Upstart Wins Trophy, but Phil Wins, Too

FARMINGDALE, N.Y. -- Just once, as his pleading fandom mustered a "Let's Go, Phil!" chant with the vocal force of a late-inning Yankees rally, you wanted him to focus and make the damned putt. All his life, Phil Mickelson has been missing the shorties in the critical moments. Now, as his cancer-stricken wife and concerned kids watched on TV in San Diego, he was standing over a ball that could pave his path to one of the most inspirational victories in the history of, well, sports.

This was on the 17th green at Bethpage Black, where Mickelson was being hand-delivered his first U.S. Open title by a chorus line of stumbling wannabes -- that is, if he could take advantage. He had nailed a 35-foot birdie putt at No. 12, sending familiar roars blasting through the trees and quaint, Buttafuocoan homes of suburban Long Island. On the 13th, he ripped an approach to within a few feet of the cup and converted an eagle. Was the Win One For Amy dream actually going to happen? Was a man who has experienced so much heartache in his career -- and, suddenly, in his family life -- about to trump just about anything we've witnessed in recent golfing memory, including the monumental victories of his far more successful rival, Tiger Woods?

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We braced. We hoped. We threw away our journalistic non-bias and crossed our fingers, as did everyone else in America except an obscure golfer playing a few holes behind him and armed with exactly one PGA Tour victory. "I guess it's like what they used to say at Augusta -- you could hear a 'Jack roar.' And you can hear a 'Phil roar' here," said one Lucas Glover, surely an interloper in the Mickelson movie classic. "I knew something was going on."

Alas, we should have heeded the warnings back on the 15th green, where the demonic Phil Yips returned. How could he miss a par putt from three feet? He wouldn't fail on 17, though -- right? -- not with thousands of New Yorkers urging him like Billy Joel during a concert encore. Start spreading the news! Mickelson was going to nail the 7-footer, overtake this Lucas Glover character, fend off the improbable uprising of David Duval, pull the painter's cap over Ricky Barnes' eyes and claim the silver trophy that Amy asked him to win for her, so she could place it in her hospital room after breast cancer surgery scheduled for July 1. "She's left me a number of little notes, texts, cards, hints, that she would like to have a silver trophy in her room," Mickelson said when he arrived last week. "So I'm going to try to accommodate that."

He studied the green with his caddy, Bones Mackay. He positioned his feet accordingly and read the putting line. He drew back the putter, struck the ball and watched it ... crawl toward the hole, lacking speed and falling maddeningly short. Again. It was his second bogey in three holes, hardly Hollywood stuff, and the pain on his face was palpable minutes later when he fell shy of his fourth and most meaningful major championship by those two very strokes.

"I put myself in great position to close it out. Unfortunately, I didn't finish it off. Certainly I'm disappointed, but now that it's over, I've got more important things going on," said Mickelson, who will miss the British Open next month to be with his wife and has no idea when he'll return to competitive golf. "Maybe it's more in perspective for me because I feel different this time. I don't know where to go with this, because I wanted to win this tournament badly.

"Oh, well."

In the end, his experience in the biggest championships didn't play a role, not when Glover misplaced his identity for four hours and forgot that he was supposed to gag away his lead. While Mickelson's putter was betraying him and Duval's wild adventure was sabotaged by a late miss on a gimme, a 29-year-old journeyman from South Carolina who chews tobacco and adores Frank Sinatra tried another tack. He avoided the killer mistakes, making par when others were bogeying down and saving his only birdie of the fourth round for the perfect moment -- a 6-foot putt on No. 16 that gave him sole possession of the lead. There was every reason to believe he still might blow it. His only victory as a pro came four years ago, at something called the Funai Classic. He never had fared better than 20th in a major. He had to qualify to make the Bethpage field, via an event in Columbus, Ohio. He'd never made the cut at three previous Opens, meaning he'd eventually wake up and realize why he shouldn't be here. And there wasn't a single person in Nassua County, other than two cousins who bought tickets on eBay and drove all night to see him, who was rooting for Glover.



So how did he handle his impending doom? By yanking that white cap over his forehead -- and the hair that Southern lads drag down into their eyes -- and ignoring his history of flopping under pressure in less prestigious tournaments. On No. 17, he played conservatively, coolly backed off a short putt when he heard airplane noise above, then made the putt from the same three feet that Mickelson couldn't negotiate. At 18, he drove without harm, hit his approach onto the green and watched as Barnes, left for dead after a predictable crash of epic proportions, nearly made a long putt that would have forced Glover to make his. When Barnes' try lipped out, all the interloper had to do was two-putt from three feet to win. He paused to look around, capturing his fantasy scene forevermore. "I just looked at the scoreboard to make sure this was really happening," Glover said.

Turns out he needed only one of the putts.

Even Tiger Woods cracked down the stretch. Lucas Glover did not.

"I hope I don't downgrade it or anything with my name on there," he said, smiling with the trophy. "It's an honor, and I'm just excited and happy as I can be to be on here."

Earlier in the final round, it appeared he was dead, too, after a rough three-hole sputter. This time, unlike before, he persevered. It helps that his putting has improved dramatically; he's ranked 23rd this year in putts per round after finishing 116th last year. "Two years ago, if that would have happened, no chance I would be sitting here -- no chance," Glover said of his hiccup. "But I've worked on it. My attitude's better. Anything bad happens, just let it go."

It wasn't a popular victory among a disappointed New York crowd that has adopted Mickelson with a fervor that makes little sense. Why do they love a laid-back Californian who has problems closing majors? If he was a relief pitcher for the Mets or a quarterback for the Giants, they'd boo him out of town. But it's thoroughly understandable this time why everyone in the land was rooting for Phil. Just don't let the chagrin interfere with the respect Glover deserves. Mickelson and Woods and the others may have lost the tournament, but Glover also won it.

And besides, the Southern boy has more in common with the New Yorkers than they think. "He's a huge Yankees fan," said his wife and high-school sweetheart, Jennifer, who took Lucas into her arms after the victory. "We have a great time when we come up here for games. The people are wonderful. We love everything about New York." The Glovers even watch "Seinfeld" reruns, OK?

The 109th Open won't be remembered as the most aesthetic. The torrential rains of Thursday and Saturday made this a waterlogged test of survival, and the U.S. Golf Association deserves praise for squeezing 72 holes into five days when the course has been ravaged by rain the last three weeks. Still, the final day of drama made this a classic. We'll remember Glover's poise when more accomplished champions were unraveling. We'll remember the charge and fade of Barnes, who was supposed to be The Next Big Thing earlier this decade and languished in the minor leagues before emerging here. We'll remember Duval and his rather ample gut, assuming he was a long-retired trivia question.

"I stand before you certainly happy with how I played but extremely disappointed in the outcome," said Duval, who tied for second with Mickelson and Barnes. "I had no question in my mind I was going to win the golf tournament today."

We'll remember Woods for another near-miss at a major. For the first time in five years, he doesn't own any of the four major titles. Horrors! "I gave myself so many chances and made nothing," he said in a harsh self-critique, putter especially.

But mostly, we'll remember feeling sad for Mickelson, wanting him to win so his family's spirits could be lifted. Who knows when we'll see him again on a golf course? Not that his career matters at the moment. "Now that we're going to get started here in about 10 days, once we get going, it might be easier," said Mickelson, who has received good news that Amy's cancer may have been caught at an early stage. "The wait has been difficult. I don't really know where we're going with this."

In the past, I'd have asked why he keeps losing so many big ones and bangs tee shots off hospitality tents. Today, I am amazed that he battled through five days of hell and almost won the tournament of his life. So this was the fifth time he finished second at the Open.

Someone should put a silver trophy beside Amy's bed anyway, in spirit. Her husband earned it.