I would love to play St. Andrews. What golf fan wouldn’t? The only thing stopping me (besides money—lots of it) is that I would have to play with a caddie. Obviously, I’d appreciate the course knowledge that only a Scottish caddie could bring to the ordeal, but who wants to embarrass themselves on such sacred ground in front of someone who can only be thinking, “He paid money for this?”

There is much to be said for a caddie who can walk you through a difficult round. If nothing else, it gives you someone to blame for your inability to put ball in hole in under 100 whacks.

Actually, come to think of it, I always find it amusing that when playing with regular guys, I will be preparing for a ten-foot putt when one of them will advise me to aim about an inch and a half to the right. An inch and a half? From ten feet? That’s like me being about 200 yards out and asking where the pin placement is and whether it’s playing at 200 or 203. Best advice at that point: just hit and hope. Who needs a caddie?

While I’m on the subject of my game, I have played in several tournaments where I am one of the designated “celebrity” golfers. You can just see the disappointment on the face of my partners when they find out I’m the “celebrity.” I get the feeling that they’re thinking, “How much more would I have had to pay to get Jerry Rice?” At least I make them feel good about their games.

Anyway, we were talking about caddies. You’ll see them this weekend at the PGA Championship, of course. But back in 1992, TBS sent me to North Carolina to check out a unique and novel caddie concept. And this is what I came back with: