Who’s caddying for Tiger Woods at the Hero World Challenge? Here’s the audacious story of his big break

“It’s pretty cool to see a kid who started out being overwhelmed and look where he is today.”

NASSAU, Bahamas — Rick Rielly, the longtime director of golf at Wilshire Country Club, still remembers the first time Rob McNamara showed up to work for him.

“He was 13 or 14 years old and 80 pounds sopping wet,” he said. “He shows up with a towel, he might’ve had a ball retriever and I had him sit on the bench outside the golf shop until something opened up for a single because the caddie yard was a bit gruff in those days.”

Thirty-five years or so later, McNamara, 48, has a single bag for the next four days at the Hero World Challenge – the one and only Tiger Woods.

With Joe LaCava, Woods’s caddie since 2011, having moved on to Patrick Cantlay last year when Woods was sidelined following surgery to his right ankle in April, Woods was in need of a bagman this week – and likely at the PNC Championship and beyond – and turned to his right-hand man in McNamara, who has been one of his closest confidants for more than two decades.

“He’s seen me hit a few shots,” Woods said, underselling the value McNamara has brought to his game since he went without a coach beginning in 2017. (McNamara caddied most recently for Justin Thomas in The Payne Valley Cup, a made-for-TV exhibition in 2020 at the course Woods designed.)

All those years ago, McNamara’s father, who had a thick Irish brogue and lived in the neighborhood, talked his way past the gate at Wilshire, a private club not far from Hollywood, and charmed Rielly into giving his son his start in the game. McNamara was shy with a goofy laugh and a thick head of curly hair, but before long members took a liking to him and he worked his way into the bag room while also developing into a decent stick. He went off to Santa Clara University in Northern California and played on the golf team, graduating as a physics major in 1997, just as Tiger was getting started as a worldbeater. But it was golf not science where McNamara eyed making his mark.

After college, Rielly’s father, Pat, moved into the picture as an important figure in McNamara’s career development. Pat was a former PGA president and director of golf at Annandale Golf Club in Pasadena, and hired McNamara as an assistant pro, working in the shop. It wasn’t long before McNamara realized the club pro ranks wasn’t the path for him.

2019 Masters
Tiger Woods celebrates with Rob McNamara, Vice President of TGR Ventures, as he comes off the 18th green at the 2019 Masters at Augusta National Golf Club in Augusta, Georgia. (Photo: Andrew Redington/Getty Images)

He did a stint at a start-up golf website but when that company went under, Pat assisted on his next big break. When McNamara showed an interest in working as a sports agent, Pat asked his other son, Mike, who worked at IMG – the sports marketing giant founded by Mark McCormack – to arrange an interview. Pat was a good judge of talent, and McNamara got hired in 2000 as an account manager. Shortly after he moved to Cleveland and started at the firm that represented Arnold Palmer, Annika Sorenstam and Woods, one of the company’s top executives, Alastair Johnston, invited McNamara to his office for a get-to-know meeting. 

“It took only a few minutes for Alastair to explain that in all his years Mr. McCormack had never weighed in on a hire at my level before, but after one short call with Pat that all had changed,” McNamara told Golfweek in 2022. “Pat somehow managed to convince Mark, a power-broker attorney and sports-marketing pioneer, that I was the only possible candidate that could handle the job and that it would be a massive mistake for IMG to miss out on this random ex-college golfer who at 24 years old had little to no experience.”

The curly hair is long gone but McNamara has gone on to become Woods’ right-hand man, with an official title of executive vice president of TGR Ventures.

In his early days at IMG, new media was new and he was a digital native, who helped protect Tiger’s rights.

“None of us knew what it meant, and Rob figured it out,” Mike Rielly said.

He became part of Team Tiger with the likes of Kathy Battaglia and Chris Hubman, later leaving IMG altogether when Woods formed his own company. Outside of Mark Steinberg, who has served as Tiger’s longtime agent, McNamara’s been one of Tiger’s most loyal and longest-tenured associates through thick and thin, a contemporary who speaks the same language and a second set of eyes and ears he depends on. It’s a remarkable trajectory from teenage caddie to being in the inner circle with the greatest golfer of his time in a relationship where the respect goes both ways.

“Seeing Robert on TV today, it’s pretty cool to see a kid who started out being overwhelmed and look where he is today,” Rick Rielly said. “He got his break and he took it.”

Full circle at Shoal Creek: An untold story of one man’s convictions changing racial inclusion at 1990 PGA Championship and golf as a whole

The convictions of one man changed the course of racial inclusion at the major in Alabama — and golf.

Pat Rielly was never afraid to stand up for the little guy.

In 1953, the 6-foot-tall junior reserve forward on the Sharon (Pennsylvania) High basketball team was on his way to play in the state regional finals in Pittsburgh when the team stopped for dinner in Zelienople, Pennsylvania, a borough north of Pittsburgh in the heart of coal and iron country. 

Rielly noticed that his three Black teammates – Charlie Shepard, Charlie Mitchell and Edward Woods – weren’t eating and sidled over to talk to them.

“I said, ‘What are guys doing? Are you saving your $5?’ ” Rielly recalled more than 60 years later. “Mitchell said, ‘They won’t serve us.’ I said, ‘Why?’ All three stared at me and said, ‘You know why.’ ” 

This sort of discrimination was illegal but still prevalent, even in southwestern Pennsylvania, and it sent Rielly into a rage. He was the eighth or ninth man on the team, a sub, but he knew right from wrong. When he approached the owner and asked politely why his teammates were being refused to be served, the owner didn’t hide his contempt. “We’re not serving any (N-word),” he said.

With the courage of his convictions, Rielly said they would not pay until the entire team was fed. The owner wouldn’t budge. Neither would Rielly.

“So, we got up and left,” Rielly said. “We stopped and got something to eat another 20 miles up the road, closer to Pittsburgh.”

To Rielly, his memory of the game, which the team won, paled in comparison to the lesson he learned that day.

“You do the right thing, and sometimes you get criticized for it,” he said. “But when you do the right thing for the right reasons, it turns out the right way always.”

Pat Rielly (pictured, back row, fourth from right) and his 1953 high school basketball team from Sharon, Pennsylvania (Courtesy of the Rielly family)

In the early 1960s, Rielly was traveling with a handful of fellow Marines. They needed a few more hours of flight time and convinced the pilot to fly to Reno, Nevada, the self-proclaimed “Biggest little city in the world,” where Las Vegas-style gambling, entertainment and dining is compressed into a few city blocks. As only Rielly could do, he placed a roulette bet not even understanding the rules and won several thousand dollars at a time when that was a lot of money. He took everyone to dinner and ordered a feast. After paying the bill, he still had a wad of cash left over, so he tipped the waiters generously, loaned some money to his pals and went into the kitchen. The employees stopped what they were doing to hear him speak.

“My mother was a dishwasher,” he said. “That’s why I was able to play golf on Mondays. This game has given me everything.”

Then he handed the dishwashers in the restaurant a stack of cash from his winnings. Most of them didn’t understand a word he said, but they shook his hand and gladly accepted the money.

These two dinner stories illustrate why Rielly was the right man at the right time to be serving as the 26th President of the PGA of America in 1990 when Shoal Creek Country Club in Birmingham, Alabama, was scheduled to host the PGA Championship, and professional golf would be forced to change its rules regarding clubs with exclusionary practices. This was uncharted territory for a golf association and a watershed moment in golf’s race relations. It demanded a leader with a dose of humility just below his confidence.

“His own personal integrity matched the integrity of the game he loved,” said Rielly’s longtime friend and former PGA Tour Commissioner Deane Beman.

But it wasn’t until more than 20 years later that Rielly learned just how important his role in a long-forgotten dinner played in launching an era of inclusion. Then he insisted this story wait until after he died. Now it can be told.

Former PGA of America President Pat Rielly, who was in office during Shoal Creek controversy, dies at 87

Former PGA of America President Pat Rielly was in office during the Shoal Creek incident in 1990.

Former PGA of America President Pat Rielly, who was in office during the Shoal Creek incident, died on Wednesday. He was 87.

A former lieutenant in the U.S. Marine Corps, Rielly went on to captain the Penn State golf team and receive his business degree. After moving to California, he served on the Southern California PGA Section Board of Directors for 11 consecutive years, and also became the Section’s president. The Section honored Rielly three times as its Professional of the Year, and Association’s president from 1989-90.

“The PGA of America mourns the passing of our 26th President Pat Rielly. As a former Marine, Pat knew all about excellence in leadership, and he proved that time and time again through his various roles in our Association,” current PGA President Jim Richerson said. “Pat helped lead the charge for golf in requiring all future PGA of America Championship venues to have open membership policies, a decision the rest of the sport followed shortly thereafter. Pat also led by example in his efforts to help position PGA professionals as business leaders and to place the best interests of the PGA professional at the center of all important decisions. We extend our sympathies to Pat’s wife, Sue, and children Suzie, Mike, Maggie and Rick.”

Rielly was thrust into the center of controversy in 1990 during his presidency when Shoal Creek founder Hall Thompson touched off a national debate in 1990 with his remarks about the private club in Alabama’s no-Blacks-allowed membership practices. In the face of TV sponsor boycotts and threatened picketing by civil rights groups, Rielly arranged contingency plans to move the Championship elsewhere.

“Shoal Creek was easy for me,” Rielly told Golfweek in 2015. “I knew what I was going to do. If they didn’t do what they did, we weren’t going to be there. The game is bigger than the PGA. The game is everything.”

The club relented the week before the tournament and extended honorary membership to a Black Birmingham, Alabama, businessman, Louis J. Willie. As a result, professional golf changed its rules regarding clubs with exclusionary practices.

Rielly, whose father was a boxer and once fought middleweight champion Billy Conn, was raised in Sharon, Pennsylvania, where he was introduced to the game shagging balls at nearby Sharon Country Club.

“I made about a dollar a day, but that was a dollar more than any other 11-year-old in Sharon was making,” Rielly told the Los Angeles Times. “When I got big enough, I started to caddie, but they only made $1.25 for a round and 10 cents of that went to the caddie master.”

By age 15, he became the caddie master, and became a standout junior golfer through osmosis.

“The pro (at Sharon CC) was an old Scotsman, George Swankee, and I watched him teach day after day and I guess I was an imitator because when I started to play, the game came easy for me,” Rielly said. “I seemed to have learned my swing from watching him.”

In high school he lettered not only in golf but in football and basketball and later was inducted into his school’s Hall of Fame.

He graduated in 1958 from Penn State with degrees in business and labor management and joined the Marine Corps for four years. Next, Rielly took a job as an assistant in the pro shop at the Circle R Ranch course in Escondido, California.

“While I was there, I tried to find a sponsor so I could play on the tour,” he said. “I felt I could make it out there, but later that year when I got the head professional’s job at El Camino Country Club in Oceanside, I changed my thinking.

“I knew I could play, but I also knew I was no Arnold Palmer. I had a wife and three kids (at the time) and the economics of the thing told me to stay at El Camino. To this day, I have no regrets. I have been comfortable as a golf professional, rather than as a professional golfer, and I’ve received enough recognition for my game to satisfy my ego.”

Rielly joined the PGA in 1966.

“It wasn’t long before I realized that I wasn’t pleased with the plight of the club professional,” he explained to the Los Angeles Times in 1988. “I decided the way to do something about it was to get to work and make my presence known.”

Rielly moved to Annandale Country Club in Pasadena in 1972, and remained a proud member of the PGA even in retirement.

“For as much as the game has changed, the PGA professional is by and large the same they were 100 years ago. They are teachers, players, and they are dedicated to the game of golf. They follow the rules, enforce the rules and do the best they can. Some are better than others,” he told Golfweek in 2015. “We still have the same passion. We still have the same dedication to the game. It is the PGA golf professional that grows the game. It’s not some fancy program with a motto. It has to do with their dedication and motivation and what they have in their heart. And what they have in their heart, they have in their mind. It hasn’t changed. The organization is bigger in terms of PGA and Ryder Cup and events it puts on. But the rank-and-file member hasn’t changed. They are the same. I feel great about the rank-and-file member.”

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