Caddie-player relationships have survived on a diet of contretemps and differing of opinions throughout the years. The "walk in the park" mood can quickly turn to "a bout in the ring" atmosphere with one weak shot or bad club decision. The caddie has to be, among many things, a psychologist, treading intrepidly across the eggshell-like fragility of a golfer's disposition. There are few professionals in the modern game who don't require a certain amount of delicate encouragement, if you like, from their bag toter. Unlike in the hard-nosed days of the professional world in the middle part of the century.

There are not many golfers who would have endured the abuse Sam Snead reputedly got from his caddies in the Open Championship of 1946 played at St Andrews. Slammin' Sam went through five caddies in the space of the week and still won his first Open. If a player goes though as many porters in a year there is a press inquiry today.

Sam was, and still is, a fairly uncompromising character not lacking in confidence. Travelling from London to Scotland by train to play in the Open, Sam passed the 16th hole of St Andrews and remarked it looked like some old, abandoned golf course and did anyone know what it was called? A fellow passenger, somewhat taken aback, cleared his throat to conceal his anger and replied it was, in fact, the esteemed St Andrews links, founded in 1754. Sam apologised but said that back home they wouldn't plant cow feed on that sort of land.

Many have been confronted with disrespectful and brash Americans over the years, especially on golf courses.

News of Snead's remarks spread like wildfire around Scotland. By the time the great American golfer's utterances reached the caddie shed on the famous links they had been embellished enough to incense the resident caddies. They decided on a plan of action for whoever got the "obnoxious" American's bag. They would certainly let him know his remarks were not welcome.

On the first day of play his appointed caddie decided to make life difficult for Snead. When Sam was putting, the caddie whistled. As if the whistling wasn't irritating enough for the meticulous American, he noticed the toter was blowing his nose on the rag he was using to clean his ball.

After a first round of 71, a few shots off the pace, Snead decided his caddie's habits were unacceptable and he would have to go. The sacked first-round caddie made way for his replacement, who had a similar agenda as agreed in the caddie shed earlier in the week.

Onto the second round and the second caddie. The story goes the second round looper gave Slammin' Sam the wrong yardages all day and if the numbers were not wrong the clubs certainly were. Sam may well have viewed these errors as incompetence rather than a conscious effort to make life difficult for him. After a 70, his best round of the week, Sam had no option but to let his second man of the week go and he returned to the caddie master in search of caddie number three. The third caddie had a history of serious drinking bouts followed by a night's sleep in whatever bunker he fell into on his way home. Sam got through the third round with a creditable 74, given the condition of his right-hand man. Having gone through two previous rounds of abuse, a drunk carrying his bag was the least of Sam's worries. He had manoeuvred himself to the top of the leaderboard in his first Open with a bunch of disgruntled cadgers at his side.

The fourth caddie assigned to Snead for the final round didn't get as far as the first tee due to a financial disagreement along the way. The fifth and final toter was instructed to keep up and shut up by the American who was by now running out of patience with the type of service he was receiving from the St Andrews caddie shack. A £20 bribe was enough to have the fifth caddie completely forget both the previous ill-timed remarks by Snead and his agreement with his comrades. His final round of 75 was enough to win him the Open by four shots with the tacit assistance of his fifth loadlugger in as many days.

The final caddie declared to his boss he had never worked for a champion before and he would be honoured if he could give him the winning ball. As Sam handed him the ball he said he would treasure it all his life. The next day Snead read in the paper the "treasured" ball had been sold for £50.

On reflection, the modern caddie has become a spineless kow-tower, compared to the caddies of old. Today's player only has to contend with mild incompetence and never-ending loyalty. The aggrieved caddie leaves his acrimony in the caddie shack because there are plenty of reserves waiting to take over.

I wonder how many Slammin' Sam would have won by with the gentle words of encouragement from his porter? Or perhaps the wrangling brought out the best in him.