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Mickelson needs to stop overthinking
Posted: Tuesday July 03, 2001 11:09 AM
Following Phil Mickelson's first round at the Colonial Invitational -- a sporty 65 good for a share of the lead -- Lefty blew off the expected trip to the press room in favor of hustling over to The Ballpark in Arlington to catch a Rangers-Blue Jays game. His subsequent scouting report: "It's interesting to me," Mickelson said, "that after they signed A-Rod [Alex Rodriguez] , the Rangers had enough money to go out and get [since-released Ken] Caminiti and [Andres] Galarraga, but not go after pitching."
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"We were also glad to see you and the rest of the of the snobbish and arrogant national media leave town, so your wish was appreciated from our side as well. Thousands of volunteers put in countless hours to ensure that the tournament ran smoothly. Members, such as myself, not only gave time but endured many sacrifices, including having to see the media run rampant over our beloved course and facilities with no thought of anybody else. With your departure we can get back to living in a caring and friendly community that seems to be so foreign and boring to you."
—Mike Connor, Tulsa, Okla.
And I thought the Canadians couldn't take a joke. Geez, Mike, you people there in the Fly Over sure are sensitive. I must have received a half-dozen such acrid letters, all from outraged Tulsans (Tulsa-ites?) who couldn't believe I had the gall to besmirch your caring and friendly city. I would like to take this opportunity to formally apologize to all Tulsonians. You have a nice city, and like the rest of the elitist media I was well taken care of during my stay. In fact, I ate at a magnificent greasy spoon off the interstate -- I think it went by the name of Jamelle's. The grub was insane. The good folks at Tulsa CC welcomed me and the boys with open arms, and the good, clean fun we Sports Illustrated staffers enjoyed at the local go-cart track has already been documented in this space.
My grouchiness really should have been directed toward the hell-hole of Far Hills, N.J., and, more specifically, the USGA. You see, Monday finishes -- especially those that don't even get under way until noon -- are death for us magazine writers. SI goes to print Monday evening. Do the math: I had like 20 minutes to finish my recap of the events of the playoff, after having stayed up most of Sunday night writing various chunks of the rest of the story (many of which, sadly, were left on the cutting-room floor). I also lost all of my airline reservations, forcing me to pound out the Open postmortem from a middle seat on Southworst Airlines. So that's my sob story.
"Here we go again! A couple of years ago, you wrote that the Steve Pate-Loren Roberts playoff finish at Las Colinas was boring, even though it was a playoff. Now, in a major tournament that saw a tight, tense, lead-change-hands finish (pre-Retief Goosen/Stewart Cink/Mark Brooks on 18 Sunday) ... you say that was boring? What more could you have asked for, Ship? I mean, really ... the real drama of sport is the thrill of the unknown conclusion, when the last shot can determine an entire championship. Was the Lakers' run through this postseason exciting? No. Impressive, yes, but not exciting. Same in golf. Woods' victory last year was impressive, no doubt. But not exciting."
—Gregg Donshik, New York
The thing I find most frightening about this e-mail is that Donshik actually remembers what I wrote about a Pate-Roberts playoff at Las Colinas. Anyway, your point is well taken. Maybe boring was the wrong word. There was some excellent golf played on Sunday, at least for 17 holes. Perhaps I should have said unmemorable. I guess everybody has to win a first major sometime, but I think we can all agree some victories make better stories than others. Goosen, Brooks and Cink are all excellent golfers and seem to be good people, but if any of these guys had won Sunday night it would not have been an historic moment or even a memorable one. A great personal achievement, yes, but not a victory that would have elevated or impacted the sport. Now, after the Sunday evening putt-a-thon, this Open will be remembered for as long as golf is played. I know I feel better every time I blow a short putt.
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Mickelson could have been describing himself -- loads of offense, but lacking certain winning fundamentals. As we all know, he went on to self-immolate during the final round of the Colonial, one of the more spectacular Sunday meltdowns in a season chock full of them. I have been as disappointed and mystified as anyone at his bizarre performance this season -- hey, I picked the guy to win the freaking Masters.
But watching Mickelson's victory at last weekend's Greater Hartford Open, I had an epiphany of sorts. I have decided it's time to stop analyzing or criticizing or even trying to simply understand him and his game. We all need to just sit back and enjoy the spectacle. Mickelson has turned into the best show in golf, and every tournament, every round, is a manic-depressive romp pulsating with possibilities, some of them even good.
During his disastrous Sunday at the U.S. Open I thought that we had been given the definitive Mickelson performance. His entire career was summed up on one hole -- the 13th at Southern Hills, where he arrived still very much in contention. He played this crucial par-5 in the following manner: bombing a 330-yard drive down the middle (awe-inspiring), short-siding himself with a 6-iron (boneheaded), flopping from the tangly rough to four feet (breathtaking), blowing the birdie putt (pathetic), and then not even bothering to line up the comebacker for par, which he missed (inexcusable). But maybe this isn't the best epitaph. A more appropriate summary of a Mickelsonian oeuvre would have to include his rising from the ashes to storm to victory two weeks later in Hartford. The guy is like Glenn Close at the end of Fatal Attraction -- just when you're sure he's finally finished, he pops out of the bathtub to take another bullet.
In the week leading up to the GHO Mickelson didn't touch a club; instead he did a series of visualization exercises he had learned at Arizona State. The result? On Saturday he threw a little 61 at the boys (a career low), and on Sunday he closed out the victory with clinical efficiency (even that ball he dumped in the water on the 15th hole wasn't a bad shot, just unlucky).
It's ironic that Mickelson credited his latest victory -- the 19th of his career, a figure exceeded by only 33 players in tour history -- to a sharper mental approach. I actually believe that the less he thinks, the better he plays. I know this sounds outrageous, given how many ridiculous mistakes he's made this year, but go with me for a minute: Mickelson's closest call in a major came at the '99 U.S. Open, when his mind was not on Pinehurst No. 2, but rather back home in Arizona, where his wife was about to pop. On the flipside, at this year's Masters he said he "desperately" wanted to be part of the game's history. Ergo, he crashed and burned on Sunday. At the U.S. Open Mickelson talked about the "ongoing saga" of his quest to win his first major. With this kind of heavy mojo it's no wonder he spit the bit. Mickelson is so into golf -- the history, the narrative of the sport, etc. -- that Sunday night in Southern Hills he actually hung out in the players' lounge after his round to watch the finish on TV. He really cared about being a witness to history. (It was also a convenient way to dodge those pesky reporters, but nevermind. Most players couldn't wait to get the hell out of Oklahoma and were content to catch the highlights on SportsCenter.)
At the GHO Mickelson barely prepared for the tournament, because, of course, it was only the GHO, and no one wants desperately to be a part of its history. Thus demotivated, he went out and put together his best performance of the season.
Confused? So am I. But say this about Mickelson: Anyone who can turn the Greater Hartford Open into must-see TV is doing something rather extraordinary.
Sports Illustrated senior writer Alan Shipnuck periodically waxes about life On Tour for CNNSI.com. Click here to send him a question or a nice, friendly comment.
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