Copyright © 2003 The Press Democrat

SONOMA, Calif. - It was another chapter in the amazing friendship between Tom Watson and his caddie, Bruce Edwards. Edwards, as you probably know, is suffering from Lou Gehrig's disease (ALS), and it's incurable.

When the Charles Schwab Cup Championship was over, the late-afternoon shadows falling across the 18th green, Watson got ready to receive an award. He'd finished second in the Cup Championship to Jim Thorpe. But he'd come in first in points for the season. And now he was about to receive a very large gold cup.

They call the season cup the Charles Schwab Cup, too. Which means there were a heck of a lot of Charles Schwab Cups floating around this tournament. Can't someone do something to simplify this matter?

Anyway, Watson was being presented with the cup, and along with the cup he'd won a 10-year annuity worth $1 million. And now came the dramatic moment. Flanked by Schwab and some other men in suits and his wife, Hilary, and his caddie, Edwards, Watson said: "What I'd like to do with this million bucks is help my buddy out and people like him. We're going to concentrate on finding a cure for this damn disease."

Edwards smiled at Watson, and then he took the microphone to address the crowd and the dignitaries. But I couldn't understand him. God, I wanted to. But the words came out slowly and indecipherable, like a phonograph record you slow down so much it's beyond comprehension.

Watson smiled at him. Watson can understand Edwards. In his mind, he can translate the sounds into words, and he's a patient man, patient with his friend. I imagine Edwards had thanked Watson, thanked him for giving up the million dollars. We all know Watson is a rich man and a million dollars to him is not the same as a million is to us. But come on. A million dollars is a big chunk of change to anyone. And Watson had just surrendered it. Gladly.

A few minutes earlier, Watson and Edwards had watched Tom Jenkins get ready to sink his final putt on 18. Watson was done, and he and Edwards seemed relaxed. They whispered to each other. They smiled. And then, as Jenkins got ready to strike the ball, Edwards knelt down. And Watson stood over him. It was an interesting visual moment, and it said something about the two men and the nature of their relationship.

It is a friendship from another age. You might call it medieval, a knight and his vassal. I mean no disrespect by drawing this analogy. It is a noble relationship, and it is based on loyalty and service, and it leads to deep affection. A caddie serves a golfer, gives advice, stays out of the way. The million dollars from Watson was a reward for this service, and it was Watson's way of saying no one else could have served like Edwards, like this man who knows the break of a green, who knows which club to use. No one could have served like this man who drives a cart because he no longer can walk the course.

Asked to describe the nature of their relationship, asked if it was friendship or the love between brothers, Watson said, "It's a trust."

"Trust on the golf course, or trust in all things?" someone asked.

"Trust in all things," Watson said.

There was another moment you should know about. Watson had been handed the cup, and Thorpe had accepted his honors. And now everything was over. Suddenly, reporters flocked around Edwards. He was the star, not the golfers. It had something to do with his courage, which is beyond description. He answered questions, although most of what he said came out as a drone. And he knew it. But he wasn't embarrassed, and he kept trying.

He said he will caddie for Watson in Georgia in November. Hopefully, he can do that. He's making plans, and Watson is making plans along with him -- Watson wants him to caddie the Senior Skins competition in Hawaii after the New Year. They project a future together, these two old warriors.

And then Edwards talked about himself. He said he has two yellow Lab puppies. He never before had dogs, but now he's ill and can't travel as much, so he has dogs. He's named one Nabby for Philadelphia Eagles quarterback Donovan McNabb. That's because Edwards is an Eagles fan. He named the other lab Hope. "For obvious reasons," he said.

Soon, he's entering treatment at the Mayo Clinic in Jacksonville, Fla. It's a clinical trial, and that means he may get the experimental drug, but he may get a placebo. "So, I'm looking forward to that," he said, his voice hopeful.

If you don't mind, I'll give Watson the last word. Afterward, he came to the pressroom and spoke to the media about Edwards. Watson can't leave this topic alone. "It's sad to see him withdraw because he can't talk," Watson said. "Because that's what happened."

So now Watson will speak for Edwards. It's his obligation.