This article first appeared in the August 22, 2005 issue of Sports Illustrated.
Phil Mickelson won his second major title last week, and as expected, it wasn't easy. Before he could claim the PGA Championship, Mickelson first had to kick it away, steal it back, wobble, recover, waver, recharge, dodge a few lightning bolts, fend off a big-name leader board and finally, gloriously, summon a nerve-jangling birdie on the 72nd hole to prevail at one of the sport's most venerated courses, Baltusrol Golf Club in Springfield, N.J. When the weather-interrupted final round ended late Monday morning, with Lefty's sublimely delicate up-and-down bird from the long grass flanking the green on the 554-yard par-5 18th hole, Mickelson had validated his breakthrough at last year's Masters and elevated his career to another class entirely. A lot of players have won one major—113, to be exact—including recent one-hit wonders Shaun Micheel and Ben Curtis, and famous flukes like Orville Moody and Jack Fleck. To win a second places Mickelson alongside Hall of Famers Ben Crenshaw, Bernhard Langer, Johnny Miller and Greg Norman, among others.
The gritty victory at the PGA may have lacked the style points and sheer drama of the walk-off birdie that won the Masters, but Mickelson's triumph, in triple-digit temperatures, marked the continued maturation of his game and provided further evidence that at 35 his best golf is still in front of him. During the brutal years when Mickelson had to continually explain how he had become the Best Player Never to Have Won a Major, he would often say that his aim was not to win a major but to win a bunch of them—he just had to get the first one out of the way. Now he is halfway to a career Grand Slam. "I've only had two for an hour or two," he said at the champion's press conference. "But it's a long-term goal to get the other two."
With his victory, Mickelson got the added satisfaction of denying Tiger Woods another piece of history. Woods arrived at the PGA looking to become the first player to win three majors in a season twice, which would have reaffirmed the kind of dominion over the game that he enjoyed in 2000. Given Woods's Nicklaus fetish he seemed like a good bet at Baltusrol, where the Bear won two of his four U.S. Opens, in 1967 and '80. Also playing to Woods's strength was the macho setup: At 7,392 yards Baltusrol was the longest par-70 in PGA Championship history. Thanks to upgraded equipment and a more explosive swing, Woods has reestablished himself this year as the longest hitter among the game's elite players, but with that awesome distance has come an increasing propensity for foul balls. During his first-round 75, which left him in 113th place, Woods hit only six fairways and compounded his miseries by taking 35 putts. After making three straight bogeys early in his second round, Woods was seven over par and staring down the barrel of his first missed cut at a major as a pro, but he played the back nine in three under, including a birdie on the 36th hole to make the cut on the number (four over). That left him 12 strokes in back of the leader, Mickelson, who was happy not to have to tangle with Tiger. At last year's Masters, Woods was nine strokes off Mickelson's lead heading into the final round, and of the cushion Phil memorably said, "It doesn't suck." Last Friday, Mickelson said of Woods's struggles, "If you're looking for me to shed a tear, it's not going to happen."
He was too busy flashing his perma-grin. After an opening 67 Mickelson surged to a three-stroke lead on Friday with a 65 that featured seven birdies and an eagle. This sent the throng into such a tizzy that Steve Elkington described it as "probably the loudest I've ever heard at a golf tournament."
Mickelson first emerged as America's sweetheart at the 2002 U.S. Open at Bethpage. The rowdy New York gallery adopted him mostly out of necessity. Back then the imperious Woods was lording over the game, and at Bethpage, Mickelson was the only player who put up any kind of fight, ultimately finishing second by three strokes. At last year's U.S. Open at Shinnecock Hills, on the east end of Long Island, Mickelson dazzled the crowds with a heroic back-nine charge on Sunday. Baltusrol is a quick ride in a Town Car from Manhattan, and last week The New York Times anointed Mickelson " New York's pro." At Baltusrol he played shamelessly to the Jersey faithful, summoning the same kind of love he got at Bethpage.
On the sixth hole of his first round Mickelson's drive clipped a tree, forcing him to play his second shot down the adjacent 17th fairway. That left him a wedge into the green that he hit directly over the heads of the swollen gallery. After sticking the shot to five feet Mickelson pulled a Hale Irwin and knuckle-bumped his way to the green, drawing deafening roars. "I love the feel that the people here provide," Mickelson said afterward. "It's just an amazing feeling from a player's point of view to have that kind of support."
The cheers helped inspire in Mickelson the kind of passion that had been missing for most of the last six months, during which he was a nonfactor in the preceding three majors. The swoon had its origins in an equipment change (to Callaway clubs and balls) that Mickelson made in the fall of 2004. He was seeking more endorsement money and more distance off the tee, and he got both, in excess. Armed with his new sticks, Mickelson began this season with the most dominant run of his career. In back-to-back wins at Phoenix and Pebble Beach he dropped a 60 on the TPC of Scottsdale and then torched venerable Spyglass for a bogeyless 62. These overpowering victories left Mickelson drunk with distance and badly impaired his judgment. The story of his breakthrough victory at the 2004 Masters was Mickelson's newfound restraint; at Augusta he employed exclusively a high, soft cut off the tee, which cost him 20 yards of distance but effectively kept him out of trouble. The so-called New Phil went back to his old ways during the first three majors of 2005, and he bashed his way to irrelevance at each. Mickelson is such a know-it-all that the other players have given him the sardonic nickname Genius, but he clearly outsmarted himself by abandoning the cut shot that won him the Masters.