Caddie's Role: Where do all the old golf pros go to? For many, Sky TV gave a new lease of life to those golfers who couldn't quite hack it any more on tour. They re-invented themselves as commentators, maintaining their nomadic existence, but without the uncertainty of where the next cheque was coming from.

Many of the rules officials are now ex-Tour players. One has risen to the position of second in command of the Tour.

For others, the transition from player to ancillary has been uncertain. Chubby Chandler is an ex-player who set up a very successful management group. Others failed. Some ex-players coach current ones on tour. The rest are still trying to figure out if there is life after playing.

A few weeks back at the French Open, held outside Paris, a colleague came across an ex-pro in a most unlikely location and profession. Struggling to find accommodation near the course, my friend found himself staying some 20 km south of the venue. It was getting late and he needed a quick meal before he retired for the evening.

A pizzeria caught his eye, so he went in and ordered a quatro stagioni and a glass of beer. The affable waiter obliged. Noting my colleague's broken French, the waiter struck up a conversation in English.

My friend can be aloof if he has had a long day of travelling and looping. He was in one of those moods now, especially now he was located so far from the course. The waiter charmed a smile out of him and eventually got to the root of how he had ended up in his little pizza joint at 9.30 on a slow Tuesday night. He was working at a golf tournament at the French National, he told his host, whom he assumed would know as much about golf as he did about the art of flipping the dough that made the perfect pizza.

The pizza arrived accompanied by another beer and a reluctant conversation ensued. The waiter was familiar with the French National, much to my friend's amazement. He had played it many times, but of course it was not built when he played on the European Tour.

'You mean you actually played on the European Tour?' he asked with wide open eyes. 'Yes, back in the 70s. I didn't last long,' he continued, 'but my brother Fayad is still very much involved with the game - in fact, he coaches Vijay Singh'.

A gobfull of beer exploded over my friend's pizza. Now he really didn't believe his pizza waiter.

The tournament went on, and my friend and the ex-pro golfer continued their evenings together at the restaurant, one explaining to the other how it was then and and the other how it actually is now.

How far removed from the image most would have of an exotic life travelling and playing golf all around the globe a lunch-time pizzeria is. The reality for most golfers is they could be frying hamburgers if their games do not live up to youthful expectations.

The next week at the Scottish Open the story spread around the locker room about my associate's chance meeting. It became a chronicle of a career foretold.

The reality for many golfers is a meagre existence full of angst about their careers and whether this year is not the time to change it all. Without denigrating the art of making a good pizza, the prospect of letting a dream existence in the professional game slip by for a life of dough-flipping must seem harsh.

One player went on and shot a 65 around Loch Lomond the day after hearing the pizza man's tale. My friend approached him, reassuring him that a 65 is no pizza round. It is interesting how the fear of ending up kneading dough for a living puts a whole new perspective on the hardship of trying to break par.

The following week at Hoylake, Fayad came up to my colleague and introduced himself as the brother of the ex-pro who plied him with pizza, beer and tales of a lost era on tour. He is a teaching pro based in Sweden and travels to meet Singh to coach him whenever he requires his tutelage.

There is, of course, life after the Tour. But for those journeymen who have beaten their heads against the unyielding demands of producing under par rounds week in week out the alternatives may seem a little easier. Flipping a flagging golf career around may still seem easier than flipping dough in a lunch-time Parisian pizzeria.