MAYBE IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN A THREE IRON

A marginally funny exposÇ of life on the European pro golf circuit. According to Donegan, a Manchester Guardian reporter who masqueraded as a pro caddy during the 1996 European PGA tour, “caddying is . . . not brain surgery. It is much more complicated than that.” From this clumsy metaphor-cum-witticism, we might surmise that Donegan wields turns of phrase about as effectively as he wielded a golf bag (and we need only read the subtitle to see how well he did that). But seriously, the author seems quite genial, and is always willing to be the butt of his own joke (perhaps this is because the Milquetoast personalities of the European PGA tour provide little fodder for the author’s japes). However, his stories about the erratic quality of tournaments on a circuit that included such golfing meccas as Dubai, Czech Republic, Morocco, and Austria, or the boozy, vagabond lifestyles of caddies and the less successful golfers, begin to sound familiar (see any of the dozens of other golf books published over the past few years). Basically, Donegan played Sancho Panza to his Don Quixote, Ross Drummond, a mid-table tour pro whose delusions of greatness and outsized ego often serve as grist for the author’s mill (though not as often as the occurrence of Cervantes references used by the author to describe their relationship). What ensues is Drummond enjoying tantalizing glimpses of success that he, to the author’s consternation, attributes to every factor (including the teachings of the self-help guru Anthony Robbins) other than good caddying; Drummond and Donegan parting ways; and Donegan looking to land one-shot tournament caddying assignments. Par for the course, as golf books go.