The “I” vs. “We” Debate: Golf is a Team Sport as Caddies are Not Goats
The Links at Silvies Valley Ranch in Oregon employs a kind of caddie you won’t see on television. These caddies aren’t rewarded for a job well done with cash but instead are paid in peanuts (the food, not a reference to a caddie being stiffed).
These caddies also double as groundkeepers, ridding the course of the delicious Scottish gorse and fertilizing the grounds using an all-natural method.
Caddies at the Ranch are goats. They are faithful, hardworking, and save for a congratulatory mahhh or a solemn muhhh, the goats are quiet and incapable of translating the knowledge of the land they roam into an actionable recommendation.
Playing at the Silvies Valley Ranch, it is acceptable to use “I” when a golfer describes their performance. Since the goat cannot help or hurt a score, the golfer is truly playing an individual game.
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On the PGA Tour, golfers increasingly refer to themselves in the plural of the subjective first-person: “we.” Purists participating in golf’s more gentlemanly division of outrage culture mock the players who do. They believe golf to be a solo act, akin to a pianist or a swimmer, devoid of the team that “we” implies.
Though golf may seem to be a purely individual sport, this perception has never been accurate, especially of contemporary golf. Contrary to the narrative that “I” is the correct pronoun, caddies in professional golf are not goats and do affect the performance of their players, help or hurt.
For every Jack, Arnie, and Tiger, there is a man or woman that has carried their bag, quietly guiding them to the great peaks they have achieved. These unsung loopers have been demeaned by the golfing world, relegated to the job description of a goat, personified by the phrase, “keep up and shut-up.”
Those against the “we” in golf believe that a caddie isn’t responsible for the performance of their player. They believe a player and caddie does not a team make. Every aspect of golf says otherwise.
Few might know that Tip Anderson carried for Arnold Palmer during all three of his Open Championships. Even fewer might know that when Palmer couldn’t attend the 1964 Open Championship, Anderson guided Tony Lema to the Claret Jug contested at Anderson’s home-course of St. Andrews. Lema, having never played St. Andrews and with Anderson on the bag, defeated none other than Jack Nicklaus to win his only major championship.
Yet only one name is listed as the 1964 Open Champion, egregiously omitting the impact of Anderson. To tell the story of every golfer requires two names.
Defining a caddie’s role in golf comes down to this “I” vs. “we” argument. Since golf is played by individuals, it is tempting to accept the narcissistic nature of its players. But when the façade of the solo act is broken, like when Jordan Spieth critiques the club selection of Michael Greller at the U.S. Open, the outrage police quickly scolds him for thinking someone else could in part be responsible for an errant shot.
What the purists and outrage police fail to understand is that a caddie is partly responsible for every shot their player hits. Unlike a goat, a caddie is capable of determining which club to hit, reading a putt, and recommending strategy, all of which influence the outcome of a tournament.
Evidence of this can be found in the simple fact that Spieth took issue with the club selection of his caddie. If golf is truly a solo sport, then Spieth should have no reason to do so. Yet, he did.
Relying on caddies is something all players do in one way or another. Spieth relies on Michael Greller because, in the past, Greller has added value to Spieth’s performance. And if a caddie can add value, then the whole must be greater than the individual: a team.
When Jordan Spieth refers to his play as “we” he is accurately describing the team sport that golf is. Golf fans know this for a fact but choose to ignore the impact caddies have and instead treat caddies like they are unaccountable, neither helping nor hurting their players.
When Brooks Koepka stated that his game plan for the 2019 Open Championship was for Ricky Elliot to tell him where to hit, he is acknowledging Elliot as part of the team. Like a coach who calls plays in football, a caddie calls the plays in golf. No one would ever say that a football coach isn’t part of a team, yet that’s exactly what the “I” proponents claim.
Whether or not you believe golf to be an individual sport is irrelevant because it isn’t. There is too much evidence to the contrary.
Substituting “caddie” for “coach” and the “we” argument becomes clear as crystal. Coaches perform the same job as caddies. Neither is playing, but both can influence the performance of their players, their main responsibility being to put their players in the best positions to succeed.
Since caddies and coaches perform largely the same role, those in favor of the “I” argument must also believe that coaches in professional sports do not affect their players (Apologies to Bill Belichick, who isn’t the G.O.A.T. but is instead just a regular goat).
If this were the case (which it isn’t) then the world of coaching wouldn’t be a rapidly spinning carousel of hiring and firing (which it is). Why hire or fire a coach that is neither going to help nor hurt a team?
Further debunking the myth that golf isn’t a team sport is the way caddies are paid. Typically, caddies on the PGA Tour receive a weekly salary as well as pro-rated bonuses – 10% of the earnings from an outright win, 7% of the earnings from a top-10 finish, and 5% of the earnings from a made-cut.
If golf isn’t a team sport then why are caddies incentivized to help their players finish more highly in the standings? If the “I’ argument was correct, then a weekly salary should suffice since caddies are not responsible for how well or how poorly their players perform.
Part of the obstacle of accepting golf as a team sport is the information about the value of caddies. Short of asking Tiger Woods exactly how many shots Joe LaCava saved at the Master’s, it is nearly impossible to quantify a caddie’s value. But we know LaCava must have provided at least some value.
The revolutionary idea of putting microphones near a sporting event to capture player-caddie conversations sheds some light on the inner-workings of their relationship. But the golf world is largely left at the mercy of how much a player or caddie is willing to divulge, which, like a coach’s playbook, is closely guarded.
For now, golf remains a team sport, that is, until the day goats carry bags on television.