Just caught up on the new posts by The Reluctant Jam Boy. If you haven’t already heard of him, he’s a blogging caddy somewhere in Virginia whose real name is Steve. Or maybe it’s Tom. I think he’s getting a little more guarded with his identity.

Regardless, his blog is one of the funniest things I’ve read in a long time. Laugh out loud funny. Tears streaming down your face funny. Snort your milk the wrong way funny.

Anyway, his stories remind me of an outing my husband and I had with a caddy of our own, a good guy named Ben.

Ben’s an earnest high school senior, looking to get into some good colleges soon and become the academic star I’m sure he’s destined to be. My husband requests him whenever he gets a caddy because he’s so fabulous at reading putts.

Our first time out with Gentle Ben, he was explaining the college application process he’s been going through. In my best Judge Smails, I responded, “well if that doesn’t work out for you, don’t worry. The world needs ditch diggers, too.”

No response.

Long, long pause.

My husband shot me a glare that would’ve knocked me down had I not been twenty yards away. He heard me loud and clear. But either Ben didn’t hear me, or he was busy plotting the next Jam Boy post of his own: “So I had this b*@$% loop today who called me a f’ing ditch digger!”

Come on, guys, hasn’t everyone seen Caddyshack? That line is a classic!

How to extract the size-8 Footjoys from my mouth? “Ah, see there’s this movie called Caddyshack, and there’s this character called Judge Smails, and he’s really pompous, and … oh, never mind.”

It turns out Ben really didn’t hear me. I explained my comment to him later, and he actually chuckled this time. Thank God, I won’t appear on any Jam Boy posts. Let’s hope.

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