Seeing Isn’t Believing

"I don't feel like I belong out here,” Daniela Iacobelli said as we walked up the 18th fairway last Friday at the Meijer Classic on the LPGA tour. I was caddying for her, and although I knew she was wrestling with her place at the top of the women’s professional game, it was surprising to hear her say it. “I don't feel comfortable,” she said. “I feel judged." 

A question I get asked a lot is why certain players who have had success on a developmental tour don’t make it on the biggest stage. I answer the same each time. It's different for different players. Maybe it’s the driver. Or the short game. Maybe the long irons aren’t good enough. Or the putter goes cold too often. For some, it has nothing to do with their physical game. 

For Iacobelli, it's the overwhelming feeling that she doesn’t fit in on the top tour in women’s golf. 

After Iacobelli voiced her concerns, I considered why she does belong: the black Titleist Tour bag bearing her name on the front told a different story. She had earned that bulky tour bag after graduating from the Epson Tour. She is the all-time winning money leader on the Epson Tour, with more than $500,000 in earnings and five career wins. That’s a clear indication she most certainly belongs. 

The field at the Meijer Classic was filled with players she beat consistently on the Epson Tour. Yet as we walked up our final hole in the second round on the way to another missed cut, she opened up about her struggle to believe in herself despite her accomplishments. 

Daniela Iacobelli isn’t supposed to be on the LPGA tour. Hell, she isn't supposed to be in professional golf. She didn't grow up at a fancy country club. Her family couldn't afford a teacher or a coach, as evidenced by her homemade swing. She played golf at Division II Florida Tech, not exactly a hotbed for future LPGA pros. After graduation and working in a pro shop for a short time, she turned professional. She’s 37 now. Despite the overwhelming odds, Iacobelli has somehow become the Epson Tour's Crash Davis. 

She is also one of my favorite people in golf. In a sport filled with cookie-cutter professionals whose agents and PR representatives control most everything, Iacobelli is the opposite. It is so refreshing. 

Iacobelli is the Nancy Lopez of swearing. Until recently, she would go through a pack of lung darts when the pressure was on. She enjoys a few adult beverages, and sometimes more than a few. But she has cut back significantly since becoming an LPGA tour member. She can name her favorite slot machine in almost every city the Epson Tour visits. 

So when "D" (almost everyone she knows calls her that) asked me to caddie for her in the LPGA event in my home state of Michigan, I immediately said yes.  

We met in the parking lot on Tuesday afternoon. She was an alternate at an off-site pro-am in the morning and moved into the field when someone withdrew. The $1,500 payday was much needed for a player who in four starts had yet to make an LPGA cut this season. After meeting up, we headed directly to the 10th tee for a quick nine. 

A group of Titleist reps followed us to gather feedback on the new ball the company is working on, and Iacobelli was happy to oblige. She was in her element, holding court as five reps hung on her every word. 

And the feedback was D to the max. Instead of saying “spin” when a ball landed on the green and ripped back, she called it "jizz." One rep laughed, saying it would be the first time he would use that word in a corporate meeting. She made jokes about her struggle to find the center of the face, swore like a sailor and gave input ("That ball is fucking terrible") that the reps appreciated. 

As I listened to her talk, I could sense her anxiety about fitting in. She was constantly concerned about holding up pros behind her, waving them to play through even before we held them up. One of those players was five-time major champion Yani Tseng. "Who's this bitch?" Iacobelli said, talking about what Tseng might have been thinking while waiting to hit a shot.

Iacobelli wasn’t in the Wednesday pro-am, so we spent the day practicing. We made our way to the short game area and were surrounded by name players. Once again, she made jokes at her own expense. "Who is this bitch with the gray hair?" she said jokingly.  

No range in pro golf is as quiet as the practice tee on the LPGA before tournament rounds. Talk to any veteran, and she will tell you how much it has changed over the years. The camaraderie exhibited in past decades is mostly gone. Players live in their own bubble, surrounded by family, coaches, and caddies, but that's about it. It can be a lonely place for a player. For Iacobelli, there is no bubble. Because of finances, she is out there alone, to the point she often hires a local caddie.

As we watched other players get stretched out with bands held by trainers before hitting balls next to their $25,000 Trackmans, Iacobelli grabbed a wedge and started chipping. No bands, no trainer, no launch monitor—a public course kid at heart, trying to find her place in what felt like a private club environment full of privilege. 

After a perfect range session early on Thursday morning under the lights—a sign in pro golf for a player with limited status—we headed to the first tee.

As we climbed into the shuttle for the ride there, it struck me how Iacobelli had remained true to herself. In a golf world where fashion has become a significant part of the landscape, she hasn’t changed. Her one Titleist visor, which she wore each day, was clean, but the wrinkles around the bill told the story of a piece of headwear that has gone through countless cycles in the wash. She wore one of the five or six shirts her sponsors had given her and free shorts she had collected along her pro journey. She had no makeup. 

For comparison, one of her playing partners, 27-year-old Lauren Morris, applied lipstick throughout the round, her nails were professionally done, and her hair was pulled back through her hat, the hat matching her outfit.  Our other playing partner Azahara Munoz wore a light blue LaCoste shirt that matched her Ping hat with a perfectly rounded bill. The hat was pulled low and helped show off her pearl earrings. 

Our playing partners caddies ensured that the bag was packed with protein powders and organic bars that their players munched on through the round. D made sure we had enough Zyn’s (nicotine pouches she calls “lip pillows”) for the five hours ahead. 

It wasn't hard to understand why Iacobelli didn't feel comfortable. 

A lot of our conversation on Thursday centered around her return to the Epson Tour event. The Epson Tour is in Harris, Mich., this week, a hamlet on the Upper Peninsula.  Because she didn't qualify for the KPMG, Iacobelli would be making the nearly seven-hour drive north after finishing at the Meijer. It is the site of one of her five wins, and it came in a playoff in 2019. She spoke fondly about her longtime host family, playing barefoot in the days leading up to the event, and being back on the tour where D holds court. 

After yet another rough start to an opening round, Iacobelli told me, "I can't believe I'm fucking 3 over. It’s embarrassing." Sarah White, her best friend and a fellow Epson Tour pro, "I've never heard her say anything like that." 

A 4-over 76 left us in a tie for 129th, and barring a spectacular second round, it would mean a fifth consecutive missed cut. 

After the round, we went into player dining, where we were joined by Epson Tour commissioner Jody Brothers. Again, the conversation centered around the good memories of the Epson Tour. The host families, the players who turned to her for advice, the casinos. Iacobelli missed all of that. 

I speak all the time with pros who talk about making it to a top tour and feeling pressure to change what got them there. The pressure of watching others practice endlessly has led some players, who were never range rats, to spend hours on the range. Some players start arriving at the course earlier than ever, staying later, and grinding on the putting green despite never having done that before. 

So Iacobelli isn't alone. Not even close. 

"Fuck practice,” I told her as we pondered what to do after lunch. “Let's find a casino." Our early tee time had left us most of the afternoon and all evening free.

Gun Smoke Casino was about 30 minutes away. We loaded her clubs in the back of her rental and set the GPS. She even dug out a pack of Marlboro Menthols she had hidden in her bag for emergencies and enjoyed a couple of puffs before hitting the casino floor.   

I'm more into table games, but Iacobelli was determined to teach me how to play one-armed bandits. As we walked around, she talked about her favorite games and what you need to claim the bonus. She was confident, and her infectious laugh was on full display as she told stories of significant wins and losses on a particular machine. 

Soon she found a machine where a bonus jackpot hadn't hit for a while. "It's going to hit soon,” she predicted. “I might not leave for a while." I left to play some blackjack and returned an hour later to see the light on top of the machine glowing white, signifying a payout large enough that the casino required a 1099. 

The bonus jackpot had hit: $1,700. Iacobelli was in her element— comfortable. If only she could take that to the course. 

The second round was uneventful, outside of a spectacular birdie on 18 (our 9th) that started with a drive so far left that the crowd gasped. It grazed the kids playing cornhole in the family area and stopped underneath a Golf Channel trailer that everyone thought was surely out of play. 

After a free drop, a great 3-wood and a wedge set up a four-footer for a routine birdie. We laughed the entire time. I wish Iacobelli could bottle that feeling and carry it to the next LPGA event. At that moment, she didn't feel judged or uncomfortable; she was simply doing what she loved. 

She loves to play golf. On her off days at home, you can find her playing with the ladies from her home club. Laughing, swearing, and making birdies. Holding court. 

I was asked why she hadn’t gone to Q school, and she tried to explain the financial burden of it before finally acknowledging her anxiety about being out on the top tour in the world. 

Iacobelli has a hard outer shell, but once you crack it, you see the wonderfully kind person she is. This, however, was the first time I had seen her vulnerability. I reminded her that she has beaten a good portion of the Meijer field on the Epson Tour at some point in her career. She countered that she had never done it on the LPGA tour, something I couldn't dispute. (During an LPGA career that dates to 2013, she has made 13 cuts in 58 starts, with just one top 10.)

She went to a Tim Allen quote from The Santa Claus (so perfectly D) when I told her she had to believe she could beat those players on the LPGA tour. "Seeing isn't believing,” she said. “Believing is seeing." 

When I sent her a text about writing this article, she replied in the only way she knew how: "Nothing will make you feel more judged than having an article written about how you feel judged."

This week, Iacobelli will play the pro-am on the Epson Tour in bare feet. She will probably enjoy some adult beverages. She will be in her element. In a few weeks, she will return to the LPGA tour, across the country in Portland, Ore. Hopefully she will take with her the belief that’s where she belongs.

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