LAWRENCE DONEGANgets reaction to the decision to put microphones on at least two caddies during the final two rounds at the Houston Open

FOR THOSE who have long wondered what is said in those conversations between the best golfers in the world and their caddie, salvation beckons. For those involved in said conversations, here comes trouble.

This week, in a move that has been greeted in the locker-room with about as much glee as a skunk with a grudge, the American television network NBC, with the co-operation of the PGA tour, will put microphones on at least two caddies during the final two rounds at the Shell Houston Open, hoping to capture some conversational nuggets that, as television executives like to say, will enhance the viewer experience.

Over the last few years, exchanges between player and caddies as they discuss club selection have been picked up by boom microphones and become a regular feature of television coverage in States.

But, as the locker-room critics are quick to point out, it is one thing to have snatches of conversation relayed to the viewing public and quite another to have every cough, spit and bitchy remark about another player recorded for posterity. Or as one caddie put it yesterday: “Would Tim Finchem [the PGA commissioner] like to wear a microphone at his work all day?”

Rick George, the PGA tour’s chief of operations, sought to assuage such concerns, pointing out that this week’s experiment is just that – an experiment – and not for public consumption.

“We have done some focus groups and people are telling us they really like the interaction between the players and caddies,” he said. “We want to find out if it could work in a technical sense and then we would have to evaluate where we could go from there.”

They won’t go very far, if the opinions of players and caddies in Houston are anything to go by.

Lee Westwood said: “In theory I think it is a good idea. Golf needs to try hard to attract sponsors and viewers, but if they asked me if my caddie could wear a microphone I would say no. Golf is a game of very small margins and I wouldn’t want people to know what I say or how I act when I’m trying to win a tournament. I would be giving away an edge.”

Other players went further. “I think it is a terrible idea,” said Johnson Wagner, an American pro who won this tournament last year. “There is a lot of things we say out there that I don’t personally want to be heard. We’re at work and we share stories and [there] are things that we say that nobody should hear.”

Like swearing, perhaps? “Yes, I swear a lot, so I guess I’m not suitable for afternoon television,” confessed Mick Doran, who is caddying for Darren Clarke this week. “But I think it would be really good for the tour because it would bring in more viewers. I would definitely wear a microphone if they asked me to.”

Doran was the only caddie this week who was enthusiastic about the idea. No one was convinced, not even by the stipulation that should this week’s experiment ultimately become a everyday fact of PGA tour life, all recorded material would be sifted for suitability before being broadcast.

“I’m not worried by what goes out on air, but by what stays in the television van,” said Jimmie Johnson, a PGA tour caddie now working for Steve Stricker. “What about leaks? How can they guarantee that everything I say that isn’t broadcast will remain private.”

Perhaps the only fool-proof answer is to live your life like the tee-total, non-swearing Pádraig Harrington.

“Personally, I would have no problems with my caddie wearing a microphone. In fact, I’ve worn one on the golf course in the past [during exhibition matches and the PGA Grand Slam of Golf, an end of season event featuring that year’s major winners],” said Harrington.

“Obviously, you couldn’t be as free and easy in your conversations with your caddie. But if I wanted total privacy then I would stay at home.”

( Guardian Service)

CONVERSATION NO CONSOLATION

Lawrence Donegan spent a season caddying on the European Tour for Ross Drummond. Here he reveals their sometimes painful exchanges . . .

“So tell me, Ross, when was this course built?” I asked. I already knew the answer – 1972 – but so what?

Silence.

I tried again. “Brilliant course, isn’t it?”

Ross, a tolerant soul, merely changed the subject. “13 on to the yellow spot.”

“That makes it 208 to the front,” I said.

“Two iron?”

“If you feel good with a two iron, Ross, go for it.”

A two iron wasn’t enough. His ball took one bounce and slipped into a bunker. And he missed the putt for par.

“They’ve cut the greens. They seem much faster than in practice,” I said, by way of consolation.

“No, they haven’t,” he snapped back.

Extract from Four-Iron in the Soulby Lawrence Donegan, Penguin Books.