I rode the early bus to work through the morning darkness, watching the fishing boats out on the North Sea as we passed through St. Monans and Pittenweem, thinking of Jimmy Hughes, who fished this sea before he began caddying with me. Jimmy, whom I relied upon for weather forecasts and who became a great reader of putts, much better than I.
At the gate to Kingsbarns, the big blue Dunhill signs waited for me. There hadn’t been a single day in the last six months when I hadn’t looked forward to this, and suddenly there I was, nervous at first, but soon fighting for each stroke with my golfer, marching up the fairways as I had 140 times before, only this time I shared them with Padraig Harrington and Paul Casey, the two pros my son has always admired most. The moment I will always remember came as I walked off the 6th green, making my way through the gallery to the 7th tee, when Glen stepped out of the crowd and shook my hand. He had taken a day off to watch me work my first professional tournament. We didn’t say anything, but when I looked into his eyes, I knew that he understood. I still had a long way to go to measure up to him and the veteran caddies I had worked with all season. But I thought I just might get there.