Longtime caddie Don ThomDarren Calabrese
Don Thom is known as "Overkill" on the PGA Tour. And after watching his 30-minute inspection of the 18th green at the site of this week's Canadian Open, it's clear that nickname fits.
Over and over, the retired police officer from Bradford, Ont., squats and rests a level on the grass, noting the angle. He's been taking meticulous measurements like this for four hours - and he still has nine more holes at St. George's Golf and Country Club to inspect on behalf of his boss, professional golfer Craig Barlow of Las Vegas.
"I need to be ready to be his eyes, to show him around the course," Thom says after strapping his yardage book to his hip belt and exiting the green.
At 63, Thom is a veteran of one of the most grueling gigs in professional sport. They're called caddies, but the job is more than lugging around a 40-pound bag. The modern caddy is a combination of psychologist, security guard, weatherman, coach and confidant.
"My main purpose is to make him comfortable and not cost him any shots," Thom says.
Thom officially retired in the early 1990s when he handed in his badge after a 33-year career as an Ontario Provincial Police officer.
While a typical retiree hits the links for fun, Thom's average week now goes something like this: Mondays are travel days, so he'll fly or drive to a course somewhere in North America or Europe. Tuesdays he scouts the course from dawn to dusk, followed by a pro-am tournament and more scouting on Wednesdays. Then from Thursday to Sunday, he hauls a bag around the course.
The schedule repeats about 18 times per year. "You have to obviously have a very understanding spouse," Thom says. Not to mention strong shoulders, and a higher-than-average tolerance for cheap hotel rooms.
Despite the grueling schedule, Thom loves the frenetic life and says he's relatively stress-free compared to most caddies on the PGA tour, who are in their 20s and 30s. He has a pension for security and a relatively light schedule (most caddies work up to 25 tournaments per year). As a Canadian, his health care is mostly covered.
While each caddy strikes his own deal with his golfer, an average weekly wage is in the $800 to $1,000 range. The caddy then gets bonus money based on the player's finish, ranging from 5 per cent for a good result, to 10 per cent if a player has a top-10 finish.
"It's not as glamorous as everyone thinks," said Aaron Wark, 36, a caddy for Blake Adams.
Wark is single and isn't leaving a young family at home, he says, but living out of hotel rooms for more than half the year can get old quickly. Sometimes the guys hit the casinos, he adds, but evening options are pretty limited.
Of course, lots of golfers - and their caddies - come away without a payday if they don't make the cut. And for every Brennan Little (Mike Weir's longtime caddy), there are guys who get fired after a few tournaments - or even midway through a round.
Thom won't say how much he makes, only that he's glad he's got a pension.
"I don't think I'd want to be a young person with a young family," he says.
The life of a caddy agrees with him, he says, which is why, after he gave it a try at the Ontario Open in 1992, he never looked back. He's got an analytical mind, one that once helped him track down murderers and thieves but now spends hours studying every lump and stump on a course.
He's also had a few lasting relationships with players. In the mid-1990s, he was hired by Notah Begay III, then one of the rising stars on the PGA Tour. They would often practice with another young phenom named Tiger Woods, since the two players played together in Stanford.
(Thom remembers Begay ribbing his friend: "What do you need all that security for? I've got a cop on the bag - that's all I need.")
Between working with Begay and Barlow, who he caddies for most often now, he's been to multiple British and U.S. Opens.
"More than anything, it's the thrill of the competition," Thom says. "And I've gotten to see some unbelievable golf courses and played on some really great ones."