Justin Leonard's missed 12-foot putt in regulation cost him the PGA Championship. Harry How/Getty Images

The first rule in being a reporter is that if you see a bunch of fellow ink stain wretches hanging around somewhere, head in the other direction. It's the only way to get fresh information. So Sunday evening, while Vijay Singh and Justin Leonard were playing the 72nd hole of the PGA Championship, I extricated myself from the mob scene behind the 18th green to see what was happening in the lockerroom. Turned out half a dozen players had gathered in front of an oversized flat screen to watch the finish, idling private jets be damned.

Loren Roberts was chilling in shorts, nursing a Pepsi. Adam Scott slouched on the couch, screening calls on his cell phone. David Toms paced back and forth, twirling his visor. "I'm nervous just watching," said Toms, who beat Phil Mickelson at the 2001 PGA with a clutch par on the final hole. "I know what this feels like." When Vijay lagged his long birdie putt an agonizing three and a half feet short, Roberts groaned loudly, and Toms cracked,"He'll be back to using the belly putter by next week."

Leonard, having done the unthinkable by leaving his approach shot short of the green, then chipped to 10 feet, leaving the PGA Championship, and his reputation, hanging in the balance.

Roberts's verdict on the situation: "Holy cow."

Scott put down his phone long enough to say, "Only David Toms could make a putt like that to win the PGA Championship."

Toms ignored him. "That's an easy putt to miss left," he said. Which is exactly what Leonard did.

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The ensuing playoff also included Chris DiMarco, who had a distinct I'm-just-happy-to-be-here-because-I-already-clinched-a-spot-on-the-Ryder-Cup-team manner. Players' family members are usually not allowed inside the ropes but some friendly Wisconsin troopers allowed all three of the playoff participants to wave their loved ones into the inner sanctum. On the par-three 17th hole-the second of the playoff -- I was sitting on a grassy slope next to Vijay's teenaged son Qass, who has the same gentle manner and loping gait as his dad. The old man had just hit the greatest shot I have ever seen, an instantly classic 3-iron that rifled through the wind and flirted with Lake Michigan before stopping six feet from the hole. As Vijay was getting ready to putt Qass was so relaxed he looked almost sleepy.

I asked him how he could remain so chill amid the suffocating pressure of the playoff.

"Been doing this a ling time," he said.

"Him or you?"

"Both."

As the action moved to the 18th fairway I found myself walking with Leonard's charming wife, Amanda. We wound up talking about our little girls, who are two months apart in age. Amanda was worried because she was running late to pick up Reese from the tournament daycare center, 20 minutes away in Sheboygan. (Don't you just love to say that word?) I assured her that having a husband in a playoff was an acceptable excuse.

Up near the green I took a spot next to DiMarco's mom, a spunky white-haired dame who had been heroically scrambling across Whistling Straits' brutal terrain. When Vijay tapped in to win the tournament Mrs. DiMarco cheered lustily, which I thought showed immeasurable class. "He deserves it," she said. "He's a true champion. Anyway, a spot on the Ryder Cup is a pretty nice consolation."

Blowing it at the PGA

With the dust having settled on the PGA here's my personal world ranking this minute:

1. Singh
2. Mickelson
3. Ernie Els
4. Tiger Woods
5. Retief Goosen

If Goosen had a good showing at the PGA instead of sitting at home in Orlando, nursing injuries sustained in a wave runner accident, I would have leapfrogged him over Woods.  As for Nos. 2 and 3, how many more golden opportunities are these guys going to blow? Theoretically Mickelson only would have had to have shot only a 71 on Sunday to have won the PGA, but he posted a 74. Els also needed only a hypothetical 71 to steal the PGA, but he labored home in 73, including a bogey on the 72nd hole that cost him a spot in the playoff. Both have clearly raised their games this year, but it is getting tedious waiting for them to seize another major or three. Now we have to wait eight months until the Masters, where this season's thrilling skirmishes among the big three will resume. And if Woods ever finds his swing? I'm tingling with excitement. Or maybe that's just indigestion, from all the bratwurst I ate at Whistling Straits.

Senior writer Alan Shipnuck has covered golf for Sports Illustrated since 1994 and frequently contributes to SI.com.