On 20 June 1992, readers of the Financial Times, the leading financial paper in the U.K. and one of the best in the world, were introduced to a young Phil Mickelson by means of a 1,000-word article that was headlined: A superstar signs in. There was a degree of journalistic licence in the use of that word superstar but newspapers are rarely accused of staying their hand when writing headlines. “There is even a suggestion that he is as good as Nicklaus was when he turned pro 30 years ago,” the article said.
Phil Mickelson was then a few days beyond his 22nd birthday and a few weeks past turning professional. In the news conference at his first U.S. Open as a professional he wowed experienced golf writers. “I have seen the future and I’m frightened,” one said as Mickelson left the room. The article in the F.T. noted that Mickelson had none of the cockiness that Nicklaus had at the same age. Nor, for that matter, much of the tongue-tied, golly-gosh syndrome that other young men demonstrate. “Instead,” it continued, “we watched and listened to a young man who has been guided every step of the way these past few years by a coterie of advisers … He was nervous all right but that’s no bad thing. At least he was gracious.”
By then Mickelson had already demonstrated a character trait that would reveal itself again and again during his career. There could be the Good Mickelson but there could also be the Bad Mickelson. You couldn’t have one without the other. He was like the little girl with the curl in the middle of her forehead in Henry Wadsworth’s poem. “ … when she was good she was very good indeed. But when she was bad she was horrid.”
In the 1991 Walker Cup at Portmarnock a drive of his had wandered off course (now there’s a surprise) and ended among spectators. It was suggested that Mickelson, then a bachelor, had hit his ball there to make the acquaintance of some of Ireland’s young females. In response he said “they’re not that attractive” or words to that effect and not for the first time the words that came out of his mouth were as infelicitous as the shots he could play with his short irons were jaw-dropping.
Yet at the same event he played a stroke that drew gasps from watchers. On the short 15th aiming his second shot at a flagstick on an elevated green hard by the Irish Sea, Mickelson attempted one of his famous parachute lob shots. It was a 10 out of 10 in terms of difficulty, one so daring that Peter Alliss said: “He’s an idiot to try it.” When Mickelson’s ball rose almost vertically into the air and dropped 2 feet from the flag his doubters were confounded. “No one else in the world could have played that shot,” Jim Gabrielsen, the US team captain, said. “No one.”
I said I thought he was a chump and an ass, believing that both words being acceptable in the Houses of Parliament in London, the mother of all parliaments, they would also be acceptable on U.S. television. They were not and a wave of vituperation swept over me.
For years thereafter Mickelson remained a figure of some mystery to those of a golfing persuasion in the United Kingdom and the rest of Europe. His feats in the US were noted and lauded but it was puzzling that he made so few excursions outside his home continent until suddenly and perhaps prompted by the wishes of a sponsor who wanted more exposure, Mickelson began to travel overseas more.
In 2013, to take just one example, he played in and won the Scottish Open at Castle Stuart on the eve of the Open that he would win at Muirfield. When in Scotland, Mickelson-being-Mickelson spoke with the apparent ease he demonstrates so often, which is something that irritates many people because they think he sounds insincere, of the pleasures of being able to bring his family to stay in a castle in Scotland and how educational it was for his children to see other countries. It was as if worldwide travel was something he had been doing all his life rather than a rarity at the behest of sponsors.
In the 2018 U.S. Open at Shinnecock Hills, Bad Mickelson was at it again. On the particularly fast 13th green in his third round, he hit his ball while it was in the process of running off the putting surface. Bad Mickelson was penalised two strokes for hitting a moving ball but more damage was done to his reputation for his blatant disregard for golf’s rules. He left the green laughing. Bad Mickelson had blatantly broken the rules of golf and did not seem the least bit chastened for having done so.
The next morning the host television broadcaster invited Ron Green Jr. and myself to appear in an early transmission. We clambered up some rickety steps to a makeshift studio near the clubhouse where I was asked what I thought of Mickelson’s actions the previous day. I said I thought he was a chump and an ass, believing that both words being acceptable in the Houses of Parliament in London, the mother of all parliaments, they would also be acceptable on U.S. television. They were not and a wave of vituperation swept over me.
At the 2018 Open at Carnoustie I saw Mickelson emerging from signing his card and decided to explain my words of the previous month. “Phil,” I said, extending my hand, “I’m John Hopkins, the chap who called you a chump and an ass on television at last month’s U.S. Open. I think on reflection I was a little over the top.”
Mickelson shook my hand and then smiled. “No apologies are necessary. My behaviour was inexcusable,” Good Mickelson said.
No one disagrees that Mickelson’s behaviour and comments these past weeks have been anything other than inexcusably rude and self-serving as well as hugely egregious. This was Bad Mickelson squared or quadrupled. One former prominent player manager ended a text to this writer by saying: “ ... I am sure you can imagine my thoughts on (Mickelson’s) recent behaviour.”
Another manager who has watched Mickelson in Europe and in the U.S. for two decades said: “I would like to have had him as a client. His profile is big news. But singlehandedly last weekend he ruined three years of work (by the Saudis). It is difficult to do as much damage to everyone as he has in the past few days. He is taking flak from everyone. I always thought he was a bit thick and he obviously is.”
The Bad Mickelson who publicly roasted Tom Watson, his captain, after defeat in the 2014 Ryder Cup in Scotland is the Good Mickelson who won the PGA Championship last May when he was 50. He is a man who gives huge tips but is dogged by allegations of betting, a golfer who can contemplate and bring off what few others can even think of. Remember his miraculous stroke from the pine straw on the 13th at Augusta in the 2010 Masters?
Mickelson was not the first golfer to put his foot in it nor will he be the last. One remembers Fuzzy Zoeller and Tiger Woods, and the former’s comments about collard greens. One remembers Bubba Watson playing in Paris and commenting disparagingly on one of the pride and joys of that country: “that big tower thing” Watson called it. Nobody has forgotten Nick Faldo thanking the press “ … from the heart of my bottom” in his winner’s speech at the 1992 Open. And the stinging comments Brooks Koepka made at the last Ryder Cup when denied a drop will not easily be erased from the memory.
Mickelson is dichotomous, a man seemingly dogged by a characteristic that makes him do or say both the good and the bad. As sponsors desert him, he cuts a forlorn figure, one who has never been troubled by self-doubt and now has become a golfing pariah. An extended period of silence and self-examination is not just his best course of action now but his only one.
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