Fred Collins was my caddie. Everyone called him Bassett. He was one of my best friends on tour.
But there was a moment I'll never forget. One of the most unprofessional teachers on tour provided a legal letter to my caddy for a reason. The reason? He said Bassett didn't aim me in the right direction for the shot that should have been played.
He was standing 100 to 200 metres away from us, watching from a distance. But Fred and I had already decided together. We discussed the shot. We chose the direction that would make it happen on the golf course.
Because not just perfect shots work. We have to play draws. We have to play fades. We have to do the things we were taught when we were young – not just what one coach says you have to do.
Unfortunately, it was forced upon us. He made me stand in front of Bassett and say things that weren't mine to say. He bullied me into apologising for things I never did. I didn't say anything. But I apologised to Bassett.
Bassett put it under the bridge.
And here's the Bassett I want you to remember. Every time people wanted to connect to somebody around a bar, everyone would connect to Bassett. Because Bassett always had a joke. And always laughed.
He gave me security and friendship. Love. A connection to the world around me. Everyone loved Bassett. I loved Bassett.
It was one of the saddest moments of my golfing career, and I regretted everything I did to hurt the man. I apologised because I was made to. But the regret was real. Bassett didn't deserve any of it.
We're back in contact now. Not greatly – but we got each other back. That's not nothing. That's a door that opened a crack.
He carried my bag, but he also carried my trust.