LAW, letter of
Professional golfer Tommy Bolt was playing in Los Angeles and had a caddy with a reputation of constant chatter. Before
they teed off, Bolt told him, "Don't say a word to me. And if I ask you something, just answer yes or no."
During the round, Bolt found the ball next to a tree, where he had to hit under a branch, over a lake and onto the
green. He got down on his knees and looked through the trees and sized up the shot.
"What do you think?" he asked the caddy. "Five-iron?"
"No, Mr. Bolt," the caddy said.
"What do you mean, not a five-iron?" Bolt snorted. "Watch this shot."
The caddy rolled his eyes. "No-o-o, Mr. Bolt."
But Bolt hit it and the ball stopped about two feet from the hole. He turned to his caddy, handed him the five-iron and
said, "Now what do you think about that? You can talk now."
"Mr. Bolt," the caddy said, "that wasn't your ball."
Crossroads, Issue No. 7,