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This is The Undercover Newsletter, where we grant anonymity to people who work in golf who’ve got something to say. Here a current PGA Tour player is interviewed by Senior Writer Joel Beall. You can sign up via Golf Digest+ to make sure you receive this newsletter regularly.
Most tour players regard pro-ams as a necessary evil. We understand the money is going to charity, but there are many of us who can’t help but think of these outings as a nuisance. As one fellow player once told me, imagine getting ready for a big presentation in front of your bosses, only for four total strangers to come and bother you as you prepare. But pro-ams can be beneficial to us, too. You meet people who can help establish business relationships, especially when you’re younger or on the fringes. And of course, seeing people excited to play with us is always a good reminder that we’re lucky to do what we do.
However, if you’ve been out here for a couple years, you have at least one memorable tale from a pro-am. I polled a few of my friends for some of their favorites. Here they are, in their words.
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My only rule is for ams to keep up. When a ball goes into the crap, I tell them to look for for a minute, then move on. I’m not ignorant to the fact the balls we get for free are white gold to almost everybody else, but pro-ams can be extremely slow and I try to do my part to not make them slower. Anyway, one year at the old Greenbrier Classic I’m chatting with my caddie about a swing change I’m having him monitor, and I see all my ams and their caddies searching in the woods. “Fellas, don’t worry about it, I got plenty of balls for you,” I said. Well, turns out when one of the ams was looking for the ball, his caddie put down the bag … and now the bag was gone. We spent about 20 minutes rifling through the brush before we found the golf bag.
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I was at a Korn Ferry Tour pro-am in my early 20s, and at that time had about 15 pro events under my belt. One of the ams, unprompted, tells me as we’re walking off a green the worst career move I can make is getting tied down early with a woman. He didn’t notice my girlfriend was caddieing for me.
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This was an offseason charity event in Alabama during the fall. There were about a dozen tour players, with the other “pros” being retired athletes or celebrities. Bo Jackson is in the group in front of us. One of the ams in my group is in his late 50s. Gregarious, complete gentleman, didn’t overstep his bounds—exactly what you want in a pairing. He was also built like a bulldozer and hit the ball a mile, almost as far as me. He had this distance despite a nagging football injury from his college days, he told me. A few hours in, we get to a par 3 and it's backed up, so our group runs into Bo’s. Another one of my amateurs is a big Auburn fan, so he asks Bo about one of his legendary performances. Suddenly, my gregarious partner looks sick, and for the first time all day is quiet. The Auburn fan asks if we can all take a photo with the two groups, to which Bo happily obliges. But the gregarious guy is nowhere to be found. Photo snapped, Bo’s group goes ahead. At this point I’m worried if my guy is ill, so when he comes back I ask if everything’s OK. “I played against Bo Jackson,” he says, then puts his hand on his banged-up shoulder, “and I still have nightmares about it.”
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I was hot. I had won three times over the past calendar year and was coming off a great finish at the WGC Match Play. For the first time in my life, I feel like I’m becoming known. Because of the Match Play run, I take it easy over the next few weeks, let my body rest. My first day back on tour is Tuesday at the Traditions event at Innisbrook, and I take it easy, just hit some balls and walk the course. On Wednesday at the pro-am, there’s 200 or so people waiting for me at the first. Damn, I thought, I’ve made it. I proceed to hit my tee shot and the reaction is fine. Then one of my amateurs hit his drive to thundering applause. All those people were employees of his company, and had come out to cheer him on.
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My rookie season, I show up to the first tee to four grown men wearing Rickie Fowler outfits. They had won the pro-am group in an auction and were led to believe they would be playing with Rick. They took it in stride, and eventually got a photo with Fowler later in the day. I don’t think they took a photo with me.
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I’ve never told anyone this, because for a while I had the reputation of being a dunce and didn’t want to add to it, but here goes. We were at the Quicken Loans National and the pace is brutal, so my group wanders over to a hospitality suite serving drinks, and I think, what the hell, I’ll have one, too. One of my ams asks if he can see my Odyssey 2-Ball putter because he’s been looking at buying one. I do him one better and let him use it on the next hole. He drops a 30-footer for a net eagle, so I tell him he’s got to keep using it until he misses. Makes a 10-footer at the next and a putt from the fringe at the final hole. We’re all going nuts. He was probably a 20-handicapper, and for a few holes, he looked like a pro.
Cut to Thursday morning. My caddie and I forgot to get the putter back. Luckily, the 2-Ball was a popular model and we were able to grab a loaner in the clubhouse that was relatively close to my specs, but just thinking about that makes my heart drop back into my stomach.
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