The Secret of Edwards’ Success? It’s in the Bag : Golf: After a 16-year association with Tom Watson, high-profile caddie now keeps Greg Norman in the swing.

PONTE VEDRA, Fla. —  Suffice to say that the person who invented a touring pro’s golf bag never actually had to carry one for a living. The oversized leather monsters weigh about 45 pounds each, clubs included. Lugging one around 18 holes--a loop, as the caddies call it--is like strapping an anvil across your right shoulder.

Bruce Edwards made his first loop for a PGA pro in 1968 at age 13. He got the job because regular tour caddies weren’t allowed on the Wethersfield (Conn.) Country Club course, then-site of the Greater Hartford Open.

The pro’s name was Dick Lotz, a so-so player from Hayward, Calif., who shot 71-70-69-73. Those are nice numbers for a member-guest tournament, but won’t get you a spot on many tour leader boards.

Lotz left quietly that Sunday, but only after handing Edwards $60 for the week’s work.

Nowadays, $60 wouldn’t clean Edwards’ gold Rolex.

Caddie to the superstars, that’s Edwards, 35. Dick Lotz, meet Greg Norman--Edwards’ current employer. Norman is as sure a meal ticket as there is on the fickle and humbling PGA Tour.

Before Norman, Edwards caddied 16 years for Tom Watson.

The PGA doesn’t issue earnings lists for caddies, nor are any of them in a hurry to disclose the size of their paychecks, but as a rule of thumb, a caddie averages $300-$400 a week in salary and gets 5% of his player’s winnings.

A victory usually earns a caddie a 10% chunk of the first-place check, which means that Edwards collected about $25,000 when Norman won the Doral Ryder Open in Miami several weeks ago.

Of course, none of this is written in stone. Some players are generous with their winnings, but others can squeeze the copper out of pennies. Although he wasn’t displaying his W-2 form, Edwards said an accomplished caddie, teamed with an accomplished player, can expect to earn $100,000-$150,000 a year.

There are some caddies carrying clubs, Edwards included, who make more than some players swinging them.

Thirty-four seniors graduated from Marianapolis prep school in Thompson, Conn., in 1973. Thirty-three went to college.

Edwards went to the Kemper Open to become a full-time caddie.

Lotz arranged the whole thing. Edwards would carry David Graham’s bag for the tournament and then see about a full-time job. Instead, he was dismissed after Friday’s round when Graham’s regular caddie showed up.

“The caddie was trying to cut my throat,” Edwards says.

Graham even told Edwards to quit after that first tournament.

“You’re too nice a kid to do this full time,” Graham said. “You don’t want to do this. Go home and get an education.”

Edwards couldn’t go home. For his graduation present, his parents had given him a one-way ticket from Hartford to Charlotte, N.C., where the Kemper was played.

Desperate for steady work, Edwards later traveled to Missouri for the St. Louis Classic. He was sitting under a tree near the Norwood Hills clubhouse early in the week when another caddie motioned toward a young, freckle-faced golfer who had just left the locker room.

“Hey, Bruce, there’s Tom Watson,” the other caddie said. “Why don’t you go talk to him?”

To which Edwards remembers thinking, “Who’s Tom Watson?”

Edwards introduced himself and then asked the only question that mattered.

“I’m going to be out here awhile,” he said. “Can I work for you?”

“Well, we’ll see how you do this week, and we’ll take it from there,” Watson said.

Watson, 23, and newly married, had never come close to winning a tour event. He had led the Hawaiian Open after 54 holes but faded on the final day. Edwards, 17, and newly poor, didn’t care. All he wanted was a steady bag and a chance.

What he got was a legend-to-be.

Since then, Edwards has made about 2,000 loops, which means he has covered about 13,400,000 yards or 7,613 miles--the equivalent of walking the California coastline more than nine times. Almost all those miles were with Watson at his side.

“That was the beginning of a wonderful relationship,” Edwards says. “Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would eventually work for a player who would become one of the greatest the game has ever seen.”

Watson won 32 tournaments, among them eight majors, during the next 16 years. And Edwards was there for every one.

He watched as Watson won his first tournament, the 1974 Western Open.

He stood nearby when Watson earned a fifth British Open championship at Royal Birkdale in 1983.

He saw Watson slip on the green Masters jacket in 1977 and 1981.

But the moment most cherished by Edwards occurred during the final day of the 1982 U.S. Open at Pebble Beach, when Watson found his two-iron shot nestled in the rough just off the par-three, 17th green. He was tied with Jack Nicklaus, who had completed his final round.

Edwards leaned the bag toward Watson, who pulled a sand wedge and then stepped back to consider the difficult chip.

“C’mon, get it close,” Edwards said.

“I’m not going to get it close,” Watson answered. “I’m going to hole it.”

Even Edwards, an optimist always, thought to himself, “Yeah, sure. Right.”

And then the improbable happened. Watson’s chip landed gingerly on the fringe, bounced toward the hole and then dived into the cup for a birdie and ultimately, an Open championship. A shot for the ages.

Edwards smiles at the memory. It is one story he never tires of telling. On that day, as they walked up the 18th fairway and toward victory, the leather monster seemed as light as a wand of cotton candy.

Few caddies experience such moments. In a sense, they learn, just as a player does, what it takes to win on the tour. Edwards also can claim seniority rights. Of the 140 or so caddies who regularly trail the tour, only about 10 to 15 have been making loops as long as Edwards. It explains why Norman actually recruited him, offering a job three times before luring him away from Watson in 1989.

“You need loyalty, honesty, a guy who’s on time, who’s proud of his job, who respects his job and who respects the guy he works for,” Norman says. “Bruce, to me, is one of the best and most professional caddies I’ve had. He’s a very positive guy.”

Edwards agonized over the decision. When he reached Watson by phone shortly after a tournament he asked, “Would you be terribly upset if I made a switch?”

Watson was speechless. He had told Edwards that if a better deal ever came along that he wouldn’t stand in his way. But when the moment came, parting proved difficult.

“The toughest thing I’ve ever had to do in my life,” Edwards says. “It’s a hard thing to walk away from somebody after 16 years. He was like the older brother I never had.”

But Watson was cutting back on his playing schedule, his children were in school and he was busy with golf course design.

Edwards simply made a business decision.

“I just felt like I had one more chance,” he says. “If I had turned Greg down a third time, I probably wouldn’t get another chance to carry his bag.”

Or to go through a week like the one he and Norman recently experienced at the Tournament Players Championship. Their finest moment, it wasn’t.

Tuesday: Norman and Edwards re-acquaint themselves with an occasional friend--the TPC course.

Edwards arrives at the TPC at 10:30 a.m. Norman, no early riser, is expected between 11 a.m. and 1 p.m. for a practice session and round on the 6,896-yard, par-72 course at Sawgrass, just outside Jacksonville, Fla. A helicopter will drop Norman off. Until then, Edwards sits in the shade near the equipment storage room.

“Half my life is spent waiting,” he says, as he pulls a pack of cigarettes from one of his socks. “But I better be here before Greg. It’s a mortal sin to be late.”

As he waits, caddies and players stop and offer congratulations for the victory at Doral. Norman shot a 62 on the final day, zooming past 16 other players and into a four-way playoff. He won by chipping in for an eagle.

One player laughingly calls Edwards Little Shark, which seems fitting enough. A fellow caddie, whose boss has struggled recently, keeps asking about the amazing 62, as if he knows he’ll never witness one by his player.

“That must have been something,” he says wistfully.

“It was,” says Edwards, careful not to brag.

At Edwards’ side is Norman’s red bag, which bears the golfer’s name and the names of his sponsors, which include a sporting goods company, an Australian airline and a Florida resort. Except for his two MacGregor wedges, the irons are made by Spalding and each features a tiny Shark insignia on the back of the club. His putter is a Ping. The driver and three-wood, hidden by red and white head covers the size of pompons, are MacGregors.

Inside the bag are a dozen Maxfli 100 compression balata balls, rain gear, a rain hat, an extra towel,

glove, tees, pencils, a bottle of sun screen and a small velour bag that will hold Norman’s watch, money clip and car keys while he plays. An umbrella is tucked into an outer sleeve.

Soldiers carry less into battle.

Edwards is wearing jeans, a short-sleeved shirt and a pair of worn tennis shoes--the standard loop uniform. The sun is beating down, but the PGA prohibits caddies from wearing shorts, even during something as casual as a practice round.

In Edwards’ left back pocket is a pink 1984 TPC yardage book, basically a topography map detailing the distances and undulations of each hole from tee box to green. Edwards has a library of such yardage books and score cards, carefully collected and updated with each tournament.

“Never know when you’ll come back to a course,” he says.

During Tuesday’s practice round, Edwards will double-check to see if the distances match those of his last visit. He’ll pace off the greens and note where the putting surface is flat and where it bends and rolls.

Already, he has crossed out several distances and replaced them with his own numbers. Sometimes the changes are as small as three yards, but in golf, nine feet could be the difference between landing a shot on the green or in a pond, which is shown simply in yardage books as “H2O,” with little fish drawn inside the water’s boundary.

Norman arrives about noon. Necks snap as he strides past. Women feign swoons. He has presence.

Norman has had mixed results at the TPC. He finished tied for 63rd in 1983, missed the cut in 1984, tied for 49th in 1985 and tied for 33rd in 1986.

But in the next three years, he finished tied for fourth, 11th and fourth.

Standing on the driving range before the start of the afternoon practice round, Norman tells a reporter, “The more I play this course, the more I like it.”

This is the sort of talk Edwards loves. He wants his player upbeat, confident, eager to play.

“That’s the best thing I could hear,” he says. “It’s not a question of pulling clubs. It’s the mental part that’s important. That’s three-quarters of the battle.”

Norman and Edwards trust one another, enough so that Edwards, who had never worn scuba gear before, jumped into a protective cage during a recent trip to Australia and helped Norman feed sharks by hand.

“Greg was real impressed by what he did,” says Norman’s wife, Laura.

After hitting about 35 balls, Norman chats briefly with Byron Nelson, here to watch the tournament. Then he makes his way to the first tee for a practice round with Andy Bean and Raymond Floyd.

The round is uneventful. It is a scouting mission, really. Norman sees the course. Edwards gets another chance to become more familiar with Norman’s powerful game. By now, he knows how far Norman can hit each club under ideal conditions. What he doesn’t know is every nuance, every strength and weakness of his player.

“But we’re just about there,” Norman says. “We’re just about across the bridge.”

As Norman prepares to strike his tee shot on the par-four, 381-yard sixth hole, Edwards is asked what club his boss hits best.

“Driver,” he says quickly.

Moments later, Norman’s drive lands in the middle of the fairway, far beyond the balls hit by Bean and Floyd.

“See?” says Edwards, as he pulls the bag strap over his shoulder.

There is one interesting twist at day’s end. The pairings for Thursday’s and Friday’s rounds have been released.

The threesome: Norman, Fred Couples . . . and Watson.

Wednesday: Edwards gives thanks.

At most tour events, Wednesdays are reserved for pro-ams, which are tolerated by players and dreaded by caddies.

Edwards once was hit in the ankle by an errant shot during one of these affairs. He has also dodged skulled wedge shots and ducked an unexpected shank.

Much to everyone’s delight, the TPC features no such outing. Instead, Norman plays another practice round, this time with Ian Baker-Finch and Mark Lye.

All goes well for Edwards, who finishes checking his yardages and records minor changes in his TPC book.

“The course hasn’t changed,” he says.

Norman, though, seems slightly annoyed with the condition of the greens. On Tuesday, they were fast and hard. Today, after watering, they play rough and inconsistent. The pros hate inconsistency.

Thursday: Round 1.

After spending an hour on the practice range, Norman and Edwards walk to the 10th hole for their 8:18 tee time. As they make their way through the crowd, someone yells, “C’mon, Greg, break 100.”

Norman doesn’t smile.

Waiting for them at the tee box are Couples and Watson. For history buffs, this marks the first time since the breakup that Watson and Edwards have appeared in a tournament and been assigned to the same group. Several times they have found themselves in the same practice rounds. Once, after Watson had shot, Edwards instinctively took a step toward his former boss’ bag. Old habits die hard.

If Edwards and Watson feel awkward about the pairing, they don’t show it. Already, they have made their picks for an NCAA basketball pool--Edwards likes UNLV, Watson is fond of Connecticut. And as the group waits to tee off, they chat away.

Norman walks to the other side of the tee box, where a green, wooden container provided by the TPC is located. In it are tees, matches, bandages, pencils, candy, sun lotion and golf’s real essentials--aspirin and antacid tablets. Edwards grabs some candy.

After a rousing introduction by a tournament official, Norman tees off first and hits his drive into a trap. Watson follows and receives the loudest cheer from the crowd. His drive lands safely in the fairway.

Norman plops his second shot into another trap and eventually bogeys the hole to go one over.

He birdies No. 16, returning to even par, goes one under at No. 3 with a birdie putt and then two under at No. 6.

But Norman has struggled the entire round. He saves par on No. 7 with a chip and a putt, then bogeys No. 8. After a par at No. 9, he finishes with a 71, four shots behind the leaders.

“He didn’t feel all that well,” Edwards says. “He didn’t feel sharp. There was nothing disastrous, nothing to worry about. It’s only Day 1. You’re just playing for position the first few rounds, anyway. We’re only four back.”

Maybe so, but Norman stalks to the practice range and spends nearly two hours there.

Watson shoots a 69.

Friday: Round 2 .

Norman starts the day one under but finishes it three over, thanks to costly errors and a stiff wind that makes the course play considerably longer. He misses greens. He hits traps. He misses putts. He makes bogeys. He shoots 76.

“He’s not playing that bad, he’s just not sharp,” Edwards says to a television reporter following the group. “Mental mistakes.”

After three-putting on No. 12 and going three over, Norman says to Edwards, “No excuses, but . . . “

“I know it’s tough,” Edwards says.

Edwards doesn’t have much patience for whiners. He admired Watson for his ability to “stand there and take his medicine” after a poorly hit shot. Norman is the same way.

And if he weren’t, Edwards would have ignored him.

“I was thinking, ‘If you’re coming to me for sympathy, you’re not going to get it,’ ” Edwards says later. “ ‘We’ve got six holes to play.’ I mean, he was just telling me the obvious. I’m just letting him get it off his mind.”

Norman bogeys No. 14 and No. 15, going five over. The crowd can’t believe it: Norman may not make the cut.

He birdies No. 16 and pars No. 17. He needs another birdie to advance to the weekend rounds.

Tom Williams, a caddie who showed up this week only to find himself without a bag, is also following Norman.

“Hey, ask Bruce what it’s like to caddie on a day like today,” he says.

It’s a struggle. Norman crunches his drive on the par-four, 440-yard 18th. Then a nine-iron shot lands less than pin-length away.

As they walk toward the green, Norman mutters something about the humbling nature of the game.

“Yeah,” Edwards says. “Eleven days ago we were riding a high. Now we’re grinding to make the cut.”

Norman drops the putt for a birdie.

“I feel like I won the tournament,” he says wearily.

His two-day total: 147.

The cut: 147.

“Hey, just keep him around until the weekend,” Edwards says. “History has a habit of repeating himself. Four under could win this tournament.”

Norman skips the practice range--too windy.

Edwards returns Norman’s bag to the storage room. On his way there, a woman stops him.

“Could I have a picture of you?” she says.

A caddie groupie?

Saturday: Round 3.

It isn’t often that Norman tees off this early on a Saturday. He’s usually on the leader board by now, scheduled to appear in the afternoon, when the network coverage begins.

Instead, Norman and Edwards are in the second group of the day, paired with Scott Hoch.

It could be worse. Joey Sindelar, who just teed off a few minutes ago, didn’t even have a partner until tournament officials enlisted the help of David Duval, the local club champion. Duval, an amateur, will play, but his score doesn’t count. He will serve as “a marker”--someone who keeps Sindelar’s score card.

Norman bogeys No. 1, not a good sign. After missing the par putt he stalks toward the next tee box. “Piece of . . . greens,” he says.

Edwards says nothing. He knows better.

Conditions are difficult. The wind howls through the pines and oaks. One gust nearly sends a scoreboard boy to the ground. Rain is predicted. It is a day to survive.

Norman appears willing to try. At last, he sinks a long putt, a 25-footer on No. 3 that drops him to three over for the tournament. Norman drops his putter in amazement, raises his arms and then looks at Edwards, who laughs and shakes his head. Norman picks up the putter and then pretends to fling it.

Norman pars No. 4, but is left without a partner when Hoch hands him his own score card as they walk off the green.

“Greg, I can’t hit my driver and I can’t hit my irons,” says Hoch, who has been bothered by a sore hand. “Good luck.”

“See ya,” Norman says.

A tournament marshal instructs Norman to play the next hole and join Sindelar on No. 6. Norman sends his drive into the fairway, but before leaving the tee box he turns to the small crowd following him and kiddingly says, “I can shoot 62 playing on my own. I can cheat now.”

He bogeys the hole. Whatever slim chance he has of moving back into contention is slipping away quickly.

Sindelar is waiting for Norman at the sixth tee. Duval has been whisked away.

“David was beating my butt,” he tells Norman. “I had to get rid of him.”

True. Duval was one under for the day, Sindelar two over.

Norman is five over for the tournament at the turn.

“I’m just trying to keep him interested,” Edwards says after Norman’s third bogey in nine holes.

It doesn’t work. Norman finishes with a 74, 12 strokes off the lead.

“Today was more a job,” Edwards says. “There wasn’t a whole lot of fun involved.”

Norman visits the practice range again. It is a short stay as a storm moves through, suspending play until Sunday. Norman is invited to the NBC booth to talk about the oft-criticized course.

“Should I do it?” he asks Edwards.

“Just be diplomatic,” Edwards says.

Not to worry. Norman is honest, but tactful.

Sunday: Round 4.

Starting on No. 10, Norman birdies three of the first four holes and then eagles No. 16, going five under for the day and even par for the tournament. Memories of that Sunday 62 at Doral start to stir.

Then he dunks one in the water at the par-three, 17th, which features an island green and lots of H2O. He leaves there with a triple bogey.

“Hard for him to re-motivate himself after that one,” Edwards says later.

Two holes later, Norman seems to have lost interest in the round.

“Well, so much for back-to-back 62s,” he says.

“Then let’s shoot 67 and walk out of here with a good taste in our mouth,” Edwards says.

Norman bogeys the next hole. So much for motivational technique.

Actually, Norman does stage a slight comeback. He birdies No. 7 and then, on the par-five, 582-yard ninth hole, reaches the green in two. His 280-yard three-wood hits the fringe and rolls past a peeved Jim Hallet, who was crouched in his putting stance at the time.

“We saw him there but we didn’t actually think we’d knock it on,” Edwards says.

Hallet makes his putt, after glaring back at Norman.

Norman sinks his second putt for a birdie and finishes with a 68, which ties him for low round of the day, but leaves him 11 strokes behind the winner, Jodie Mudd.

“A long week, a frustrating week,” Edwards says. “A lot of good shots weren’t rewarded and a lot of bad shots were magnified.”

Still, Norman wins $20,363, a portion of which will be shared with Edwards.

Now it’s on to the Bay Hill Invitational. Norman is scheduled to play in a shoot-out Monday morning.

“See ya at 9:15,” Norman says as he darts out of the locker room.

“Nine-fifteen?” Edwards says.

“Nine-fifteen.”

Edwards will pack his things and then drive to Orlando. Oddly enough, he can’t wait.

“I got a whole new golf course I’ve got to see,” he says.

And then he’s gone, his footsteps light on the wooden stairs.