Opportunity, And Paradise, Lost at Open

MAMARONECK, N.Y. All around Winged Foot Golf Club on Sunday, the New York fans who love Phil Mickelson but, in many cases, have little idea what he is actually trying to do, bellowed for their hero as he stood on the verge of a third major title in pursuit of a MickelSlam.

"Look at the leader board, Phil. You're on top," hollered a fan as Mickelson walked to the 14th green on the final day of the U.S. Open. Moments later, after making a five-foot birdie putt, Mickelson held a two-stroke lead with four holes to play.

The stage was set exactly as Mickelson had planned. His appointment with a level of golf glory that even he might never have imagined was squarely in his control.

"I've come out here in the evenings, just spending time on the last four holes thinking that I would need to make four pars to win," Mickelson said later. Actually, 1 over par would have sufficed.

"If you win this, we're all going to the British Open," yelled a fan as Mickelson made a solid par at the 15th hole.

Who would have imagined, just five years after the Tiger Slam, that any current player other than Tiger Woods himself would ever make us dream of one man holding all four of golf's major trophies simultaneously? Yet, with three holes to play, Mickelson seemed all but certain to have a chance to match Woods's feat next month at Royal Liverpool in England.

"You're all about it, Phil. You can do it, big dog," yelled a fan as Mickelson nodded his appreciation and touched his visor.

"Close it out, Philly," came the cry as Mickelson stepped to the 16th tee.

For 69 holes, Mickelson fed on the rabid scene that surrounded him here. Then, finally, on the last three holes, the maelstrom fed on him. Golf is not meant to be played in a coliseum atmosphere with a racing heart and adrenaline pumping. It's wonderful theater to witness. But for Mickelson, this Palmeresque brew of borderline pandemonium, universal adulation and Open pressure was simply too much on the final three holes.

To be fair to Australian winner Geoff Ogilvy, Mickelson might have lost his golf mind at a more sedate venue than Winged Foot, which Mickelson compared to "a Yankee Stadium of golf."

But probably not. If you walked every step with Mickelson, you could sense that something entirely different was at work. If Mickelson wants to know "how I did that" or why he feels like "an idiot," perhaps he would understand better, and forgive himself more, if he had been standing among the reporters who watched all his diabolical trouble shots from a few yards away. He was like a man trying to focus on brain surgery in the middle of an Attica jailbreak.

Yelling crowds engulfed him as he played dastardly recoveries after wild drives on the last three holes. Four times on those holes, Mickelson ran full speed through the crowd, pushing people aside so that he could get a clear view of where his desperate shots had finally landed. A golfer can run once, like Sergio Garcia and Corey Pavin did famously, but by the final crazy hole, Mickelson was playing golf in a state of barely controlled agitation, literally running to his fate.