Grant Me This

PGA.com contributor Grant Boone says we witnessed late Sunday afternoon on Winged Foot's 18th tee the unfortunate return of the old Phil Mickelson, the one who gambled with abandon and would ultimately pay a steep price.

By Grant Boone, Special to PGA.com

Let's not waste any time: Yes, that was the worst 72nd-hole collapse in major championship history since the Kennedy Administration. Not in number of strokes. Monsieur Van de Velde retains that dubious distinction. But I know Phil Mickelson. He's a friend of mine. And, senator, Jean Van de Velde is no Phil Mickelson.

Not since Arnold Palmer double-bogeyed the 18th in the final round of the 1961 Masters to lose by a single stroke has one of the game's great players failed so miserably at the last and worst possible major moment. As great as the agony of Mickelson squandering the tournament he's always dreamed of winning was, what's most disturbing for Phil and his fiefdom was that what happened on 18 Sunday may have been more about an old Achilles' heel than a Winged Foot.

Think of the remarkable role reversal of the last two years. For the first dozen years of his professional career, the same reckless abandon that gave us Phil the Thrill was also Mickelson's El Guapo. For every great shot, there would be an ill-advised gamble that didn't pay off and which seemingly came at precisely the wrong moment, often on the biggest stages. But since retooling his game two years ago to emphasize control over chaos, Mickelson not only broke through for his first biggie but bagged a total of three in a nine-major stretch.

And all of this was happening as Tiger Woods began showing us glimpses of his humanity, previously unseen in the crucible of competition in Grand Slam events. Tiger couldn't get it done in crunch time at last year's U.S. Open or this year's Masters. And even his '05 win in Augusta came after he bogeyed the final two holes to fall into a playoff, which he eventually won. But beginning with his breakthrough victory at the 2004 Masters, it's been Mickelson who's closed the deal when given a major championship chance.

For 71 holes, Mickelson looked like the old Tiger. On the 72nd, he looked like the old Phil. Knowing par would be good enough for his first U.S. Open, Mickelson still teed off with the same driver that had found just two fairways all day. Only minutes before, he'd slam dunked his tee shot into a trash can left of the 17th fairway but salvaged par with waste management skills that were pure Tony Soprano. The tenor of any Open conversation, though, is always about keeping your ball in play, especially down the stretch.

Yet, instead of a fairway metal or long iron, Mickelson pulled driver then pushed it so far left it doinked off one of the corporate hospitality tents left of 18 and back onto a patch of rough that had been trampled by the gallery. Given a reprieve, Mickelson again passed on the chopped steak and chose a signature Philet Mignon from his magical menu of golf shots. But this one was overcooked, catching a tree and dropping just 25 yards in front of him. With no time to clear his palate, Mickelson's next course was a fried egg, courtesy of a third shot that found the front left greenside bunker. A gouge from the sand rolled off the green and into the rough. And when his chop from the thick stuff missed right, it left Lefty with a most dyspeptic double and made plucky Geoff Ogilvy the U.S. Open champion. A deserving one, too. Steady all week, Ogilvy made nothing worse than bogey and never scored higher than 72 in a week when the field averaged 75. And when it counted Sunday, the 29-year-old Aussie chipped in for par at 17 and scrambled for another from out of a fairway divot at 18. Still, the 106th U.S. Open will be remembered not for what Ogilvy did but what Mickelson didn't.

Make it a record-tying four runner-ups now for Mickelson in his national championship. Succumbing to a dialed-in Tiger at Bethpage is one thing. Sloppy seconds are quite another. The 72nd hole Sunday was in with the swashbuckle and out with the sang-froid that cinched a pair of green jackets and a PGA Championship in the last two years. All of a sudden, he was back to being Cars hot rod Lightning McQueen, blowing off a much-needed tire change and costing himself the Piston Cup. But Mickelson certainly wasn't the only player of considerable repute who watched his wheels come off at the checkered flag.

Padraig Harrington bogeyed his last three to finish two back. 2003 U.S. Open champ Jim Furyk missed a five-footer at 18 that would've put him in a playoff. And Colin Montgomerie, after a bomb for birdie at 17 had tied him with Mickelson, squeegeed his approach from the fairway at the final hole so badly it took him four to finally get down with a double-bogey that left him once again on the outside looking in.

It was a weird week at Winged Foot, for sure. We had a weekend without Tiger, a Mickelslam squashed, and the highest winning score in a U.S. Open since the last go-round here 32 years ago. Yet it may have been the ultimate test of championship golf. Brutally tough, but fair enough to give players a chance to be a hero if they dare.


All of which takes us back to our vocabulary lesson from earlier in the week. Not only does this year's host city, Mamaroneck, begin with "mama," it most certainly ends with "neck," as in the part of the anatomy most directly affected when collars get tighter and the sun sinks lower on U.S. Open Sunday.

Grant Boone is a husband, father, golf broadcaster, and sports journalist based in Abilene, Texas. He can be contacted at grant@greatcities.org.

The views and opinions expressed here do not reflect those of PGA.com or The PGA of America.