What is a caddie’s work worth? Matt Kuchar’s debacle leaves plenty to ponder

PACIFIC PALISADES, Calif. ��� What are you worth when you show up for work tomorrow?

In monetary terms, the answer is usually pretty straightforward for most of us: We're worth whatever someone is willing to pay us, whether that's $5,000 or $50,000. Alert readers will note the "usually" and the "willing."

The debacle surrounding Matt Kuchar's pay dispute with David "El Tucan" Ortiz has ignited plenty of commentary on the values of Kuchar, but not so much on the value of caddies. Part-Sherpa, part-psychologist, their contributions are often intangible. Caddies occupy a decidedly gray area not easily measured in dollars.

"For starters, you're carrying the bag. They ain't gotta carry their clubs," said Mike "Fluff" Cowan, one of the few celebrity members of the caddie corps on the PGA Tour. "It's a second set of eyes, it's a second opinion. You're not always right. If we were right every single time, we'd want a lot of money. I don't think it can be dismissed. As long as you're not costing your man any shots, you're doing your job."

Simple as that? "Pretty much," he said firmly.

Fluff is 70 years old and has been hoofing on Tour since 1976, a few months after Tiger Woods was born. His first win came almost 40 years ago at the 1980 Buick Open on the bag of Peter Jacobsen. He worked for Jacobsen for more than 18 years and changed his children's diapers. He didn't get paid extra for that.

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Twenty-seven times Fluff has been standing next to the last man standing, a win total he describes as "a drop in the bucket compared to Stevie Williams."

Williams replaced Fluff on Tiger's bag two decades ago. "I got fired right here," Fluff said Sunday morning on the putting green at Riviera Country Club. "That was February '99. And I was working for Jim [Furyk] at Augusta. That's the only break I've ever taken."

He's still on Furyk's bag today. He never did ask Woods why he was canned. Didn't care. All caddies on Tour know that one day they're the pigeon, the next they're the statue.

With his Wilford Brimley moustache and ever-present cigarette, Fluff is one of the most recognizable caddies on the circuit. I asked if he believes fans understand what value guys like him bring to a player's team. "The public have started to catch on more than they did 10 years ago. People would come up to me and say, 'Who have you got today?'" he remembered with a laugh. "I got the same guy today that I had yesterday, that I had last week, that I had last year. People thought we got assigned on a daily basis. Some — not everybody —  thought we showed up and waited until there was a player available."

The relationship with his boss mattered to Fluff, and still does. "People won't understand how much of a friend he is to me and I am to him," he said of Furyk. "You gotta like the guy you are working for. If you're doing it just for the paycheck, you should go get another job."

Kuchar and Ortiz were plenty complimentary of each other in the warm afterglow of victory, of course. Kuchar called El Tucan his lucky charm. But that was before it became clear the caddie's share of the $1.296 million prize was a meager $5,000. I asked Fluff what he made of it all. He dragged hard on a cigarette and shook his head. "Man, I don't know," he finally said.

Not many guys on Tour are eager to talk about the issue since Kuchar issued a statement saying that he will finally pay Ortiz what he asked for (which was $50,000). Ask around and you won't find many who believe Ortiz deserved the standard 10 percent a professional Tour caddie would expect, but even fewer who think five grand was acceptable.

"Whatever he pays him now just won't look good, will it?" asked the caddie for a top player.

Tour players —  and their managers —  will absorb the lesson in seeing the reputation of a once-universally admired golfer laid waste by a social media firestorm. Caddies, too, will recognize that things have changed, that even if their value varies depending on the player, their financial worth is not something to be trifled with. Ortiz works as a $200-a-day looper on the Riviera Maya, but no one had more impact this week on the caddies working 2,000 miles to the west at Riviera Country Club.