On the tee, I line up my feet to the left, square my shoulders, and try to hit the inside part of the ball so it will draw. My swing feels fairly good, but I hold on to it and the ball doesn’t really draw at all. It hangs out way to the left and rolls into the first cut of trees.
As I’m walking up the fairway, I know that I probably don’t have a shot to the green. And I recall how, a couple of years ago, I went for the green in two, but the ball caught the fringe and rolled back into the water. I made a double bogey and finished third, and didn’t enjoy the Q&A following the round.
When I get up to my ball, I see that maybe it’s better than I originally thought. As I look toward the green, I see two tall pine trees about ten yards up on my right, a smaller one in the center about twenty yards up, and three big pines on the left. And of course, there’s a good-sized pond in front of the green. If I go for it, the trees prevent me from getting the ball to climb up over the water to the green. Hmmm, I might be able to go low, though.
In the past, I’ve had very similar shots with vastly different outcomes.
In 1992, when Phil was still in college and again leading while trying to defend his championship at the Tucson Open, he drove his ball into the trees left of the third hole. I immediately reached for an 8-iron and tried to hand it to him. “No, Coach,” he said, “give me a 3-iron.”
“Phil!” I said. “We’re 148 yards from the green and there’s no way you can hit it through the trees and over the water. You just don’t have a shot. We’re only 25 yards from the fairway. We’re leading by two shots! C’mon! Just chip it back into the fairway. We can make par.”
Meanwhile, I was covering the bag with my arms so he couldn’t reach in there and get another club. But Phil kind of moved me out of the way and grabbed the 3-iron anyway.
“Get away,” he said. Then Phil quickly addressed the ball and Whack! he hit it. And as God is my witness, his ball went through the trees, skipped twice across the water, and rolled up onto the back of the green.
Phil, however, wasn’t as thrilled as I was.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. “We’re on the green. It was a great shot.”
“Coach,” he said, “if it had skipped three times, we’d be right next to the pin!”
Coach Steve Loy, Phil’s Business Manager
In Sunday’s final round at the 2002 Bay Hill Invitational (which is Arnold Palmer’s tournament), Philip was trailing Tiger Woods by one shot when he came to the par 5 16th hole. (Tiger was playing in the group behind him.)
Philip hit his tee shot into the trees on the far right side of the fairway. Knowing that Tiger would probably birdie the hole, he decided to try to reach the green by going through the trees and over the water. Actually, he had a pretty clear path through the trees and I’ve seen him pull off shots like this one before. But he didn’t hit the ball hard enough and it plunked into the water. He made bogey and Tiger won the tournament.
The media really hammered him for taking such a risk. But after the tournament, Arnold Palmer came out and defended Philip. “The boy had one shot—and he made the right decision,” said Arnie. “You guys need to back off!”
Arnie also sent a note to Philip afterward. “You never would have won as many tournaments as you have by playing a more conservative game,” he wrote. “Keep playing to win. Keep charging. Your majors will come.”
Phil Mickelson, Sr., Phil’s Dad
When we saw Phil behind the ball and looking toward the green, we all started saying: “Use your veto, Bones. Don’t let him go for it. Make him lay it up. Use your veto.”
Amy Mickelson, Phil’s Wife
As I’m looking through the trees toward the green, I realize that I really do have to lay up—which is okay. I’d spent so much time working with Dave Pelz from inside 150 yards, so much time controlling the distance the ball flies and how much spin it has after it lands, that I am confident I’ll still have a good chance to make birdie.
Bones and I also talk about the fact that the pin placement on this hole is very favorable. All I really have to do is punch the ball down in front of the water. Then I’m going to have a 70 percent chance of birdie and, at worst, a par.
So I take an 8-iron and just chip it 120 yards right down the fairway. Now I have only a 75-yard wedge shot to the green.
There are shots where you can win a tournament—and there are shots where you can not win a tournament. This was a shot where Phil could not win the tournament. But if he had tried to blow the ball over the green to get in that back right bunker, he could have lost the Masters. If you can lose, but you can’t win—why try it?
Dave Pelz, Phil’s Short-Game Coach
This was a very difficult shot at a very crucial time. “Old Phil” might have “gone for it” and pulled it off. But “New Phil” laid up. And that was the right call. He had just birdied #12, #13, and #14. No sense pushing his luck.
As Phil has become a more experienced player, he knows what he is capable of—more so now than when he was always taking those riskier shots. Phil was now combining “Old Phil” and “New Phil.” He was demonstrating the balance that all the great players have—to know when the risks are rewarding and when the risks are defeating. It was very rewarding for me, personally, to see Phil demonstrating a nice mix between conservative and aggressive play.
Coach Steve Loy
For my approach shot to the green, I take some spin off the ball because I think it will land soft. It lands in the perfect spot, but hits harder than I expect—and rolls twelve feet beyond the flagstick.
Most of the greens were hitting pretty soft, but this one landed a little bit firmer. I really don’t know why because this green is in the low part of Augusta, which typically makes the greens softer from all the water draining down. The higher greens—like #9 and #18—tend to be firmer. Anyway, I played the ball to land soft and it ended up taking a harder bounce. But it’s okay, because I still have a good look at birdie to tie for the lead. At worst, I’ll make par.
Up on the green, I have a quick putt with a decent amount of break—left to right. Unfortunately, I don’t hit the greatest putt. I miss low to the right and it runs a couple of feet by. But it’s in my circle and I’m not worried about it. I tap in for par.
Three birdies in a row and now par. At this point, all of us were living and dying on every shot—and we were hoping that the magic would continue.
Amy Mickelson
“Abracadabra. Alakazam. My girls have been good. Please make lots of tickets appear under the table.” That’s what I say when Amanda, Sophia, and I are sitting down at Chuck E. Cheese’s after we’ve just come out of the arcade area. I have the girls close their eyes and, while I’m saying the magic words and rubbing the table, all the tickets we’ve won will suddenly move from my back pocket and materialize under the table. Then Sophia and Amanda will open their eyes, look under the table, and find all the tickets.
“Daddy, use your magic, again,” they say. “Use your magic, again.”
“You can only use your magic so often,” I’ll tell them. “Later, if you’re good, I can give you some of my magic—and you can use it, too.” Then my daughters will take all their magically produced tickets up to the counter and redeem them for prizes.
Whenever I’m at home for a week or more, I’ll take my girls on Daddy/Daughter Dates. Chuck E. Cheese is one of our favorite places to go. Usually, it’ll be just me and either Amanda or Sophia. Sometimes both of them will go with me (we call those Daddy/
Daughter-Daughter Dates). The idea is to give each of them some individual time—and to have fun while we’re out. Sometimes we go to the park, sometimes to Lego Land, or wherever the kids suggest. Of course, I don’t forget Amy. She and I go out on a date at least once a week—usually to dinner and a movie. But we’ll also do some outdoor activities just to be together and have fun. Also, now that my son, Evan, is growing up a little bit, he’s catching on to the routine I have with his sisters. He’ll run to the door as we’r
e about to leave and, in his own little way, ask to go along. So I started taking him on his own father-son dates.
Now you might think that, as a pro golfer, I’m always taking my kids to the golf course. But actually, it’s only recently that I’ve done anything with the kids that involves golf. And that started when Sophia had just turned two years old. “Daddy,” she said, “I want to go golf with you.” So I took her to the driving range on one of our dates.
Since then, Amanda has asked the same thing. We’ll go out to the driving range and hit maybe 15 or 20 balls. Then we drive the cart and I let one of the girls sit on my lap and steer. Next, we might go out on the course to a lake. I’ll bring about ten old golf balls and let them hit the balls into the lake so they can watch the splashes. I try to keep those outings short so the kids won’t get bored and instead, will enjoy them each time. There’s another lesson from my parents making it full circle. Stop the activity at the peak of the fun.
I once asked Amanda what she thought I liked to do best. I thought she was going to say golf, but she didn’t. She said the thing I like best in the world was to take her and Sophia out on Daddy/Daughter Dates. And the next best thing, she said, was to give them my magic.
I can make my daddy disappear in one second. He stands behind the curtain and I say, “Abracadabra, alakazam.” Then I count up to 40 with my eyes closed. And when I open the curtain, he’s gone. Then he reappears on the floor behind the couch with his head on a pillow. He’s asleep, he’s snoring, and he doesn’t remember how he got there.
Amanda Mickelson, Phil’s daughter
In addition to granting my children the power of magic, I will also take it away when they misbehave. “Every parent has control over their children’s magic,” I’ll say to the kids. “You have to act good and be responsible because magic is very powerful. If you’re not good and not responsible, I’ll have to take it away for a couple of days.”
And I do take it away if they’re misbehaving. Amanda, as the oldest, has been through it many times before. If she has a little tantrum or doesn’t want to go to bed when it’s time, I’ll take her magic away. That could be in the form of her silkies or her stuffed animals. Or she won’t be able to make daddy disappear from behind the curtains. And I’ll always make it her choice.
“I don’t want to take your magic away,” I’ll say. “But if you choose to not be good, then the magic just won’t be there.”
Walking to the sixteenth tee, I’m keeping a close eye on Ernie Els to see what he is doing. He isn’t backing up at all. But at least he’s not pulling away, either. I’m also thinking that the last three holes at Augusta are not historically birdie holes. But today, there are very susceptible pin placements on all of them. I feel I can birdie at least one to tie. And if I can birdie two, I might be able to win the tournament. I just keep believing that something good is going to happen.
One shot down. Three to go.
PLAYER
SCORE
HOLE
Els
-8
16
Mickelson
-7
15
Choi
-6
16
DiMarco
-4
13
Langer
-3
15
16
Redbud
Par 3
170 Yards
Okay, here we are at the hole where, this afternoon, there have been two holes-in-one within ten minutes of each other. First Padraig Harrington did it, then Kirk Triplett.
The pin is down on the left side of the green where all the balls funnel. I know I can make birdie today—but by no means will it be an easy birdie. Three bunkers surround the green and there is water all down the left side. It’s also a hard shot for me because the green sets up for a right-handed shot dispersion—just the opposite of #12. If I leave it short left, I’ll be in the water—and long right would leave me up on the hill with an unlikely two-putt.
This is also not the greatest hole for me, historically. In 2001, I hooked a seven iron above the hole that resulted in a three-putt bogey and killed my chances of winning. And earlier this week, I hit the ball way to the right and ended up making double bogey. Going into today’s final round, I had made only two bogeys and that one double bogey here on #16.
I’m thinking about all of this when I walk up to the tee box. Bones and I have a casual conversation about the wind. He notices that it’s blowing in our faces—and we both know when that happens on #16, it doesn’t seem to affect the flight of the ball as much as it does on other holes. So we’re not going to let that fool us. We are going to hit the club we would hit even if there was no wind.
For me to get at this pin, I have to take a very aggressive swing. If I miss it left, it’ll go short and I’ll be in the water. And I sure don’t want to miss it right and have to contend with coming down that slope.
On this tee shot, I’m not shooting for the best miss. I’m going for it. I know there’s no alternative. I’ve just got to do it. Ernie’s not backing up. I’m a shot down—and I am going to attack this flagstick.
We love “New Phil.” But it’s always nice to know that “Old Phil” is in reserve as our secret weapon when needed.
Amy Mickelson
Too many players fear failure. But as much as Phil dislikes defeat and disappointment, he does not fear failure. He’s a freewheeling, “go for it” player. That’s why he’s won so many championships in his life. I never want to see that change.
Coach Steve Loy
Initially, I think I’ll hit a 7-iron and not take a full swing. But Bones disagrees: “No, this is not the time for that,” he says. “We need to hit the 8. We want it coming in softer. We want it drawing rather than fading. It’s time for a full 8-iron.”
“All right, Bones,” I say. “Let’s go with an 8.”
I take a full swing and start the ball left of the pin. It draws right, just like I want it to do. It hits just short of the pin, catches the ridge, rolls down underneath the hole, and stops 18 feet away. I’ll have a very makeable putt from down there. As a matter of fact, it’s an easy putt. It only breaks about six or eight inches and is uphill.
I turn to Bones and say, “Good club.”
I had been thinking about that tee shot all year. I wanted Phil to stand on the #16 tee box and feel that he could hit it close to the hole without having any fear at all. A right-handed golfer would typically love to hit a draw into the flagstick because he doesn’t have to contend with the lake on the left. But a left-handed golfer, if he’s going to hook it, will have to sweep it over the lake and draw it back. That, to say the least, is a risky shot.
But Phil hit a beautiful little hook. That one swing, I think, said more about his development over the past year than any other shot he hit at the Masters.
Rick Smith, Phil’s Long-Game Coach
Walking down to the 16th green was an awesome feeling. I’d lost a little momentum on the previous hole, but I could just sense that something good was going to happen. People were standing, applauding, and holding their fists in the air. “C’mon, Phil!” “Let’s see some magic!”
And that’s exactly what I’m thinking. The magic was taken away on #15. Now I want it back.
I believe my mom and dad must get a real kick out of seeing me deal with my daughter Sophia. My parents tell me I was a strong-willed child. I didn’t want to put my napkin in my lap at the dinner table. When they said go right, I would go left. When I was out of their sight, I did my own thing—like run away from home. Well, you know that circle of life—what goes around comes around. With Sophia and me, it’s one strong-willed kid against another. The word patience is meant for Sophia. Let me give you a couple of examples that occurred all within a week of each other.
When Sophia was two years old, we were just packing up to go home from a tournament. Rather than staying in a hotel, this ti
me Amy and I had rented a house in a nice little residential neighborhood not far from the golf course. As we were cleaning the house to leave it in as good a condition as when we’d moved in, I started hearing sirens in the distance. They got closer and closer—and the next thing I knew there were police cars, fire trucks, and an ambulance pulling into our driveway. All the policemen, the firemen, and the paramedics rushed up to the house. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” I kept asking them.
Well, it turned out Sophia had wandered into the kitchen, gotten up on a chair, and started playing with the security alarm. And she didn’t push just one button. She pushed them all—police, fire, emergency. Of course, I apologized profusely and signed autographs for all the firefighters, policemen, and paramedics. And while I was doing that, Sophia grabbed a black Sharpie pen and scribbled all over the ottoman in the living room.
After that, we began watching her much more carefully, but it’s amazing how kids can get out of your sight so quickly. And when Sophia disappears for a minute or two, anything can happen. One time when Amy was out and I was watching all the kids, I remember seeing Sophia on the floor playing with some of her building blocks. Well I got busy with Evan for a moment and, all of a sudden, I smelled electrical smoke. So I started looking around and I saw that Sophia had taken my car key and had been sticking it in one of the electrical outlets. She had melted the ridges on the key and blown out the socket, and the wall just above the outlet was black. I was amazed that she hadn’t been hurt. But it turned out she was fine. It wasn’t hard to get an electrician to repair the wall. But I was left with two slightly more difficult problems. First, I couldn’t drive my car because the key wouldn’t work anymore. And second, I had to explain to Amy how I had let her baby get away and almost electrocute herself.
One Magical Sunday Page 14