Whole Duty of Caddies
A caddie should be, first of all,
As silent as the Sphinx of fable;
And he should watch the flying ball,
At least as far as he is able.
That, with acknowledgment to Stevenson’s heirs and assigns, covers the case to our notion. It may be desirable to give a caddie a polite education, including French and dancing, but the duty of a caddie is simple. So long as he is reticent and watches the ball, we don’t mind if he stands an inch too near us while we shoot, or whether he bats an eye while holding the flag for a putt.
Miami, with its 19-hole golf course, has a rival in Pensacola, which calls itself “The Oasis of West Florida.” One who was there tells us that it is well camouflaged.
We have read half a ton of golf books, and in none of them is it advised to start the hands back before the club head. Yet, as C. B. Lloyd’s moving pictures show, many if not most of the crack players employ that method. Don’t they know what they do?
“Lord Northcliffe is shown contemplating a long drive on the celebrated golf course at Biarritz, where he is much at home.”
—The incomparable Examiner.
As the gentleman has a mashie in his hands, he is evidently a considerable contemplater.
“Warren K. Wood and Will Diddel, paired against Chick Evans and Kenneth Edwards.”
Hey, Diddel, Diddel, the cat and the fiddle,
The ball sailed over the moon,
The gallery laughed to see such sport,
And Chick drove the green with a spoon.
“With the upright swing,” writes Hon. Jock Hutchison, “you must of necessity take some turf. Any novice knows when he has taken too much.” True; the limit is a pound. But what the novice needs to know is that it is more important to put back turf than to take it.
Speaking of the Lincoln Park Country Club, F. D. P. reports that the golfer in the skin-tight, bowery blue sweater failed to make a clean drive although he spat on both hands.
A carping correspondent asks why cartoonists, column conductors, and so forth, drop into golf when they can’t think of anything else to draw or write about. We can reply only for this department. We touch the subject of golf infrequently, and then chiefly for the benefit of readers in remote corners of the land, who write to us to ask about such elementary things as the difference between square and open stance. These novices are almost sure to get off on the wrong foot if they read almost any of the books about golf. Herr Einstein’s explanation of his theory is translucent compared with the average golf writer’s exposition of his stroke.
The results are sometimes deplorable. There is Ed Freschl, who wrote the other day that golf does not reduce his circumference. Very likely not—with his swing. He probably entertains that curious notion of the “follow-through” which the writers emphasize—the notion of “letting the arms go forward freely,” as if that would get you anything. Ed will never take up any belt-holes by extending his arms in prayer.
Brother Whigham takes a lusty crack at some of the “enormities” of golf, No. 2 being “the horrible habit of counting scores and competing for silver pots on Saturday afternoons.” Medal scores produce the “strong east winds in the locker room” which George Ade once referred to, and are a nuisance in more ways than one. Some pencil players remain on the putting green, lost in computation, and it is necessary to drive into them to wake ’em up.
The links of the Gary Country Club are laid out on the Atlas plan, reports the Gary Tribune. “That is, squares each 100 feet in size, measure numerically one way and alphabetically the other. This greatly facilitates the locating of any particular section of the grounds when necessary.” The idea being, we take it, that when a player slices into the ball he has only to consult his atlas to locate the ball.
Much personal property was destroyed in the fire at the Glen View Country Club; but they saved the trophies! What’s the use of having a fire if you don’t get rid of the trophies?