Usually, my grandfather and grandmother did most of the talking. But this year, because we knew it was going to be his last Christmas with us, we all decided to tell him what we thought of him and how much he meant to us. So we went around the room, one by one, and said some very special, private things. When it came around to me, I cried as I talked about all my fond memories of him—fishing together on the Kern River, playing golf together at Balboa, and all the wonderful stories he used to tell me about his own youth.
After we had all taken our turn, we could tell he was moved and appreciative of what we’d said to him. Then it was his turn to speak. He made a few private comments and then concluded with his favorite adage: “Always remember,” he said. “You never cheat. You never lie. And the most important thing is your family. You help each other. And you stay close to each other. Always.”
As we were all getting up to leave, my grandfather motioned for me to come over. “Philip,” he said in a whisper, “this is your year. You’re going to win the Masters.”
That’s the last thing he ever said to me. The next day, he told my mom: “Okay, I can go now.” And he passed away ten days later—on January 8, 2004.
I have a framed picture of my grandfather and me together. It’s on the nightstand by my bed. I see it every night.
As I’m walking around the green to size up this putt, I realize it’s the exact same putt I’ve had on #12 for the last two years. The first year, I didn’t play enough break and missed it low to the right. The second year, I played enough break, but I hit it too hard and missed it high to the left. As I step up to the ball and prepare to stroke it, I’m thinking that I have to play just the right amount of break and let it slowly fall into the cup.
Usually when Philip putts, I close my eyes and think back to when he was a youngster—and then wait for the crowd to tell me if he makes the putt or not. But as he was getting ready to putt on #12, I was thinking that Ernie was now three shots ahead and that Philip would have to birdie three holes just to catch him. Maybe it isn’t going to happen today. So I closed my eyes and talked to my dad. “Dad, you told him he was going to win the Masters. What happened? Why are you letting him down? What’s happening?”
Mary Mickelson, Phil’s Mom
I start this ball out about eight to ten inches left of the hole. Then it starts turning, turning, turning to the right. And . . . the . . . ball . . . goes . . . right . . . into . . . the . . . hole. Birdie! It took two seconds to hear the delayed roar from the people standing back by the tee.
When Phil birdied #12, the response from the gallery sounded like an eagle roar, not a birdie roar.
Gary McBride, Amy’s Dad
Now I’m pumping my fist as I walk off the green. I’ve answered Ernie, I’m only two down, and I’ve got #13, another birdie hole, coming up.
Now I know I can make this thing happen. “This is my day!” I keep saying to myself. “This is my day!”
PLAYER
SCORE
HOLE
Els
-7
13
Mickelson
-5
12
Langer
-4
12
Choi
-4
13
Garcia
-3
18
Couples
-3
16
DiMarco
-3
11
13
Azalea
Par 5
510 Yards
Dogleg Left
The 13th (a par 5 with a big dogleg left that I can reach in two) is by far my favorite hole at Augusta because the shot dispersion sets up much better for a lefty than for a right-handed golfer. It’s just so much easier to hit a big fade around the dogleg corner than it is to try and hook it. So #13 sets up perfectly for me. This is also one of the most scenic holes on the course.
Heading up to the tee box, I get to walk across the Byron Nelson Bridge. Another great legend, Mr. Nelson once won eleven tournaments in a row. It’s a record equivalent to Joe DiMaggio’s 56-game hitting streak in baseball. I don’t think either will ever be broken. Back in 1996, I won the Byron Nelson Classic and had a chance to spend some time with Mr. Nelson. At his house, he has a woodworking shop where he spends a lot of his time. I noticed that he has great sensitivity and touch with his hands. It’s easy to see why he was known for having a great touch with his iron shots around the green. I’ve always enjoyed being around Mr. Nelson because of the gentleman he is and the way he treats people so kindly.
Up on the tee, I line my feet up far to the right. I want the ball to go over the tree limbs and across the creek up in the fairway. I make a good swing and the ball starts way right, then cuts around the corner. It lands in the perfect spot. I’ll have less than 200 yards and a 7-iron in.
As soon as I hit my tee shot, I hear a big roar off in the distance. But this one is so far away, I know it’s not from one of the leaders—so it couldn’t really matter. It turns out the roar was for Padraig Harrington who hit a hole-in-one on #16. It’s the first ace in the Masters since Raymond Floyd did it back in 1996. There’s that Masters magic rising up!
As we were crossing over the fairway, one of the course marshals who works in the same spot every year came up and started hugging Phil’s parents and me. “Relax, it’s okay,” he said. “Ernie’s in the trees on #14. He’s going to make bogey at best.”
Amy Mickelson
As I’m walking down the fairway, I can’t help but admire the beauty surrounding me. There are a couple thousand azaleas all around this hole—lining the fairways, surrounding the green. It’s just beautiful.
Someone from the crowd yells out that Ernie Els is in the rough at #14. And I think, “Even in the midst of all this beauty, you can still find yourself in a tough spot.”
I’m also very glad to be heading away from Amen Corner. Some people say it can be a picturesque grave for many championship dreams. Others say you should whisper a silent prayer when you finally get it behind you.
Amen.
Something else happened in 2003 that Amy and I rarely talk about. In fact, we didn’t mention it to anybody other than family and very close friends for nearly a year. I’m so very fortunate to have the life I have. I’m able to provide very well for my family while doing what I love to do. But similar to Amen Corner at Augusta, even in the midst of all the beauty in my life, I found myself in a very rough spot on March 23, 2003. That was the day our son, Evan, was born.
Amy’s pregnancy started off normal enough. She was due to give birth during the first week of March—which coincided with the Ford Championship tournament. I had just signed with Ford as a new sponsor and was looking forward to participating. But I decided to stay with Amy so I wouldn’t miss Evan’s birth.
The baby, however, didn’t arrive that week. And during the tournament, Steve Lyons (the president of Ford), was asked at a press conference why I wasn’t there. His response was simple and to the point: “Phil’s wife, Amy, is about to give birth and he’s with her,” said Steve. “That’s why he represents our company—he puts family first. Phil is where he should be and he’s where we want him to be.” After I heard that kind of support, I knew I had a special relationship with the perfect company for me.
After waiting another two weeks, the doctors finally decided to bring Amy to the hospital to induce labor. She was given an epidural and when they went in to break her water, they found a large amount of scar tissue that had formed from Sophia’s birth. Our doctor told us that the scar tissue was the reason the baby was late—because he couldn’t break through. As Amy started to deliver, it was fairly calm in the maternity ward at that moment. So one of the nurses went downstairs to the Emergency Room and brought back a special kit that is used just in case a new baby has trouble breathing. I don’t know why she did it—if it was routine or if she just had a feeling
it might be needed. But the fact is she probably saved Evan’s life.
We thought it was going to be routine. They had given Amy an epidural, so I kissed her and went in the other room. “I’ll see you in an hour,” I said, “and we’ll get to see this new baby.”
Renee McBride, Amy’s Mom
No sooner had the doctor cut through the scar tissue and broken Amy’s water when, all of a sudden, the baby was born. Evan came so fast and so abruptly, however, that it apparently shocked his system—and the doctor couldn’t get him to breathe or cry. In essence, my son was stillborn.
The nurses took him over to a table, pulled out the emergency kit, and started putting tubes down his throat. “We’re pumping oxygen into his body so that air will get to his brain,” one of them said. They were trying to get him to wake up and breathe. But nothing was happening.
I leaned over him and started whispering in his ear, “Breathe, Evan, breathe. Breathe, Evan, breathe.” But there was no response.
After a little while, I started yelling, “Come on, Evan. Breathe. Breathe, Evan, breathe.” A full seven minutes went by. It seemed like an eternity. They were just getting ready to hook him up to a respirator when finally, at last, he took his first breath and started to cry. I was so thankful and so relieved. But then the nurse said: “He’s not out of the woods, yet. It’ll take awhile before we know. We’ve got to keep him breathing and crying.”
I went over to Amy to let her know that he was breathing. But there was a huge pool of blood just below her—and she appeared paler than I’d ever seen a person look. Having been at the births of our two other children, I knew this was not normal. “She’s bleeding profusely,” said the doctor. “With all that scar tissue, the baby must have caused a tear in her uterus. It’s really bad. It might be the main artery.” Then the doctor turned to the other nurses. “Let’s take her down to OR,” she said. “Now! Now!”
From where we were in the waiting room, we could hear Phil yelling, “Breathe, Evan, breathe!” Then the doctors and nurses started running back and forth and all over the place. It was hysteria.
Phil finally came out and said that Evan was breathing now, but they had to take Amy down to the operating room at the other end of the hall. When they first came out, all the nurses were screaming: “Get out of the hall! Get out of the way!” They wheeled Amy right past us and I could see that she was incoherent and her face was gray. I started to cry.
Renee McBride
One of the nurses told me that they had to page a specialist for this type of surgery. “You can’t just go in there and sew up a tear,” she said. “Only a few surgeons are trained to do this. It’s a very intricate procedure where they actually have to insert something into the artery. Normally we’d perform an immediate hysterectomy—but we can’t because she’s already lost way too much blood.”
I left the family waiting room and went back into the hallway. I tried to go into the operating room to be with Amy, but they wouldn’t let me in. So I stood outside and looked through a little window and could hear the nurses talking about her being in what they called “hemorrhaging shock.”
Then I thought about Evan. I had left him back down at the other end of the hall—and I didn’t know if he was going to be okay. So I walked down there and stuck my head in the door. The doctor and nurses were still working on him. There were tubes all over the place. “He’s fighting hard for his life,” one of them said. So I just stepped back out in the hall and sat down on a bench.
I remember looking down this long, sterile hallway and seeing Phil sitting on a bench all by himself. His head was in his hands and he was looking down.
He got up and went down to Amy’s side of the hall. Then back down to Evan. Then back to Amy again. Finally, he sat down on the bench outside Amy’s door.
He didn’t know what to do or which way to go. I wanted to help him so much, but there was nothing I could do or say. So I stood outside the door where they were working on Evan and kept watch on my nephew.
Tina Mickelson, Phil’s Sister
Philip normally has a quiet confidence about him. But not at that moment. He was just lost. And we were all scared to death.
Mary Mickelson, Phil’s Mom
The specialist they were looking for had been driving to dinner and was only three minutes away from the hospital when he received the page. He ran by me and went right into Amy’s room. I got up and paced back and forth for a while. At one point, I stopped right next to an intersecting hallway. Two of the nurses were around the corner whispering to each other. They didn’t know I was there. “It’s just so sad, isn’t it,” one of them said, “that those three little children are going to grow up without their mother.”
I went over and sat down outside Amy’s room and just prayed and prayed that she’d be all right, and that Evan would be all right. I said I would do certain things, if only they would live. I made promises. At that moment, I would have done anything in the world to switch places with Amy.
The next hour was the longest, most agonizing hour of my life. It seemed like it would never end. And as much as I’d like to, it’s an hour I will never forget.
Finally, at long last, the doctor came out of the operating room and said: “She’s stable now. I think we saved her.” I couldn’t believe it. I’ve never had such a feeling of relief and gratitude. Then I went down to Evan (because I still wasn’t allowed to see Amy)—and the doctors and nurses in his room said they were now optimistic about his chances.
They put Amy in the adult Intensive Care Unit and Evan in the neo-natal ICU. The next morning, the doctors told me that our son did not appear to have any brain damage due to a lack of oxygen nor were there any signs of adverse side effects. He was going to be okay. Amy stayed in the ICU for three or four days—but got stronger with each day that passed.
The next morning when I came in to see Amy, a nurse said to me: “I was so happy when I saw your daughter’s name on the charts this morning. When I went home last night, all I could think of were those poor little children without a mother. She was literally bleeding to death, and when that kind of complication happens in childbirth, it’s almost always fatal. That doctor did a miraculous job.”
Renee McBride
They moved Amy up to a room on the maternity ward and brought Evan in to us. I can’t tell you how wonderful it was to see my wife holding my son—both healthy, both in good spirits. I never felt so good. It’s my mental picture of happiness. Joy is the word for Evan.
Phil stayed in the hospital the entire time—even when Evan and I were in intensive care. When they moved me to the maternity ward, he slept on this tiny little cot and his legs were sticking off it by at least a foot. I knew he was uncomfortable, but he refused to leave me alone.
Amy Mickelson
I was visiting Phil and Amy in the hospital just before she and Evan were released. Amy had to go down for some final tests, so Phil and I were left in the room together.
We turned on the television and some sports commentators were talking about Phil not being at that week’s tournament. They said that he seemed to have lost his passion for the game and they made some lousy comments about him not having his priorities straight.
I remember being very angry about that. But it didn’t seem to bother Phil. I think he felt that if they had known the real situation, they never would have made those remarks.
Tina Mickelson
We finally got Amy and Evan home from the hospital but, of course, the trauma of the entire event lingered on. While Amy was recuperating, I just hung around the house not knowing what to do with myself. So she told me to go play in the Atlanta Classic and get ready for the Masters. I went, but my heart just wasn’t in it—and I missed the cut. The next week was the Masters and Amy wanted me to go there, too. But I was playing so poorly that I didn’t touch a club for five days before teeing off at Augusta because I was so tired of hitting bad shots. Amazingly, I still managed to finish a quiet third place in the tournament. Over
the course of those two tournaments, I never said a word to anybody, especially the media, about what had happened. It was just too hard to talk about.
At the end of November, Amy was fully recovered and we took the opportunity to have a heart-to-heart talk. “We had a very tough year,” she said, “and we can’t keep reliving it. Amanda, Sophia, and Evan are healthy and doing great. Let’s just stay home for the last month of the year and be together. Then, in January, you can get with Rick Smith and Dave Pelz and start work. Put your trust in them. They’re good friends and they know what they’re doing. And when 2004 rolls around, no more looking back. 2003 will be history.” Amy and I are a partnership. We discuss everything. That particular conversation, and her advice to put things behind us and start moving forward, really, really helped me.
January came around and I excitedly dove into my game with Rick and Dave. And wouldn’t you know it, I won the very first tournament of the year, the Bob Hope Desert Classic. On Sunday, I managed to make a birdie at the 18th hole to tie Skip Kendall at 30 under par. Then I made a birdie on the first playoff hole to win it.
During one of the media interviews, I mentioned publicly for the first time what had happened during Evan’s birth (without going into a lot of detail). It just kind of slipped out. I didn’t say much because I don’t like to talk about it—and I sincerely ask that people don’t bring it up to me again.
It was the second time in three years that I had won the Hope Classic. At the time, I thought about the irony of the title.
Hope.
One Magical Sunday Page 12