500 and said, ‘Pay me back when you can.’ ” Killeen still shakes his head when he tells that story. “This job has helped me to be a father and let my children develop their own personality,” he says. “I’ve learned a lot about character out here, and I hope I’ve taught my children.”
That week in Phoenix, six of the eight missed the cut. The next week, Lubin was fired by Tseng. The week after that, the caddies were gathered around a table in the Beer Hunter Sports Pub & Grill in La Quinta, Calif., telling stories and laughing.
That’s what keeps them coming back: the laughter, the love of the game, the thrill of the hunt, and a real appreciation of each other. It’s a bond that never breaks.
Brought to you bySouthern Pines Golf & CC
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emmagoldberg · 7 months
Text
TODAY 5PM -- AUJOURD'HUI 17H SHOW N°99 -- "JUST LIKE EMMA " ON 242 RADIO UK"
"Just Like Emma" Sur 242 RADIO UK will be broadcasted every 2 weeks at the following times; "Just Like Emma" Sur 242 RADIO UK sera diffusée pendant 2 semaines aux heures suivantes; https://www.242radio.com/
Monday -Lundi 16h 00 UK/17h 00 France / 11h 00 EAST COAST/ 07h00 PST Tuesday- Mardi 22h 00PST Wednesday - Mercredi 06h 00 UK/ 07h 00 France/ 01h 00 EAST COAST Thursday - Jeudi 19h00 EAST COAST /16h 00 PST Friday - Vendredi 00h 00 UK/ 01h 00 FRANCE
SHOW N°99 – JUST LIKE EMMA ON 242 RADIO UK --THE GUESTS
1- T-TRI « WIN MY LIFE » 2- SEBASTIEN MASSON « BOUT DE CHOU » 3 – SEBASTIEN CHARLES « LES BOUGIES DE JE NE SAIS QUOI» 4- MS BUTTERFLY « THE LOVE » 5- MICKAEL PETRAU « AIME » 6 – LES AMOUREUX DU SACRE-COEUR « DALI-DALIDA » 7 - HEATHER WALTON « IT’S OVER » 8-CHRIS BONAMOUR « JE VEUX DU REEL » 9- CORINNE JACKSON « GIMME SOME FUNCK » 10- LUCAS PARTON « LES DIMANCHES » 11- FREDERICK ARNO « TU SAIS » 12 - EMILE KOJIDIE « MANDELA » 13 – JONIECE JAMISON & FRANCOIS FELDMAN « RESSUSCITE » 14 – MICHAEL JACOB « I CAN FEEL » 15 – CHRIS V « SHE’S AMAZING 16 – GENERIQUE « I LOVE YOU THE WAY YOU ARE » EMMA GOLDBERG
0 notes
emmagoldberg · 7 months
Text
TODAY 5PM -- AUJOURD'HUI 17H SHOW N°99 -- "JUST LIKE EMMA " ON 242 RADIO UK"
"Just Like Emma" Sur 242 RADIO UK will be broadcasted every 2 weeks at the following times; "Just Like Emma" Sur 242 RADIO UK sera diffusée pendant 2 semaines aux heures suivantes; https://www.242radio.com/
Monday -Lundi 16h 00 UK/17h 00 France / 11h 00 EAST COAST/ 07h00 PST Tuesday- Mardi 22h 00PST Wednesday - Mercredi 06h 00 UK/ 07h 00 France/ 01h 00 EAST COAST Thursday - Jeudi 19h00 EAST COAST /16h 00 PST Friday - Vendredi 00h 00 UK/ 01h 00 FRANCE
SHOW N°99 – JUST LIKE EMMA ON 242 RADIO UK --THE GUESTS
1- T-TRI « WIN MY LIFE » 2- SEBASTIEN MASSON « BOUT DE CHOU » 3 – SEBASTIEN CHARLES « LES BOUGIES DE JE NE SAIS QUOI» 4- MS BUTTERFLY « THE LOVE » 5- MICKAEL PETRAU « AIME » 6 – LES AMOUREUX DU SACRE-COEUR « DALI-DALIDA » 7 - HEATHER WALTON « IT’S OVER » 8-CHRIS BONAMOUR « JE VEUX DU REEL » 9- CORINNE JACKSON « GIMME SOME FUNCK » 10- LUCAS PARTON « LES DIMANCHES » 11- FREDERICK ARNO « TU SAIS » 12 - EMILE KOJIDIE « MANDELA » 13 – JONIECE JAMISON & FRANCOIS FELDMAN « RESSUSCITE » 14 – MICHAEL JACOB « I CAN FEEL » 15 – CHRIS V « SHE’S AMAZING 16 – GENERIQUE « I LOVE YOU THE WAY YOU ARE » EMMA GOLDBERG
0 notes