Opinion & Analysis

Chasing The Dream: A Short Story

Published

10 years ago

Sep 2, 2016

Editor’s Note: This short fiction story is one of a collection that appear in the book “Lessons from the Golf Guru: Secrets, Strategies, and Stories for Golf and Life,” a unique compilation of lessons and stories for the game that provide help with more than just the number you put on the scorecard.

—

“I do not think, comrades, that I shall be with you for many months longer, and before I die I feel it my duty to pass on to you such wisdom as I have acquired. I have had a long life, have had much time for thought as I lay alone in my stall, and I think I may say that I understand the nature of life on this earth as well as any animal now living. And it is about this that I wish to speak with you.”

— Old Major, Animal Farm by George Orwell

I first met him at Riviera in 1994, the historic club in Pacific Palisades, California that has served as host site of PGA Tour events, numerous major championships, and probably most notably, the 1948 U.S. Open won by Ben Hogan.

He wore a plain white jumpsuit similar to what you see on the caddies at The Masters, a pair of old sneakers, a faded green cap with the club’s signature “R” on the front of it, and had a dirty white towel hanging out of his back pocket.

He stood apart from the rest of the caddies, mostly younger men in their twenties, who were milling around awaiting their assignments and ribbing each other about their potential draws for the day. At first glance, he appeared to be in his mid-fifties, but as I walked closer, the picture became less clear.

He wore a patchy, closely trimmed beard that partially concealed a scar on his left cheek and just the hint of an old-school Afro peeked from the adjustment loop at the back of his cap. The aloofness I first mistook as a measure of respect from the other caddies, as well as a sign of his comparative advanced age, was now contrasted by a lean, muscular physique and youthful eyes that left me unsure whether he was fifty-five or closer to thirty-five. He was not quite six feet tall, but for some reason I had the feeling I was looking up to him even though I was at least 2 inches taller.

He was standing near my bag, which had been brought down from the parking lot by the valets, and as I approached, he looked up from a small notebook that he had been writing in. He had a slightly gap-toothed grin that’s warmth all at once put me at ease, yet left me feeling strangely deferential.

“Name’s Major,” he said in a low velvety baritone that immediately brought to mind images of Barry White or Don Cornelius. And at first, that was all he said. He let it hang there like he was going to say more, but suddenly, remembering my manners, I realized the pause was a respectful space left for my reply.

“Frankie,” I said as I reached out my hand, followed haltingly by, “Nice to meet you. Are you…”

He cut me off as I stumbled for the right words to the question I didn’t exactly know how to ask. “I’m your man,” he said, returning my handshake with a grasp that was firm enough to suggest a level of self-assuredness one wouldn’t expect from a man who carried someone else’s golf clubs for a living.

It was a warm June day and I was playing the prestigious club near Los Angeles for the first time with my roommate Clark, a club professional whose boss had arranged the opportunity. I was 25, not yet ready to grow up, and chasing the dream; at least that’s what I typically told people as I bounced from mini-tour events, one-day qualifiers, local pro-ams, and Q-School every fall in between stints tending bar or serving time behind the counter at any local club willing to hire on a vagabond, wannabe touring professional who was not yet willing to give up on his ability to play for a living. Even when pretty much everyone else had.

And while I had attempted to play on and off since quitting college a few years earlier, I’d never had anyone but a buddy actually carry my bag, so I was somewhat unsure about how things were supposed to go down, as well as a little intimidated by the atmosphere of such a historic venue. I definitely didn’t want to appear as if this was my first rodeo.

I reached for my bag to pick it up when Major said, “Allow me sir,” in a way that was polite, but more command than request.

“Oh, I was just going to the range,” I said. “We don’t tee off for about 40 minutes still.”

“I know,” he said, again letting it hang there as he picked up the bag and turned to walk in the direction of the range, which was down the hill a bit from the large clubhouse that was perched on a bluff overlooking most of the course and the practice facilities. He didn’t look back, but when I hesitated for a moment, he called back to me over his shoulder.

“Coming sir?” he asked in a way that woke me from the slightly self-conscious state of apprehension I had found myself in since our arrival.

I hurried to catch up with him, deciding I should get to know this somewhat enigmatic man who would be toting my bag for the next four to five hours.

“How long you been at Riviera, Major?” I spat out as I struggled to keep pace with his long deliberate strides, hoping to get more than a two- or three-word sentence out of him.

“A fair spell,” he said, continuing the pattern of conserving his words. His voice, while exceedingly deep, had a hint of the genteel Old South beneath the surface. It was a tone that suddenly seemed befitting of someone in his profession, and of the sport, but one you’d more expect to hear in South Carolina, not Southern California. I decided he must have been just another one of the millions of transplants that LA seemed to attract annually from small towns around the country like migrating birds looking for warmer weather.

“Ever carry for any of the guys on tour?” I continued, figuring that considering his age and the fact that Riviera had been a regular tour stop for years, he might have had the opportunity once or twice.

“No sir,” he said, but then he continued, “unless you happen to be on tour.”

“Me, no, well, not the actual PGA Tour yet anyway,” I said, chuckling self-consciously, assuming he meant it facetiously, but he gave no hint of a smile.

“I do play professionally,” I continued, suddenly wanting him to understand that I had game and wasn’t just another chop whose bag he was going to be carrying while doing his best just to stay awake during the round.

“I’m working at it, and my game’s getting close. Now if I could just figure out now how to get out of my own way and string together more than a couple of good rounds…” I said as if that explained everything. “Was hoping you might be able to help me out with that one, Major,” I added somewhat sarcastically and with a slight smile as I glanced in his direction.

“Mayyyybe sir,” he said, surprising me with his earnestness and drawing it out without any hint of humor in his voice. “As I said, I haven’t caddied for any of the guys on tour,” he continued, “but I did work a spell on the ladies’ tour many years ago, carrying for Kathy Whitworth.

“Wow,” I said. I knew Whitworth had won, and won a lot back in the ’60s and ’70s, but at the moment it didn’t occur to me to consider how unusual it must have been to have a minority caddy at the height of the civil rights movement. Instead, my mind switched back to my earlier conclusion (about his age), and I decided my original impression had been correct. He was probably in at least his middle 50’s, if not older.

“She won a lot of tournaments back then,” I said. “Quite a few majors too, if I remember correctly. Is that how you got your name?”

“Well … something like that,” he said with a bit of a faraway look. “Ms. Whitworth and I did string together quite a few, but the name was given to me long before that Mr. Frankie…”

“Here we are,” he said abruptly, cutting off that line of conversation by handing me my sand wedge. “Let’s start with the small stuff. A man who can’t be bothered with the little things can’t be trusted with the big things.” He suddenly boomed out with emphasis, “It’s all about the little things.”

We went through the bag rather quickly, with him handing me a new club every five or six balls without me asking and so I didn’t question the commanding, yet strangely calming presence next to me. All the while, he shared little doses of wisdom and what sounded like famous quotes without attributing them to anyone in particular. It was strangely reminiscent of a tape I’d once seen of John Wooden running a basketball practice at UCLA, rather than anything I’d ever experienced with a golf coach, let alone a caddy.

“Every good shot’s like a small win, Mr. Frankie, even on the range.”

“We need small wins before we can get the big wins.”

“Remember the small wins, Mr. Frankie.”

“More magic in all those small wins than all those heroic shots.”

“Every challenge is a chance to build more confidence.”

“It’s a game of confidence, Frankie, and confidence is a verb, it’s an action you take.”

He kept at it, and I kept hitting it pretty well, wondering if he was impressed or not, until we got to the driver. The first one looked like a topped shot, but I could swear I hit it on the face. The next veered wildly off-course to the right, more like the wicked slice of a 30-handicapper than someone who claimed to play for a living.

“Where’d that come from?” I said, wanting to laugh. But with my confidence suddenly a bit shaken, I just teed up another. It was no better, only this time it hooked sharply left.

“Over-corrected, I guess,” I said, muttering the lame explanation, while fighting back an unexpected sense of panic that was beginning to wash over me. I quickly teed up a fourth, and then a fifth, sixth, and seventh, and watched as shot after shot veered wildly in a different direction.

“What in the world is going on?” I said, almost shouting. Less than five minutes ago, I had privately wished Q-School was a mere three or four days away instead of months, and now I was looking around nervously to see who was watching this embarrassing display. I was glad that the range was empty aside from Clark, who had taken a spot three or four stalls away along with his caddy but had his back to me.

“Dammit, Frankie!” I did shout after the next one, slamming the club on the ground as yet another ball flew wildly from the face of the driver that I had sworn was my salvation not a round ago. I had thought I had finally found a big stick I could trust, one I had developed some confidence in, yet in the space of three minutes it had abandoned me like a scorned lover.

“Confidence is a fragile thing, Frankie,” Major interrupted, “especially if one chooses to make it conditional. Holds up much better if it’s an action you take, rather than being reliant on results.” And in that moment, I realized he had been silent throughout my onslaught of errant drives and the resultant fits of temper I was displaying. He had stopped offering the subtle encouragement or the little pearls of wisdom he had been serving up only moments before. He reached for my driver, and I gave it to him, almost too eager to get rid of it, like someone who had reluctantly agreed to handle a large snake for the first time.

He took the club from my hands, raised the face of it up to his eyes, and inspected it for a second, then asked me to take a look. There it was, as plain as day. A crack running all the way down one of the scoring lines. I had caved in the face of the club, and only at this angle could I now see that the face of the club was slightly concave, something I couldn’t perceive looking down at it from above.

“The important thing to remember is that whether or not we are confident is a choice we make, and it shows up in the actions we take in every moment. It does not need be tied to results,” he continued, but the sudden wave of relief that had come over me was so complete that I hardly heard him. The realization that the wayward shots I had been hitting weren’t the result of some sudden flaw in my golf swing, but rather a broken club, left me feeling effervescent, and the embarrassment I had been feeling only seconds before seemed suddenly silly. These feelings were quickly followed, however, by the realization that I wouldn’t have a driver for my first-ever round at Riviera, one of the longest and most demanding courses on tour.

“A 4-wood’ll be just fine, Frankie,” Major said, interrupting my thoughts matter-of-factly as if I had been speaking them aloud. “You hit her a good 240. That’ll be enough.”

“I guess it’ll have to be,” I said, reaching for it to hit a few more shots just to reassure myself the swing was still there. “Let’s go chip and hit a few putts, Major,” I told him as I turned instinctively to put the 4-wood back in my bag. “We’ll be up before long, and I want to get a feel for that famed Kikuyu grass I’ve always heard about.”

“Allow me sir,” he said, taking the 4-wood, picking up the bag, and turning to head in the direction of the practice green all in one motion, once again without another word or a glance back. Only this time I followed without hesitation…

Opinion & Analysis

Brandel Chamblee PGA Championship Q&A: Rose’s huge McLaren risk, distracted LIV pros and why Aronimink suits the bombers

Published

1 day ago

May 12, 2026

Gianni Magliocco

PGA Championship week is here, and Brandel Chamblee did not hold back in our latest discussion ahead of the season’s second major.

In our 2026 PGA Championship Q&A, golf’s leading analyst made the case that PIF pulling LIV’s funding has left its players competing in a state of confusion, called Justin Rose’s mid-season equipment switch a huge risk at 45, and explained why Aronimink will be a bombers’ delight this week.

Check out the full Q&A below.

Gianni: With the PIF confirming that they’re pulling funding from LIV at the end of the season, what impact do you expect that to have on the LIV players competing at the PGA Championship?

Brandel: I would imagine that they have all been thrown into a state of confusion, and will be distracted, not knowing where they are going to play next year and not knowing exactly their road back to either the DP World Tour or the PGA Tour. Or in Rahm’s case, being tied to a sinking ship for the next few years, likely playing for pennies on the dollar in events that no one cares about or watches.

I doubt this would put him in the best frame of mind to compete at his highest level. Keeping in mind, however, that majors are the only time that LIV disciples get to play in events that matter, so never disregard the motivation they have to prove to the world they are still relevant.

Gianni: Justin Rose switched to McLaren Golf equipment mid-season while playing some of the best golf of his career. What do you make of the change?

Brandel: I don’t really know what to make of Rose switching equipment. It seems a huge risk on his part, even though it is likely, in my opinion, that the clubs he’s playing are similar, if not the exact grinds, to what he was playing previously, with a McLaren stamp on them.

Having said that, at best, it is a distraction when he seemed to be as dialed in with his game as any 45-year-old could be and trending in the majors to perhaps do something that would definitely put him in the Hall of Fame. At worst, given the possibility that these clubs aren’t just duplicates of his old set stamped with McLaren on them, he’s made an equipment change that would take time, and 45-year-old athletes don’t have the time to do such things.

Gianni: Aronimink has only hosted a handful of professional events since it hosted the 1962 PGA Championship. What kind of test does it present, and does a course with less recent major championship history tend to level the playing field?

Brandel: Even though Aronimink has only hosted a handful of meaningful professional events, it has been fairly discerning in who can win there. When Keegan Bradley won the BMW Championship on the Donald Ross masterpiece in 2018, he was the 2nd best iron player on tour coming into that week. When Nick Watney won the AT&T at Aronimink in 2011, he was 2nd in strokes gained total coming into the week.

In 2020, Aronimink hosted the KPMG Championship, and Sei Young Kim won. On the LPGA that year, she was first in greens in regulation, putts per green in regulation, and scoring average on the way to being the LPGA player of the year. And then there is the 1962 PGA Championship won by Gary Player, who eventually became just one of a few players to win the career grand slam on the way to winning 9 majors. It is a formidable test, and if it’s not softened by rain, it will bring out the best in the upper echelons of the game.

Gianni: Is there a specific hole at Aronimink that you think will do the most to decide the winner?

Brandel: The hardest hole at Aronimink in each of the three tour events that have been played there since 2010 has been the long par-3 8th hole, with the par-4 10th being the second hardest, so most of the carnage will happen around the turn, but with the par-5 16th offering opportunities for bold plays and the tough closing holes at 17 and 18, the finish is likely to be frenetic.

Gianni: The PGA Championship has always sat in the shadow of the other majors. What does the ideal PGA Championship look like in your eyes, and what would it take for it to carve out its own identity?

Brandel: The PGA Championship, to whatever degree it suffers from the comparison to the other three majors, is still counted just as much when adding them up at the end of one’s career. Almost 1/3 of Nicklaus’ major wins were the five PGA Championships he won. Walter Hagen won 11 majors, five of which were PGA Championships.

Tiger Woods twice in his career won back-to-back PGA Championships, and those four majors count just as much as the other 11 he won. The PGA may not have the prestige of the other three, but it carries the same weight. Having said that, I preferred the identity that it had as the last major of the year.

Gianni: You nailed your Masters picks. Rory won, Scottie finished solo second, and Morikawa surged to a tie for seventh. Who are your top 3 picks for the PGA Championship and why?

Brandel: I am not a huge fan of majors played on golf courses that have been shorn of most of the trees, although I understand some of the agronomic reasons for doing so and of course the ease with which it allows members to play after errant drives. However, at the highest level, it all but eliminates any strategy off the tee and turns professional golf into an even bigger slugfest. That means that it will likely be a bomber’s delight this week, but fortunately, Scottie Scheffler is long enough to play that game and straight enough to play it better than anyone else.

The major championships give us very few surprises anymore, going back to the beginning of 2012, so the last 57 majors played, the average world rank of the winners has been better than 15th in the world. So look at the highest ranked and longest drivers who are on form coming into the PGA Championship who also have great short games as the surrounds at Aronimink are very challenging. That’s Scottie Scheffler by a mile and then McIlroy and Cameron Young with a far bigger nod towards DeChambeau than I gave him at the Masters.

Club Junkie

A putter that I love and hate – Club Junkie Podcast

Published

5 days ago

May 8, 2026

Brian Knudson

In this episode of the Club Junkie Podcast, we dive into one of the most interesting flatstick releases of the year with a full review of the new TaylorMade SYSTM 2 putters. After spending time on the greens, I break down what makes this design stand out, where it performs, and why it has me completely torn between loving it and fighting it. If you are into feel, alignment, and consistency, this is one you will want to hear about.

We also take a look at some of the putters in play on the PGA Tour last week. From familiar favorites to a few surprising setups, there is always something to learn from what the best players in the world are rolling with under pressure.

To wrap things up, I walk through the process of building a set of JP Golf Prime irons paired with Baddazz Gold Series shafts. From component selection to performance goals, this is a deep dive into what goes into creating a unique custom set and why this combo has been so intriguing.

Opinion & Analysis

From 14 handicap to pro: 4 things I’d tell golfers at 50

Published

6 days ago

May 7, 2026

Jaacob Bowden, PGA

This year my 50th birthday. Gosh, where has the time gone?

As a teenager in rural Missouri, some of my junior high and high school years felt interminable. Graduation seemed light years away. But the older I get, the faster life seems to fly by.

I’m also increasingly aware of my mortality. My dad died recently. Earlier this year, a friend and fellow PGA of America professional and I were texting about our next catch-up. The next message I received was news of his unexpected passing at 48. Shortly after, a woman I dated in college succumbed to cancer at 51.

Certainly, one can share perspective at any age. Seniors help freshmen, veterans guide rookies. But reaching this milestone feels like as good a time as any to do one of those “what would I tell my younger self?” articles.

I’ve had a uniquely varied career in golf. I started as a 27-year-old, average-length-hitting, 14-handicap computer engineer and somehow managed to turn pro before running out of money, constantly bootstrapping my way forward. I’ve won qualifiers and set venue records in the World Long Drive Championships, finished fifth at the Speedgolf World Championships, coached all skill levels as a PGA of America professional, built industry-leading swing speed training programs for Swing Man Golf, helped advance the single-length iron market with Sterling Irons®, caddied on the PGA TOUR and PGA TOUR Champions, and played about 300 courses across 32 countries.

It’s been a ride, and I’ve gone both deep and wide.

So while I can consult and advise from a lot of angles, let me keep it to a few things I’d tell the average golfer who wants to improve.

1. Think About What You Want

Everyone has their own reason for picking up a golf club.

Oddly, as a professional athlete, I’m not internally driven by competition. That can be challenging, as the industry currently prioritizes and incentivizes competition over the love of the game.

For me, I love walking and being outdoors. Nature helps balance my energy. I prefer courses that are integrated into the natural beauty of their surroundings. I’m comfortable practicing alone. I’m a deep thinker, and I genuinely enjoy investigating the game, using data and intuition to unearth unique, often innovative insights. I’m fortunate to be strong and athletic, so I appreciate the chance to engage with my abilities. Traveling feels adventurous. I could go on.

You don’t have to overthink it like I do. For you, it might be as simple as hitting balls to escape work, hanging out with friends, and playing loosely with the rules and the score.

The point is to give yourself permission to play for your own reasons, and let that be enough.

But if improvement is your goal, thinking about your destination—and when you want to get there—is important, because it dictates the steps you need to take. When I set out to go from a 14-handicap to the PGA TOUR as quickly as possible, the steps I needed were very different from those of a working golfer trying to break 90 in six months. That’s also different from someone who just wants a few peaceful hours outside each week, away from work or family.

None of these goals are better than the others, but each requires a different plan that you can work backward from.

2. There Are Lots of Things That Can Work

One of the challenges of golf is that, although there are rules for playing, there aren’t clear, industry-wide standards for how to best play the game. There’s a lot of gray area.

You might hear a top coach or trainer insist that a certain move is the best way to swing or train. Then you dig a bit deeper and, much to your confusion and frustration, another respected coach or trainer says something completely different. I don’t think anyone is trying to confuse you—at least I hope not. It’s just where the industry is right now.

You have to be careful with advice from tournament pros, too. They might be great at scoring, but they’re also human and sometimes just as susceptible as amateurs to believing things that don’t really move the needle. Tour players might describe what they feel, but that’s not always what they’re actually doing when assessed with technology.

I recently ran a test on my YouTube channel (which connects to my GolfWRX article “How to use your hands in the golf swing for power and accuracy”), and, interestingly, two of the most commonly taught hand actions produced the worst results in the test.

Coaches can certainly help. If you find someone you connect with to help navigate, that’s great. But there are many ways to get the ball in the hole. In the current landscape, you may need to seek multiple opinions, think critically, and use your own intuition to discern what seems true and whose advice resonates with you.

I’d recommend seeking someone who is open-minded and always learning, because things constantly change. Absolutes like “correct” or “proper” should raise a red flag. AI can be useful, but it tends to confidently repeat popular advice, so proceed with caution.

3. Get Custom Fit

If you’re serious about becoming a better player, getting custom fit is hugely important. There’s no sense fighting your equipment if you don’t have to. Most better players get fit these days and, if they don’t, they’re usually skilled enough to work around clubs that aren’t ideal.

If you plan to play for a long time, it’s worth spending a little more upfront to get something that truly fits you and your game, rather than continually buying and discarding equipment.

Equipment rules haven’t really changed significantly since the early 2000s. To stay in business, manufacturers keep pushing those limits. If you pull a bunch of clubs and balls off the rack and test them, you’ll find differences. I’ve tested two new drivers and seen a 30-yard total distance gap. Usually, the issue isn’t bad equipment; it’s that the combination of components simply isn’t the best fit.

It’s like wearing a new pair of floppy clown shoes. Sure, they’re shoes—but you won’t sprint your best in them compared to track shoes that fit perfectly.

Be wary of what’s called custom fitting, too. Sometimes the term is used as a marketing strategy rather than an actual fitting. In some retail settings, fitters may be incentivized to steer you toward higher-priced components. That doesn’t automatically mean it’s not the best fit, but you should be aware of potential biases.

I learned a version of this lesson outside of golf. Years ago, I bought a tennis racquet at a big box store from a seemingly knowledgeable employee who thought it would suit me best. The racquet gave me tennis elbow, and I spent months recovering with rest and acupuncture. The next season, I invested more time and money to find what actually fit me, and I walked away with something amazing that I still play with years later.

So if you’re going to get fit, be smart about it.

Find someone you believe has deep knowledge—possibly with certifications, but not necessarily. Make sure there’s a wide inventory across many brands. Check recent reviews for the individual fitter if possible. Make sure you trust that the fitter has your best interests at heart. If they’re wearing a hat or shirt with a specific brand’s logo, proceed with caution. Unless you specifically want a certain brand or look, be wary of upsells, especially if two options perform nearly the same.

Also, while golf is called a sport of integrity, there’s a thread of manipulation in the industry. I once drafted an equipment article for an industry magazine, structured just like one of their previous popular stories, with matching word count and great photos. The assistant editor loved it; it was useful to readers and required little work on his part. But the editor-in-chief nixed the story. When I asked why, I was told it was because I wasn’t an advertiser. It turned out the article I’d modeled mine after was a paid ad cleverly disguised as editorial content.

I really dislike games, clickbait, and fear-based manipulation. I hope this changes, but golfers deserve to know it exists.

4. Distance and Strategy Matter

There’s a real relationship between how far you hit the ball and your scoring average, even at the PGA TOUR level.

I experienced this early in my pro career. I started as a power hitter, swinging in the high 120s and breaking 200 mph ball speed with a stock driver.

Back then, some instructors advised swinging at 80%, so I tried slowing down for more accuracy. That worked fine on shorter, tighter courses. But on longer setups, I was coming into greens with too much club, and par 5s stopped being