It's important to know, in the elite world of professional golf, exactly where you stand.
For the caddy, where you stand is a couple of metres back, a little to the left.
That way, when the golf professional lines up and swings, he is not distracted by the sight of the caddy pulling thoughtfully at his ear, perhaps, or brushing some grass off the golfing shirt he got for his birthday and brought specially for the occasion.
Golfers need to concentrate.
Caddies do too.
There is much to know, and yesterday was a chance for the Otago Daily Times' representative to practise his new role on the prosperous fairways at Millbrook and The Hills.
The first matter is to recognise your professional among the many young fellows tipping and tapping their golf balls across the practice green.
They all have something in common: a jaunty step, a looseness of limb and a confident physicality they promenade through the golfing resort in their peaked caps and fashionable sports slacks.
Once names are googled, faces recognised and everyone is hooked up and on the course, there are things to know.
The way the pro orders his clubs in the golf bag is one.
The 9-iron and pitching wedges sit snugly in the bottom section of the bag, the 3, 4 and 5-irons above them and a little to the left, and over there, to the right, are the 6, 7 and 8-irons.
Finally, at the top of a hierarchical and well-ordered system are the drivers and hybrid, hanging menacingly over the rest, their dominance and unpredictability striking fear through the rest of the bag's inhabitants.
And don't, whatever you do, leave the bright red leather cover of the No1 driver on the ground at the tee on the ninth and walk a good 300m before realising, because then you'll have turn on your heels, tear back and get it.
Still, practice days are where you want to make your mistakes, not when the television cameras are on and watching your every move, and everyone is deadly serious.
Because then your mistakes are going to be badly exposed in front of an international audience that will surely be in the millions.
God forbid.
When not standing in the wrong place, remembering club order and trying not to leave pieces of golfing equipment strewn across the abundant fairways of the Arrowtown hills, one must remember divot duty.
Professional golfers swing down hard with their irons and produce the neatest, most symmetrical rectangular divot, which flies through the air and lands a good 10m from the point of connection, and the caddy has to track down that grassed slice, return it whence it came and give it a firm squishing with his foot to promote regrowth for the betterment of fairway enjoyment.
He also has to keep up, so if his professional has headed off to his next shot point, he has to catch up, and be ready to provide his services at a moment's notice.
Then there are the unexpected problems that may arise nobody thought to mention.
Early in the day as the sun rises behind the serrated hillsides of Arrowtown, the resulting light can cast the shadow of a caddy's head, for instance, across the tee where it bobs stupidly about in the area of the professional's ball as he lines up his shot.
That is no doubt distracting.
So don't forget the sun's angle as you stand in the right place and remember club order and equipment retention and try not to panic about the next day's play and the many television cameras dotted about the course.
And finally, hope like hell you are in form on the day.
Golf professionals wake some days feeling out of sorts and clumsy, and they don't play well. I've been told this by someone who should know.
Caddies, too, surely struggle with form.
That struggle is one of concentration.
There you are, standing by the green on the 13th, staring into the distance and wondering what golfers think of free-form jazz, or whether mid-20th century brutalist concrete architecture will make a comeback, when through the haze of thought you realise where you are.
Let's hope our form is solid.
