Caddying for Christina Kim

SYLVANIA, Ohio — The edict was simple and to the point.

"My clubs are like my genitalia,” Christina Kim told me on the range on Monday. “You don't touch them without permission." It made me laugh, as she often has during the time I have caddied for her this week at the LPGA Dana Open. 

Christina is funny, foul-mouthed (a compliment, by the way), honest, deep, complicated, outspoken, and particular about what she needs from her caddie. Very particular. 

Around noon on Monday, she arrived in the parking lot at Highland Meadows Golf Club, just outside of Toledo. She had planned to arrive in the area on Sunday night, but a delayed flight meant a mid-morning arrival in Detroit. She grabbed a rental car and made the 45-minute drive south to her Airbnb. There she showered and scarfed down a quick lunch. We had never met, although we had been on multiple podcasts together. 

She got out of the car, her hair soaked, and threw her phone, its charger and her hat on top of the vehicle. We hugged and then she said, "Give me a hot minute to get my shit together." I immediately knew this was going to be a great week. As I grabbed her golf bag out of the trunk of the Genesis (traveling for 21 years and collecting countless rental car points has its perks), she stopped me. "Let me empty some of this stuff," she said. She discarded the usual assortment of old energy bars, used balls and shirts before pulling out something I'd never seen in a bag: two foam hot hogs from Nathan's. She laughed, tossed the souvenirs in the trunk and went into the locker room to register. I grabbed the clubs and headed for the range. 

As I waited for her, I took the multi-colored towel on the bag and wetted a third of it, something I always do. When Christina got to the range, she noticed the towel. She turned and said, "I'm particular about a couple of things." She then told me to wet the already dirty side, the one without the lettering. Lesson learned and noted. 

She also sets up her bag differently from any other pro I know; she has odd- and even-numbered clubs together instead of groupings in numerical order. So the 7- and 9-iron are in one compartment and the 6 and the 8 in another. She told me she would explain why later in the week, although we have yet to get to it. (I'll have an answer in the next article.) 

She quickly tried to warm up before the 1 p.m. shotgun start. "Let me know when it's 12:34," she said as she scrambled to get loose. This is Christina's 21st year as a professional; she is 39, and hopping off the plane and heading to the 1st tee on little sleep without a full warmup isn't ideal. Her pro-am partners would have never imagined the travel issues she had endured. 

After countless pro-ams, I wondered how Christina would interact with the three amateurs in the group. Jack, a former D-I football player, barely got the ball off the ground as he hit a low stinger that got swallowed up by the thick rough in front of the tee. "Almost got to the fairway," Christina said mockingly. The three men laughed, put at ease by the jab. Christina is exactly the pro-am partner you want. 

She mocks herself ("hit that like shit"), swears, mocks bad shots, and is professional. Young players should follow her around during a pro-am. She was tired and has had a tough season; her playing partners would have never guessed that. 

I had to make a speech that night, so I left after six holes. We agreed to meet at 9 o’clock on Tuesday morning. On Monday night she texted to ask if I wanted to meet later. "You are the player,” I replied. “Whatever you want."

"Nope, we are a team,” she said. “You have a voice in this." I wasn't brave enough to speak up, and we kept the original time. 

We planned to play only nine holes, so we started on 10 after a 45-minute warmup. (I got the correct side of the towel wet). There are no tee times for practice rounds, so you head to the tee and figure it out. On the tee as we walked up was two-time Epson Tour winner Linnea Strom, a Swede who has played four seasons on the LPGA. We joined her and headed off. 

Christina and I like to talk, and our caddie-player relationship developed quickly. We talked politics, the PGA Tour, her announcing career, our mental health struggles, having her dad on the bag and countless other things. Conversations came easily; nothing was forced. We laughed, we swore and I watched her work. She has played Highland Meadows for 20 years. I couldn't tell her anything she didn't already know. 

I only made a couple of mistakes, including dropping the towel. A caddie who was walking the course retrieved it and brought it to us, although not before waving it in front of the camera that was following Christina and me. The other mistake made me laugh. On each green, she tosses me her ball. I clean it and hand it back to her. When I handed it back to her on our fourth hole, she immediately tossed it back and said, "Can you clean my ball, please?" Confused, I looked at the ball and found a good amount of dirt I had missed. 

On our fifth hole, she had about a five-foot putt. She asked me to read the right-to-left breaker. "Outside edge," I said before she stepped up and made it. I didn't think much of it, but as we walked to the next tee, she said, "I haven't had someone read a putt for me in four years." I had gained her trust. 

Although she planned to play only nine, coming up the 18th hole, she decided we would make the turn. We played the front nine with Sung Hyun Park, a two-time major champion, and Yaeeun Hong. That nine was more of the same—great conversation, laughs, and some lessons. On about our 13th hole, she again asked me to read a putt that I thought was breaking to the left about a cup and a half. She putted and then asked me to point at the spot I thought it should start. She spread her fingers to the two edges of the cup and then showed me that although I had the right spot on the read, it was actually three cups out. Another lesson learned. 

On the way up our 15th hole, she turned to me and said, "I forgot about one important thing I can't have you do." I wondered what it could be before she said, "If you see our tee time announced, don't tell me until I see it." I loved it. "That isn't superstitious,” she said. “It's a scientific fact." We laughed. 

We finished the round, shook hands with a couple of players, and headed for dinner at Tony Packo's, a hot dog joint. The food was great. 

On Wednesday, we met at the course at 6:45 a.m., waited for the rain to stop, hit a bunch of putts and headed to the range. After a long session, we returned to the green, where she had me place a ball anywhere I wanted and read the putt. I did well on most. The trust continued to build. 

Everywhere we have gone, people stop her to offer a hug or to tell a story. There was the fan who was eager to say he was there when she made an ace in her rookie year. A player approached her near the chipping green and thanked her for a speech she had made a couple of weeks back. The tournament director, the volunteer at the front door and the director of security all stopped to say hello. 

It has been a great three days. I can't wait to get started on Thursday. 

"7:31," she told me as we headed up our last hole, a time I already knew. "Awesome," I replied. "We will put up a good one early."