-1
12
11
White Dogwood
Par 4
490 yards
Dogleg Right
This is the beginning of the famous “Amen Corner”—the treacherous three holes at Augusta (#11, #12, and #13) where one bad gust of wind can unravel your entire round. The name was coined in 1958 (the year Arnold Palmer won his first green jacket) by sportswriter Herbert Warren Wind, who wrote that any golfer who could make it safely through these holes should say a silent prayer of thanks.
The eleventh hole is also the site of Larry Mize’s miraculous 140-foot winning chip shot in 1987. He holed that shot in a sudden death playoff to beat Greg Norman and win his green jacket.
I tee my ball up on the far right side of the box because, as a slight dogleg right, this hole sets up for a left to right draw. I hit a good drive, but it doesn’t draw as much as I want and the ball ends up catching the first cut of grass 288 yards up on the left side of the fairway. It’s not a big deal, though. The ball seems to be sitting up fine and the pin is in the back right of the green today.
When I get up there, however, I find I’ve got a tough approach shot. There’s a water hazard very close to the green on the left side. I have to skirt the edge of the water within four or five yards—so there’s not much margin for error. I’m 202 yards from the flag so I pull out a 6-iron with the thought of hitting a slight fade. This is a scary shot for me. I cannot miss it to the left because there is water over there, too. So I hit it directly at the pin and, for a moment, it looks like I’ll have a very close birdie shot. I’m surprised, however, when the ball lands thirty feet short.
I’m on the green, though, with a good chance for birdie after safely avoiding the water.
One day, during a family trip to Montana, I took Amanda out fishing. We went to this lake that was well stocked with rainbow trout—so I knew she would catch some fish. We started out by throwing a couple of pieces of cheese in the water and the trout were there in seconds fighting for it. Overall, we caught about twenty and threw all but two back because the hooks were too deep to get out. “Okay, Amanda,” I said, “we’re going to cut the heads off of these two, gut them, and fry them up in the morning for breakfast.”
“That’s sounds like fun, Daddy.”
So my daughter helped me cut off the heads, clean the fish, and put them in ziplock bags. At 5:00 o’clock the next morning, she woke up and came over to our bed. “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Let’s get up and cook our rainbow trout!” So we got up, cooked the rainbow trout, and ate them for breakfast.
Little did I realize how big an impact that little outing made on Amanda. Four months later, she was sitting on Santa’s lap. “What would you like for Christmas, Amanda?” asked Santa. “A doll?”
“No, I don’t want a doll,” I told Santa. “I want a rainbow trout. I’m going to cut its head off, gut it, and cook it for breakfast.”
Amanda Mickelson, Phil’s Daughter
So Santa Claus got Amanda a rainbow trout for Christmas. She and I cooked it up and ate it for breakfast. And for the next three Christmases, Amanda asked for a rainbow trout.
When Amy and I first became parents, we were very unsure of ourselves. So we collected a lot of information, made a lot of notes, and wrote down our questions about the best way to raise our daughter. Shortly after the birth, I was holding Amanda just outside the maternity room when Amy’s doctor walked by. “I can’t believe we’re allowed to take home this person without any manual or instructions whatsoever,” I said.
“Phil, you and Amy should just put your notes away,” said the doctor. “You two are the parents. Whatever you decide is right.” We thought that was an interesting piece of advice. And we’ve come to learn that there are, indeed, many different ways to raise children.
Both our moms and dads will take the children from time to time. And often, they will call us and ask how we handle certain situations with the kids. “We want to be consistent with the way you do it,” they’ll tell us. So Amy and I always know that our children won’t be completely spoiled by their grandparents. That says a lot about our parents—not trying to force their ideas about parenting on us. But, rather, they’re trying to learn and implement ours.
Of course, as we began to build a family of our own, Amy and I were presented with what I thought would be something of a problem. I play somewhere around twenty-three PGA Tour events each season. That’s means I’m on the road almost half the year. How were we going to keep the family together when I was traveling so much? Well, Amy solved that dilemma very fast. “We’re coming with you,” she said. And that’s exactly what happens. I usually play about three events in a row and each time we leave, Amy packs luggage enough to fill three of those airport luggage carts. The current packing situation includes a double stroller, a single stroller, three car seats, a travel crib, a travel high chair, two bags of children’s clothes, blankets, diapers, and one huge duffle bag full of toys (into which my golf clubs also fit very nicely).
Some people think I’m insane for taking our family out of town for every event. But I spoke with the PGA commissioner and he simply refused to put every tournament in San Diego—and I don’t understand why!
My point, of course, is that some things are just not going to change. Phil’s job is almost always out of town. And if we’re going to be a family, this is what we feel we need to do.
Amy Mickelson
When we get to our destination, we have a set routine. Every Monday is family day. We’ll take the kids and go to a museum, an amusement park, the local zoo, or whatever is in that city. Amanda especially likes museums with dinosaurs. She wants to be a paleontologist. (Did you know there are dinosaur museums all over the nation!) On Tuesdays, while I’m preparing for the tournament, Amy will find out what kinds of activities are happening for children in the area. And during the school year, she will coordinate with Amanda’s (our two other children are not yet of school age) teachers back in San Diego.
I researched all the schools in our area and selected a very small, private one that had only two classrooms with seventeen children in each. That way, I knew Amanda wouldn’t get lost in the shuffle.
I was very clear right from the beginning that I wanted our children to know their father and that Amanda would be traveling with us. And to their credit, the school officials and teachers were on board with us right from the very beginning.
We use the postal service, e-mail, and the telephone to keep Amanda hooked in with her classmates and schoolwork. Time is set aside each day for school, and our daughter never really misses anything that goes on. It’s kind of a combination of home schooling and regular school.
Amanda will also pick one of our family’s events to share with her class. When we were in Tampa, for example, we went on a dolphin cruise for kids. While there, we bought copies of an inexpensive book about dolphins and sent them back to the kids. And some of the moms called me and said: “My daughter got her little dolphin book and can’t wait for Amanda to get back.” We do a lot of little things like that to keep her connected to the kids in her school.
Amy Mickelson
Amy and I also try to make sure that the children are able to participate in all of the holidays and fun that every other kid gets to experience. On one Halloween, we had to be in Atlanta for the Tour Championship. Well, Amanda’s costume party was scheduled for a Friday when I would be on the golf course. Amy made arrangements with the school so that Amanda could wear her Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle outfit to class early in the week. And that worked out just fine. All the kids got to see how cool her costume was and Amanda just had the best time.
While we were in Atlanta, Amy also held a Halloween party at the hotel for the other kids who were there (including a really fun pumpkin-carving contest). And on Halloween night, Bones, Amy, and I took the kids trick-or-treating in a nice Atlanta neighborhood.
One of the reasons we’re able to make all this work is that I know Ph
il will go to practice and play in the tournament and then he will come home and be with us.
I also admire the fact that Phil understands and appreciates the importance of family now—even though he’s in the peak years of his profession. So when our children grow up, Phil won’t look back and wish he had done anything different.
Of course, I also know that there is a lot of little kid in Phil, as well. He just loves being with our children.
Amy Mickelson
As much as I love being with the kids, I live for the moments Amy and I can share together, just the two of us. With that in mind, a friend of ours gave us an idea that really works well. Every year on our anniversary, we will take turns planning a special trip with each other in mind. I take the even years; Amy takes the odd. Every single detail is planned with the other person in mind. And on the off years, you just show up and get spoiled. One year, I’ll put something together just for her. Then I’ll surprise her with not only the destination, but all the events we’ll do once we’re there. She loves art history, so one year I planned a trip to Italy. Another time, she was pregnant and on bed rest, so I planned a quiet week at the hotel down the street. Then I filled the room with candles and arranged for an in-room pregnancy massage. The next year, she’ll plan a trip for me. She knows I like more active things, so she has taken me skiing in Colorado as well as rafting and diving at the Great Barrier Reef in Australia.
It’s a little tradition we have that gives us the chance to celebrate our anniversary—just the two of us, without the children, in an interesting location. We really look forward to it and I believe it helps our love for each other grow stronger as the years go by.
Up on the 11th green now, I do not have an overly difficult putt. It’s thirty feet long and it breaks a decent amount from right to left. But it’s all uphill, so I can be aggressive. I make a good stroke, but my ball falls off to the left and I leave it about a foot short. Then I quickly tap in for my par.
Even though I didn’t make birdie, I’m still feeling confident. My game is turning around. I can feel it. Good things are going to happen. Let’s go to #12.
PLAYER
SCORE
HOLE
Els
-5
11
Mickelson
-4
11
Langer
-4
12
Garcia
-3
18
DiMarco
-3
11
Couples
-3
16
Choi
-3
12
Casey
-2
12
Singh
-2
16
Love III
-2
16
Triplett
-1
13
Wittenberg (A)
E
18
Howell III
E
17
Goosen
E
17
Haas
E
15
12
Golden Bell
Par 3
155 yards
The twelfth hole at Augusta is the shortest par 3 on the course—but one of the most dangerous, especially when the wind is blowing. Three bunkers surround the narrow green—one in front, two in back. And many a golf ball has rolled off the front of the green into Rae’s Creek. Interestingly enough, the twelfth green is also the lowest point on the entire course.
#12 is a good example of why Augusta National is set up perfectly for a left-handed player. I’ve studied this hole carefully and analyzed the shot dispersion patterns for both right-handed and left-handed golfers. If a right-hander pulls his tee shot, he’ll miss the pin long and to the left. If he slices it, he’s going to miss it short and right. Either way, he’s not going to be in a good position. Conversely, a lefty’s shot dispersion pattern is going to be much more favorable. If I miss it short left, I’ll be on the left front of the green. And if I miss it right, I’ll be on the back right of the green. Therefore, as long as I don’t completely blow the shot, I’ve got a pretty good chance to land on the green and have a birdie putt.
Just imagine hitting a thousand shots to the 12th green—and then letting all the balls lie there. That scatter would be your dispersion pattern.
A 20-handicap golfer would probably have 140 balls in the creek, 200 short of the creek, 150 in the azaleas behind the green, and then shots all over the place from left to right.
But Phil Mickelson’s dispersion pattern would be very different. Out of 1,000 shots, he’d have 1 or 2 balls in the creek, 1 or 2 over the azaleas, a bunch of them left and right of the green, and a pile of them up around the pin.
Dave Pelz, Phil’s Short-Game Coach
Today the pin has been placed on the right side of the green. I like that because one of the shots I’ve worked on all year is taking the right side out of play. With all those practice shots, I now know that there is something in my swing that will just not let the ball go to the right. It can only go left. And that’s good because on this hole, if you miss it left, you can still make par. A miss to the right, however, and you’ve got trouble. You’ll be in the water and looking at double bogey. So I have a lot of confidence as I walk up to the tee box.
When we got to the 12th hole on Friday’s second round, Phil was about even par for the tournament. He was playing okay, but really hadn’t yet gotten it going. But then he hit a great tee shot—only ten or twelve feet away—and made birdie. And he went on to birdie #13.
Jim (Bones) Mackay, Phil’s Caddy
I grab my eight iron, stand behind the ball, and look out over the hole. I’ve decided to aim just right of the flag, take the right side out of play, and have the ball fall fractionally to the left. But just as I’m about ready to swing, I hear a huge roar coming from the direction of the 13th green. I think it might be Ernie Els taking another shot off par. [It was K. J. Choi making an extremely long putt for birdie. But I didn’t know that at the time.]
I don’t really pause. The roar just makes me more determined to be aggressive with this swing. I’ve been criticized by the media in the past because I’ve “gone for it” in key situations. But this time, it doesn’t look like Ernie is coming back to the field. If I want to win the Masters, now is the time to take aim at the pin.
I look up at the green one more time and take my swing with a fairly low trajectory so as to neutralize any wind gusts. The ball starts right at the pin—I mean right at it. It moves about two yards left in the air and plops on the green only twelve feet from the flag. A beautiful shot.
The crowd around the tee gives a loud round of applause. I smile and nod to them. “Thank you,” I say quietly as Bones and I walk down toward the green.
After Phil hit that great tee shot, I was excited. “Okay, Boss,” I said, “this is the hole that got our tournament going on Friday. This is the hole that is going to get our day going today. This is where it starts.” And he replied: “Let’s do it.” But he also had this look in his eye—and I’ve seen that look before. It was the look that says, “Yeah, baby, I’m going to make this putt!”
Jim (Bones) Mackay
One of the great traditions on #12 is that after you hit your tee shot, you get to walk across Rae’s Creek on the stone bridge named for golfing legend Ben Hogan.
Every day you don’t practice is one day longer before you achieve greatness.
Ben Hogan
Well, I’m about halfway across the Ben Hogan Bridge when I hear this huge roar—again coming from the 13th green. This is my twelfth time at the Masters and I know the difference between a birdie roar and an eagle roar. And that was definitely an eagle roar. I figured it must have been Ernie Els�
��and, sure enough, it was. One of the television announcers described Ernie’s eagle (which now gave him a three-shot lead) as “a dagger to [Phil Mickelson’s] heart.”
Well, I am not feeling any chest pains at the moment. Do you want to know what I’m thinking as I walk across the bridge? I’m thinking if I can make this putt on #12 and then birdie #13, I’ll only be one shot back with five holes to go. That’s what I’m thinking.
Before I head up to the green, I notice my mom. She’s standing all by herself like she usually does. But she can’t bear to watch while I’m putting. She’ll close her eyes and say a prayer. I think that’s interesting—my mom saying a prayer in the middle of Amen Corner.
For as far back as I can remember, my mom’s parents always had their grandchildren over for dinner a few days after Christmas. My grandparents were the leaders of our clan. And every year on that evening, my grandfather would talk to each of us individually, tell us what he thought about each one of us. When Christmas 2003 rolled around, he was 97 years old, in failing health, and going downhill fast. He’d sleep almost all day and wake up only once in a while.
The grandchildren’s dinner had been scheduled well over a month in advance—for December 28. That morning, he woke up early, fixed his own breakfast, and was busy throughout the day. In the evening, all the grandchildren came over for dinner—Tina, Tim, me, and all of our cousins were there. After eating, we all went into the living room and sat in a circle by the fireplace.
One Magical Sunday Page 11