One Magical Sunday

by Phil Mickelson

  Jim (Bones) Mackay

  During that walk, I recalled the first time I took Philip to the big golf course. He was only three years old and didn’t want to play the 18th hole because it would be the end of our round. I told him we had to play it—and he ran right up Cardiac Hill just as fast as he could.

  “I remember thinking at that moment: “This kid is just destined to play golf.”

  Phil Mickelson, Sr.

  When I get up to the green, I mark my ball and step back out of the way so that Chris DiMarco can hit out of the left front bunker. Unfortunately, just as I had done back on #5, Chris leaves his ball in the bunker. Boy, is that sand tough! Chris doesn’t waste any time with his next shot. I’m sure he wants neither to disrupt my concentration nor to leave his ball in the bunker again, so he steps right up and takes another swing.

  This time his ball pops out, lands on the green, rolls by the pin, and comes to rest about three inches behind my mark. Of course, that means that Chris will hit first—and I will get an absolutely perfect look at how my own putt will break. Talk about luck!

  As soon as that ball came of the bunker, Phil went right over and moved his mark so that Chris would be able to putt. It was my responsibility to clean DiMarco’s ball because his caddy was raking out the bunker. So I went over, got the ball from Chris, and was cleaning it. All three of us were grinning. Everybody knew what this meant!

  Jim (Bones) Mackay

  When I came around to mark my ball, Phil tapped me on the back and said: “Show me something!”

  “You got it,” I said.

  To tell you the truth, I didn’t think there was any way Phil was going to miss that putt. It just seemed to be his time.

  Chris DiMarco

  While Chris is lining up his putt, I stand quietly off the edge of the green to his back right. As soon as he strokes it, I walk behind him to see what the ball will do. It breaks left, but misses the cup, and rolls about a foot by. Chris taps in. Now it’s my turn.

  Just as Phil was lining up his putt, I was taking the children from the family room in the clubhouse over to the scorer’s hut near the 18th green. I walked by the practice green and saw Ernie Els munching on an apple. “If Phil misses his birdie putt and makes par,” I thought, “then he and Ernie will be in a playoff.”

  Renee McBride

  This is what it all comes down to, doesn’t it? One downhill right-to-left putt. The last golfer to win the Masters with a birdie putt on the 18th green was Mark O’Meara in 1998. The first golfer to do it was Arnold Palmer in 1960.

  On all my previous putts today, I’ve walked around the hole and taken a good look from all angles. But because I’ve seen Chris’s putt, I know precisely how it’s going to break. So I just stand behind the ball, visualize it rolling down the line at the right speed, and see it going into the hole.

  Then I step up and take one practice stroke. It’s a fairly quick downhill putt. I’m going to allow six inches of break and stroke the ball firmly.

  Everyone and everything is very quiet. I don’t even hear the birds chirping at this point.

  I hit the putt. It feels good.

  People all around the green stand up and start yelling. “Go in the hole!” “Get in the hole!” “C’mon.” “C’mon.” “In.” “In.”

  I was standing off the side of the green by the scorer’s hut. I closed my eyes and clenched hands with my family.

  Amy Mickelson

  I closed my eyes while that putt was rolling toward the hole. “Dad, help him,” I said to Phil’s grandfather. “Just help him. C’mon, Dad. C’mon, Dad.”

  Mary Mickelson

  It’s a quick putt, but it seems like the ball is taking forever to get there. It starts out right on my intended line. But will it hang in there for those last four feet or so? When it gets a foot from the hole, it starts to tail a bit to the left and looks like it is going to miss. But it hangs on, and hangs on, and hangs on.

  My ball catches the left lip of the cup, slides along the edge all the way over to the right side—and falls into the hole. Birdie!

  In the first split-second of that moment, I really believe that my grandfather nudged my ball back to the right just in the nick of time.

  I was so excited I jumped up from my flat-footed position six feet above the surface of the green! With my arms and legs extended, and my putter still in my hand, I must have hung in the air for seven seconds.

  And everybody else was screaming and yelling and wailing and shouting and smiling—and they had their arms over their heads, too.

  We received letters and phone calls from people all over the nation about what they were doing and what happened when Phil made that putt. On airplanes, the pilots announced that Phil had won the Masters and passengers shouted, cheered, and cried. At the San Diego airport, people poured out of the bars into the concourses with their fists pumping, high-fives flying, and screaming in celebration. In restaurants where there were televisions, diners started applauding and yelling. Just outside Phil’s childhood home, a neighbor was out in his front yard when he heard roars coming from the inside of four or five houses on his street. One guy from the Midwest wrote us that he jumped so high, when he came down he actually broke his leg! Others said they could now go eat their Easter dinners.

  Gary McBride, Amy’s Dad

  When I finally float down to the ground from my Olympic-caliber, NBA-worthy leap, the first thing I do is walk over to Bones, give him a great big hug, and say: “I did it! I did it!”

  “You did it! You did it!” he shouts back. Chris DiMarco gives me a high-five and a pat on the back. “Way to go, Phil!”

  I walk over to the hole, pull out my golf ball, kiss it, and toss it into the crowd. The people are still screaming, shouting, smiling, and crying. I hand my putter to Bones, who takes it and, along with the flagstick, puts it in my golf bag. I walk through the crowd toward the scorer’s hut. People are holding out their hands and I give them high fives. One, two, three, four, five . . . ten high fives in all.

  When I get up there, I see Amy. She jumps into my arms and I give her the biggest hug and kiss. She can’t speak. She’s crying. I see my mom, my dad, my sister, Amy’s mom, and Amy’s dad. I give them each a hug, look them in the eye, and say, “I did it! I did it!”

  My dad leans in and says, “I’m proud of you, son.”

  I see Steve Loy and give him a bear hug. I’m just about to walk up the steps into the scorer’s hut when I hear, “Daddy! Daddy!” It’s Amanda calling to me.

  I turn around and pick her up. “Amanda, I did it!” I say to her. “Can you believe it?”

  He was really excited. He wants to win every tournament and he almost does. I told him I was surprised that he won. Then I gave him a great big hug. I was holding on to his neck and he squeezed me so tight.

  Amanda Mickelson, Phil’s Daughter

  Then I see Sophia. I pick her up and hold her in my arms. “Sophia,” I say. “Daddy won! Can you believe it?”

  Then I go over to Amy. She’s holding our son, Evan, who’s just turned one year old. At that moment, I feel so blessed to be Amanda, Sophia, and Evan’s dad—and to have them with me.

  Phil, you’re going to be a father and there’s nothing greater in the world.

  Payne Stewart, 1999 U.S. Open Champion

  Okay, now I’ve hugged and kissed everybody and it’s time to walk up into the scorer’s hut. But before I go, I take one look back at Amy. She sees me and we make eye contact. It was just for a moment, but it means so much for me to see her standing there holding Evan. After all we had gone through in 2003, after almost losing them both, here they are sharing in this wonderful, almost miraculous moment. And I realize that winning the Masters, as great as it feels, isn’t the most important thing in my life.

  In the scorer’s hut, all I can think about is to make sure the scorecard I sign is correct. I was thinking about Roberto de Vicenzo who, back in 1968, had signed an incorrect card. He finished in a tie but mistakenly marked
his birdie at #17 as a par and lost the tournament by one shot. Bob Goalby got the green jacket that year. “What a stupid I am,” said de Vicenzo to the press afterwards.

  So I look over my card carefully with Bones and Chris DiMarco. Front nine: 4, 4, 5, 3, 5, 4, 4, 5, 4. Two over par 38. Check. Back nine: 4, 4, 2, 4, 3, 5, 2, 4, 3. A scorching 31 with five birdies. Check. Overall, a three under par 69. Check. Grand total of 279, nine under par for the tournament. I win the Masters by one shot. It’s my twenty-third career victory—and my first major.

  After Phil went into the scorer’s hut, a reporter came over and wanted to interview me. But I was too emotional to even speak. So he asked if he could interview Amanda. I nodded yes.

  “Amanda, is this the greatest day of your life?” he asked.

  “Yes, it is,” she replied.

  “Is it the greatest day of your life because your daddy won the Masters?”

  “No, it’s the greatest day because we colored Easter eggs this morning.”

  Amy Mickelson

  Just as I finish signing my scorecard, I take a moment to relax. The scorer’s hut is right next to the practice green at the clubhouse. So we’ve come full circle and we’re right back where we started. Somebody else walks through the door and Sophia just follows him right in. She likes to cling to me, and I love that. I pick her up, put her in my lap, and she cups my face in her hand. “I love you, Daddy,” she says—her big round eyes melting my heart. Then we turn to the right and look out the window. Everybody is smiling and waving at us. I point to Amy and say, “Wave to the people, Sophia.”

  At first she doesn’t wave. So I take the pacifier out of her mouth and say, “Wave.” Sophia, who is right-handed, now smiles and waves with her left hand. Then she takes the pacifier away from me and puts it back in her mouth.

  I waved because I was happy. I waved because my daddy is my daddy.

  Sophia Mickelson, Phil’s Daughter

  I’ve won the Masters. Sophia is sitting in my lap. She has her magic back. And all is right with the world.

  PLAYER

  SCORE

  TOTAL

  Phil Mickelson

  -9

  279

  Ernie Els

  -8

  280

  K. J. Choi

  -6

  282

  Sergio Garcia

  -3

  285

  Bernhard Langer

  -3

  285

  Paul Casey

  -2

  286

  Fred Couples

  -2

  286

  Chris DiMarco

  -2

  286

  Davis Love III

  -2

  286

  Nick Price

  -2

  286

  Vijay Singh

  -2

  286

  Kirk Triplett

  -2

  286

  Retief Goosen

  E

  288

  Padraig Harrington

  E

  288

  Charles Howell III

  E

  288

  Casey Wittenberg

  E

  288*

  *(Low Amateur)

  19th Hole

  After signing my scorecard, I was escorted over to the Butler Cabin for the formal green jacket ceremony. The tradition is that the previous year’s Masters champ holds the green jacket for the new champ. That honor fell to Mike Weir (who is also a lefty). As he held out my size 43L jacket, I slipped it on, and said exactly what I was feeling. “I can’t believe this is happening,” I remarked. “It’s the fulfillment of dreams. I’m just proud to be a champion here. It was an exceptional back nine, and it’s something I’ll remember forever and ever.”

  It was an exceptional day. In particular, it was very meaningful for me to win the Masters during Arnold Palmer’s final competitive appearance here. I couldn’t help but think back to the letter he wrote to me after the 2002 Bay Hill Invitational. “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.” Mr. Palmer was known for his charges on the back nine at Augusta—and I believe I won in a way that would have made him proud.

  My colleagues on the Tour also seemed to be caught up in Sunday’s drama. I think Paul Casey, who was playing in the group ahead of me, said it best. “It’s rare I become interested in what’s happening if I’m not in the lead,” he said. “But today, I was genuinely interested in what was going on out there. You become a fan as much as a golfer for a while. It was remarkable stuff.”

  I was also touched by the graciousness of Ernie Els. He had shot a magnificent five under par round of 67. Nobody makes two eagles coming down the stretch at Augusta on Sunday and doesn’t win. And yet, when the tournament was taken away from him on the 18th green, he handled himself with great class and showed that he was genuinely happy for me.

  I played as well as I can. What more could I do? I think Phil deserved this one. The man upstairs was there for him. He earned it. Full credit to him.

  Ernie Els

  Back at the main clubhouse, as we were preparing to go in for the formal Masters dinner, I received a call from President George W. Bush. He congratulated me and said that his entire staff jumped up from their seats when I made that final putt. And then he ribbed me a little bit. “Now I know why you play golf instead of basketball,” he said. “You can’t dunk!”

  After that call, Phil came out with a big grin on his face and told the rest of us: “The President just roughed me up about my jump! He must not have seen me at my apex.”

  Amy Mickelson

  The formal dinner had a wonderfully festive atmosphere. Just before we walked in Amanda went around telling everybody that green was her new favorite color. As we ate, people offered all kinds of toasts. And when everybody ran out of eloquent words, we would just hold up their glasses and yell, “Yeeeee, haaaa!” It was unforgettable.

  Afterward, all our family and friends joined us at our rental house and we continued the celebration. I changed into something more comfortable: black workout shorts, a black T-shirt, and an ASU baseball cap. But I kept my green jacket on. And I looked good! We played Ping-Pong, told stories, and generally relived the day. And when it was finally time to settle down, the three of us went to bed together: Amy, me, and the green jacket. The next morning, bright and early, Sophia came into our room and snuggled up inside the jacket. It has a lining similar to her “silkie” blanket and she loved the feel of it. “Daddy, you won the green jacket!” she said, giving me a high-five. “Great job!”

  Over the next several weeks, I went on a coast-to-coast media trip—appearing on the Jay Leno and David Letterman shows, among others. I was even asked to ring the opening bell on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange. What a moment that was! I felt like a prize fighter entering the ring. People were slapping me on the back and the traders on the floor treated me great. I also received countless notes and letters of congratulations from people all across the nation, including many golfing greats. One particularly touching one came from Bryon Nelson. “Wow! Wasn’t that the most exciting finish that I ever saw! After the great four at #10, you were turned on. You played so fine and looked so happy. Your family looked great. Please hug them for me.”

  Bones and his wife, Jen, had their baby four days after the Masters—a healthy, strong boy they named Oliver. Rick Smith and his wife, Tricia (our good friend and vegetarian), flew out to visit us and we took them to our favorite burger joint, In-N-Out. She had told us that if I won the Masters she would eat meat. So she ordered a double-double and ate the whole thing. When we finally got home, some of my friends threw a surprise party for me. People showed up from all
over the country to help us celebrate.

  Later, the people at Augusta asked me to follow the tradition of sending them the one club in my bag that most helped me win the Masters. So I sent them the 8-iron I had used on my approach shots to #12, #16, and #18—all of which I birdied.

  The remainder of the 2004 golf season went very well for me. With regard to the three other majors, I finished second in the U.S. Open, third in the British Open, and sixth in the PGA Championship. Actually, I came within a total of five strokes of winning them all.

  During the year, of course, there was still some discussion about my previous drought in the majors. For instance, I was asked this question: “Phil, what would you have thought about your career without a major?”

  “I’ve never thought about that,” I responded. “Nor do I have to!”

  That’s the absolute truth. I never really did worry about not winning a major. I knew that time and history were on my side. After all, Sam Snead won twenty-seven tournaments before claiming his first major victory. And Ben Hogan, of all people, won thirty. So I felt pretty optimistic that I’d eventually break through. Nobody can win the Masters or the other majors all the time. You only have the magic once in awhile. And besides, the greater the challenge, the more rewarding the victory.

  One thing I was not prepared for, however, was the widespread reaction to my first major victory. People all over the nation reacted emotionally and celebrated as if they had won it themselves. My own family remained on an emotional high for at least a month.