On his 36th birthday Friday, Phil Mickelson worked his way doggedly and tactically around brutal Winged Foot in 73 shots to stand securely in seventh place in the U.S. Open, four shots off the lead. Thus, as a perfect gift, Mickelson positioned himself to achieve one of the rarest of all golf feats -- winning three straight major championships. Few here seem to grasp the significance.
Golf, so obsessed with history, suddenly appears to have misplaced its long-term perspective. Bells should be ringing. Instead, people here are talking about Tiger Woods missing the cut, long-lost David Duval shooting 68 or Colin Montgomerie, man of the '90s, standing in second place, a shot behind Steve Stricker. All this is well and good. Such things have an excellent chance of being remembered -- for a little while. But if Mickelson wins here, it's a core element of the golf history of this period.
Since Bobby Jones won the Grand Slam in 1930, only two men have won more than two consecutive major titles. Ben Hogan won three straight in '53 and Woods had his Tiger Slam that culminated with his Masters win in '01. Mickelson could be the third. Isn't that singular enough, especially because the current four majors have been golf's iconic trophies for nearly 50 years?
Perhaps what Woods accomplished, and so recently, tends to diminish where Mickelson now stands. Compared with four, what is three? But it shouldn't be that way. If Bob May had won the 2000 PGA title, instead of narrowly losing in a playoff, there would be no Tiger Slam. And golf would, at this moment, be standing on its head trying to praise Mickelson sufficiently.
Mickelson is playing down the larger drama here.
"It's not something I've been thinking much about either," he said. But Mickelson has his own motives. Three Straight is the elephant in the room that threatens to squash him.
"I'm trying to focus on this one tournament," Mickelson said after a bogey-saving putt on the 18th green gave him a 70-73 -- 143 and may have saved his momentum. "It's nice that I'm in that position. I just don't have enough energy to let my mind wander. Everybody wants to be up in the lead, but I'm where I wanted to be. I just love the fact that I have a chance."
A closer look at the leader board shows that he has more than a chance. Of the six players ahead of him, only one has won a major -- Jim Furyk, the '03 U.S. Open champion -- and Furyk leads Mickelson by only one shot. Stricker is a journeyman who came through qualifying. The straight-driving Montgomerie shocked many by being runner-up at the '05 British Open, but has seldom been a contender in recent years. Among the others, only Padraig Harrington, at 142, is an elite contender.
For years, as he went 0 for 42 in majors, Mickelson was unable to cope with days exactly like this one, when he started bogey-bogey and made only one birdie all day -- on a 30-foot putt. Frustration might have been followed by simmering temper, with erratic risk-taking as the final element of self-destruction. All of that is now far in the past.
At the final hole, Mickelson was given a typical Open examination of temperament. After a bad drive, he was faced with a risky shot over trees to the 450-yard par 4. Perhaps, for a moment, Old Phil reappeared, attempting the spectacular at the worst moment. Or maybe, as he maintained, he simply "fatted" his shot that rattled in the trees and advanced just 30 yards.
In any case, the scramble was on, ending with a tough six-foot par putt that was struck perfectly in the heart of the cup.
"Even though I walked off with a bogey, I walked off on a high note because it could have been a big number . . . a disaster hole," said Mickelson, an expert in the subject. "Bogeys are okay. I just had to prevent the double, the big mistake."
Who would have ever guessed that Mickelson would ever have one of the best "U.S. Open attitudes" on a track as sadistic as Winged Foot. Yet that's who he is now. Whatever challenges are presented -- radically different from one major to another -- he accepts them as they are rather than rebelling at an unfairness, a capriciousness, that is actually part of the test.
In the past, "I've tried to make more birdies and kind of forced it" at the Open, said Mickelson, who has been runner-up in the U.S. Open three times in the last seven years. Now, he accepts the Open's mandate.
In public life, we constantly hear about some "new and improved" political candidate or athlete, fresh from a cynical image makeover to camouflage past flaws. Yet we seldom see the real thing, as we have with Mickelson the last three years.
As a final element, Mickelson has his love affair with New York fans to boost him. They called out "Happy Birthday" throughout his round. "Are you still 29?" one fan asked, getting a grin in return. Fans here first adopted him at the U.S. Open at Bethpage Black and roared for his PGA Championship win last year at Baltusrol.
What about Phil appeals to the New York state of mind? Perhaps it was all his years of frustration in majors. A few warts humanize a handsome athlete with a beautiful family. Or perhaps his reluctance to get in the best physical shape struck a familiar note. Or was it his thrill-seeking bent, which always seemed to hurt him in some way, from a skiing fall that required pins in leg to unprofitable visits to Las Vegas? Maybe it was his edge in never quite admitting that Woods held the golf throne unchallenged. Certainly, it was his career-long willingness to go out of his way to interact with fans. And finally, because New Yorkers love a comeback story, it was definitely his willingness to change his strategy, get fit, renounce his gambling and take the advice of gurus Rick Smith and Dave Pelz.
"I haven't analyzed it, but I certainly have enjoyed it," Mickelson said of his adoption by this area.
Now, Mickelson has his wish. He's positioned just off the lead and, with a good round Saturday, would be in one of the final groups -- the place he likes best.
"I think the later tee times have an advantage on the weekend. After 4 p.m. the wind calms down, the greens settle and get a little more growth," Mickelson said. "The same thing happens at Augusta. The wind dies. It's perfectly calm. You start hearing the birds chirping. I've found Winged Foot is a lot like that."
For many years on the weekend, the sound that Mickelson most often heard in the trees was his own golf ball after another reckless shot. Now, he hears the birds and, perhaps before this Open ends, the call of golf history beckoning him.