It was a fun week for Mickelson ... until late Sunday

	The gallery at Winged Foot took the bow-tie route in its support of Lefty. AP

Random thoughts and observations on a wild U.S. Open ...

• Wanna know why Phil Mickelson lost the Open? He was having too much fun. The U.S. Open is not supposed to be fun, but he spent most of last week romping around like a schoolboy enjoying the first week of summer. The second round coincided with his 36th birthday, leading the gallery on the 7th hole to serenade him with a rousing rendition of Happy Birthday. It took a full hole for Phil to swallow his smile. Following the round he repaired to his rental house, where a chef flown in from San Diego cooked his favorite meal, lobster ravioli. Afterward his wife and three children presented him with cake and presents.

On Saturday, Mickelson imposed his will on the tournament, playing the back nine in 2-under par to blow past a host of faltering would-be contenders and seize a share of the lead. That evening, cordoned off behind the Winged Foot clubhouse, a jolly group of fans had gathered to get a glimpse of their heroes. Player after grumpy player stomped past, looking like they were trying to find a puppy to kick. None stopped to sign autographs.

At 7:30 p.m. Mickelson emerged behind the clubhouse, having endured 45 minutes of media obligations. It had already been a long, draining day. His caddie, Jim MacKay, was nursing sore feet, and had peeled off his shoes and socks to reveal shocking tan lines on his ankles. Mickelson's wife Amy was slumped against a clubhouse railing, occasionally checking her watch. The Mickelson escape car, a gray SUV, was idling nearby. But drawn by the chanting of his name, Phil jogged over to his adoring public. Not content to just scribble autographs, he began working the crowd with a giddy shtick.

A French cameraman got in Mickelson's face to record the scene, and hearing his accent, Phil said,"I love Paris. Tour d'Argent is my favorite restaurant in the world." When a fan asked Phil if he would be playing a tournament in France anytime soon, he stopped signing long enough to jiggle his ample midsection for effect. "I don't go to Paris to play golf," Mickelson said. "I go to eat. Obviously." The crowd spooned it up.