The Hole-in-None

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Dear readers, charity golf tournaments are built on trust. Trust that players are honest, that donations go to the right causes, and that when someone screams "hole-in-one!" from the tee box, they've actually pulled off something miraculous.

But in the late 1990s, eight friends from the Southeast exploited that trust with a scam so brazen you’ll be surprised you haven’t heard about it until today!

The Setup

Led by a Birmingham car dealer we'll call Neal McCauley (not his real name), the crew would register as two foursomes for charity scrambles. They always insisted on back-to-back tee times. To other players it looked like friends wanting to hang out during a six-hour scramble. In reality, it was stagecraft for a con.

Their target was always the same: tournaments with a hole-in-one contest on a par-3 with a car or cash prize worth $50,000 or more up for grabs.

The Con

The first foursome played the hole as any charity scramble team would - boisterous, loud and ready for the next beer. After putting out, they would intentionally chat up the volunteer spotters, careful to obstruct their view of both the green and the tee box.

Then came the second group. The designated "shooter" would address his ball and, when he was certain no one around was looking, take a phantom swing. His playing partners, in on the act, would watch an imaginary ball fly toward the pin in anticipation before throwing up their arms and yelling, "IT'S IN!"

 What no one knew was that the con was already set. Before engaging the spotters in conversation, the first group had discreetly placed a ball in the hole - and not just any ball, but one with the shooter's first name custom stamped on it, complete with his preferred brand and number.

 When everyone rushed to the green, the evidence seemed ironclad: the correct ball resting in the cup, a cheering gallery of eight witnesses, and two embarrassed spotters too flustered to admit they hadn't actually seen the ball drop into the cup.

The psychology was perfect. The spotters didn't want to look incompetent. They signed the paperwork, the prize claim went through, and that was that.

The Payoffs

Over a three year period the crew systematically worked tournaments across the Southeast. McCauley "won" a BMW at the Children's Hospital Classic. Crew member Trejo claimed $75,000 cash at the Cancer Research Scramble. Another member of their crew, Chris Shiherlis, scored a luxury vacation package worth $25,000. Due to the taxes on the car and vacation prizes, they always took the cash option. 

Because these prizes were covered by hole-in-one insurance policies, the charities never lost money. The insurers, however, were bleeding cash.

By 1999, underwriters noticed an improbable cluster of hole-in-one payouts in Alabama and Georgia. Statistical analysis showed the odds of so many aces in such a short window were astronomical, but there was no smoking gun - no repeat names, no obvious overlap.

The Tell

The scam unraveled at a Rotary Club tournament at Deer Valley Country Club (not its real name). A longtime member that went by the name Waingro was volunteering as a spotter. Waingro, an ex-golf hustler himself, had witnessed actual holes-in-one before and knew how golfers reacted: they always rushed to find their pitch mark to find the exact spot their shot first kissed the green.

But the winner, crew member Michael Cheritto, showed no interest in a divot. When Waingro casually asked about it, Cheritto brushed him off.

Waingro’s hustler radar lit up. He reported his suspicions to Tournament Prize Insurance, setting off an investigation that would eventually expose the entire operation.

The Sting

Prize insurers cross-referenced records and discovered six of the eight men had been present at multiple "winning" tournaments. The pattern emerged clear as day - but they needed proof.

The next time the crew registered for a charity event, investigators were waiting. Cameras were hidden in trees. Spotters with binoculars watched from two holes away.

When the con played out, every detail was caught on tape: the distraction, the bogus celebration, and the quiet drop of the planted ball into the hole.

The Aftermath

The fallout was immediate. Investigators linked the crew to more than $300,000 in fraudulent claims. Federal wire fraud charges followed. McCauley got two years in prison and $450,000 in restitution. His partners faced similar sentences and financial ruin.

The charity golf world adapted quickly. Today, hole-in-one contests require multiple spotters, cameras, and stricter protocols. The days of a single volunteer with a clipboard are long gone.

As for McCauley and his crew, their golf careers ended not with champagne toasts and scorecard signatures, but with orange jumpsuits and probation officers.

So remember, dear readers: authenticity always finds a way to surface. These eight friends thought they'd found the perfect crime, but in the end they learned that even in the world of charitable giving, someone's always keeping score!

Poll Question

Last Week's Poll Result

CCC Poll: Which is the bigger country club sin?

⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️ 🥸🚬 Selling Fake Cubans

🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩 🤥⛳ Sandbagging Your Handicap

🟨⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️ 💵🙅‍♂️ Stiffing The Caddie

🟨⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️ 🩳😬 Wearing Cargo Shorts

As expected, the Sandbaggers took the cake in last week’s poll. Our readers who are caddies came in strong with the “stiffing the caddie” vote, and only a handful thought selling fake Cubans was worthy of their vote!

Thanks to all our CCC members that took a minute to vote, and a special thanks to the ones that sent us a comment. We love seeing them!

Lastly, if you are a newer subscriber don’t forget to catch up on past stories at ccconfidential.vip - and while you’re at it, tell a friend!