I never was much for wearing caps when I played golf until I woke up one morning to discover that most of my hair had gone away and wasn’t coming back.
Now, I always have a cap on my head when I do anything outside. It keeps my big old bald spot from getting burned, but mostly I’m too lazy to comb what’s left until I have to get ready for work.
Caps are big business. I am the proud owner of a fitted New Era “59Fifty” Red Sox cap that is worn for special occasions only. It was a gift, and is the Cadillac of caps.
I have my work cap, worn only for NBC Connecticut-sponsored events and news coverage. (Otherwise, I don’t wear station-logoed shirts and caps because I’m afraid people would think, “Oh, that pathetic sucker just wants attention.” And really, I don’t. Unless I’m feeling particularly needy.)
I have a few caps with logos of places I’ve been or courses I’ve played. But my favorite cap, the one I’ve played golf in for years, is plain, off-white, and unmarked. It draws more attention than any other cap I’ve worn for the simple reason that it’s unmarked. No logos. No nothing.
Golfers, for some reason, like to wear caps that bear the logos of equipment makers. Titleist. Callaway. Ping. They may not even use those brands, but they will happily become walking billboards for them.
When they see my fraying, decaying old unmarked cap, they look at it, they look at me, and they ask, “Are you waiting for an endorsement deal?”
Why not? Titleist, are you listening? My forehead’s for sale. Fore!