TRUCKEE, Calif. - With a sand wedge in her hands, she approached her first shot of the day on the driving range with trademark cool. A controlled, rhythmic backswing segued into a perfect follow-through. The ball rocketed high and true through the azure sky. It plopped down about a foot from the flagstick as if settling sleepily into a plush green sofa.

For any country-club duffer, this would be a highlight to rehash incessantly over post-round clubhouse beers. But when you’re Annika Sorenstam, it’s the beginning of another day’s work.

The site was a gorgeous, brand-new private course on the north side of Lake Tahoe called The Golf Club at Gray’s Crossing (www.grayscrossing.com). It was designed by former PGA Tour star — and current Champions Tour player and all-around character — Peter Jacobsen, along with noted golf teacher and former Tour player Jim Hardy.

Jacobsen, Hardy and actor Matt Griesser, who plays “Sign Boy” in the FootJoy golf commercials, were on hand to play a charity skins game and officially open the course. Annika, who owns a home nearby, was invited to round out the foursome.

Naturally, these esteemed players needed caddies, and my old golf writing contact “Dinger” asked if I wanted to “pack” for Annika. It took me about four seconds to answer.

Warm-ups
So there I was the next day, wearing the universal white caddy jumper, waiting for the greatest women’s player of our time to finish hitting balls and signing autographs so I could grab her silver Callaway behemoth of a bag and lug it around for four and a half hours.

As far as what’s in that big ol’ bag, Annika hits an 8.5-degree Callaway Big Bertha Fusion FT-3 driver, a Callaway X-Tour 3-wood (15 degrees), a Callaway Big Bertha 7-wood, Callaway Prototype irons (4-9), four wedges (regular Callaway Prototype pitching wedge, Callaway Forged+ 48-degree, 54-degree and 60-degree) and an Odyssey White Hot 2-Ball Blade putter.

Sorenstam's ball is the Callaway HX Tour stamped with “59,” signifying her record-low score for a woman earned during a tournament win in Phoenix in 2001. Not bad, huh?

I’ll give you the immediate disclaimer I gave Annika the moment I met her: I am not a caddy. I don’t pretend to be. I’m a writer dressed as a caddy. I was in a world of trouble.

But, bless her heart, Annika was apparently relatively understanding. She smiled and said, “That’s OK. You’ll do fine.” Then she asked me to clean her 7-iron.

Soon enough, it was time to go to the first tee.

Whoa, wait a minute. What the hell am I doing here again?

The last time I caddied was around 19 years ago during summer break from college at a Long Island goat pasture called Middle Bay Country Club. If a 24-handicapper named Lenny Feigenbaum cursed at me and my buddy Smax for juggling a couple of Titleists and dropping one right while he was putting for double-bogey, how was I going to handle this pressure?

Still, looking back at those humidity-stained days, I learned stuff. I found out from one older caddy that he wanted to be a whale “because there ain’t no divorce in the ocean.” I discovered the prideful reward of a daily “Hot Dog and Coke” chit redeemable at the ninth-hole snack shack. I watched Louis, the caddy master, roll a funny-looking cigarette with one hand while driving a golf cart with the other. OK, maybe I didn’t learn much at all.

But with a gallery of maybe 200, cameras everywhere, and all four players mic’d up for on-course banter, these pastoral childhood memories faded fast. It was time to work.

No. 1 (par-4, 410 yards)
I put the bag on my shoulder and figured it weighed 60 pounds. Not too bad, but I’d only been carrying it for about 15 seconds. It was a sunny day, not too hot. I could handle this. Annika decided to play with the men from the blue tees, which measure a robust 7,000 yards. I liked that move — she could take ’em. I pulled out the driver without having to ask, and she thanked me. Things were going pretty smoothly.

A quick note: This is the first and only time I’ll actually type the words, “She hit it right down the middle and very far.” From now on, it’ll simply be assumed, and it will save me from redundancy and carpal tunnel syndrome. Let’s say it happened a lot. She missed maybe two fairways off the tee all day, by a couple feet at the most.

Doug Miller / Special to msnbc.com Annika blasts another perfect shot on the par-3, 178-yard eighth hole.

The greens were super-slick, and because she and I never had seen the course and she was competing against the two dudes who designed it, it could have been a tough day for her. Or not. She pushed her birdie putt past the hole about seven feet but drained the comebacker for par to force a carryover. Solid.

No. 3 (par-5, 604 yards)
Annika really got the gallery going on this one, taking the driver from me and blasting one about 300 yards, out-distancing everyone else. After initially considering a lay-up with the 7-iron, she listened to Hardy, who told her to hit the 3-wood. Good call. She crushed one about 20 yards short of the green.

After a chip that rolled a bit too far past the pin for her liking, Annika drained a 15-foot uphill birdie putt and won three skins in the process. The crowd went nuts, and for the first time, she showed some emotion to her caddy, giving me a celebratory fist-pound. Maybe we were in this together after all.

No. 7 (par-5, 591 yards)
During these long holes, Annika and I got to some small talk. I brought up that we both went to the University of Arizona, so that made for some conversation. She asked me what my handicap was, and I had to embarrassingly reveal that it’s probably around a 15, if I’m lucky.

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It didn’t get much more meaningful than that, but I surmised that we were becoming pretty comfortable with each other, and I hadn’t screwed up the caddying yet, either. I was managing to keep up with all the duties — pulling out the clubs, cleaning them, putting them away, getting the ball from her, cleaning it, giving it back — despite the fact that she practically sprints up the fairway after each shot.