What do you think when you hear Phil Mickelson’s name these days?
Do you think about the joy the world shared when he finally won the Masters 19 years ago and he walked into his family’s hugs, his long hair spilling out from beneath his black visor and the sense of achievement as thick as campfire smoke?
Or do you think about him torching the PGA Tour, taking hundreds of millions of dollars from people he said scared him, all the while claiming he was doing it for the betterment of golf?
Do you think about Kiawah Island, just two years ago, when Mickelson wrote what should have been the most improbable chapter in what so many wanted to believe was the great American success story?
Or do you think about the guy behind the sunglasses and the black clothes, dropping snarky hot takes on social media, bragging about approaching billionaire status while thinking he probably doesn’t fully believe some of the things he’s saying, such as not a single player on LIV Golf wants to return to the PGA Tour?
Do you think about the guy who was the closest thing we’ve seen to Arnold Palmer with the smile and the thumbs-up gesture, the guy who dropped $100 tips on kids running lemonade stands and whose foundation has done so much for so many?
Or do you think about the guy who gambler Billy Walters, no prince himself, claims has bet approximately $1 billion over the years, feeding an addiction and a super-charged ego that will shadow him for the rest of his life and will be part of the first paragraph of Mickelson’s obituary?
Do you think about Mickelson’s audacity on the golf course, where he seemed to envision every shot with a pot of gold at the end of its rainbow, and he invited us along for the rollercoaster ride?
Do you think about the 6-iron shot through the trees at Augusta and all of the flop shots and the iron shots rocketed through gaps as small as a grocery cart?
Or do you think about the guy who, fairly or not, has been dogged by rumors about his personal life for years, much of it fueled by the gambling jones that Walters claims to have exposed and Mickelson has acknowledged?
Do you think about Mickelson wearing that silver conquistador’s helmet when he won his first PGA Tour event as an amateur 32 years ago in Tucson, wearing a smile as wide as the desert sky and a future that was even bigger?
Or do you think about Mickelson these days, his words measured and his charisma contained, the joy seemingly gone and the sparkle dulled? Is he truly happy, having said he’s overcome his gambling addiction and that he’s part of a golf league he believes is the best thing for the game, or does he at times come across a man who wishes he could do some big things differently?
Do you think about the guy who, at the 2019 U.S. Open at Pebble Beach, used a silver-dollar ball marker that his grandfather, who caddied at the resort, kept with him for years as a show of respect and love?
Do you wonder whether Mickelson said too much? Did too much? Lost too much?
Or do you think about the guy who Walters claimed wanted to bet $400,000 on the Americans winning the 2012 Ryder Cup when he was a member of the team? Mickelson issued a statement last week saying he never bet on the Ryder Cup and he gets the benefit of the doubt there, but he did not deny he considered making the bet, an enormous error in judgment.
Do you think about that Sunday at Muirfield when Mickelson shot a sublime 66 to win the Open Championship, a performance that stands alone in his spectacular career for both its purity and its profundity?
Or do you think about the guy who embarrassed himself at the 2018 U.S. Open at Shinnecock Hills when he chased down his own moving ball on the 13th green there and then acted as if he did something smart by taking a two-stroke penalty to save more potential strokes?
Do you think about Mickelson and his wife, Amy, and all of the images we’ve seen of them together, with and without their three kids, and the warmth that has shone through like a sunrise?
Do you think about the pager in his golf bag when Amy was about to give birth to their first child and Mickelson said he would leave the 1999 U.S. Open even if he had the lead?
Do you think about the 72nd-hole collapse at the 2006 U.S. Open at Winged Foot, the head-in-his hands moment on the final green when it all came crashing in on him and the way Mickelson stood up afterward and bravely acknowledged his failure?
Do you think about all the other times he almost won the U.S. Open and the collective disappointment that was a testament to his rare and enduring popularity?
Or do you think about where Mickelson goes from here? He was going to be like Jack and Arnie, one of the game’s wise men living in the reflected glory of their careers, dispensing wisdom when asked, but has he given that away?
Do you wonder whether there is a path back for Mickelson?
Or do you wonder whether Mickelson said too much? Did too much? Lost too much?
Do you wonder whether Mickelson thinks it was all worth it?
And do you wonder whether it was?
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Top: Will Mickelson be remembered as a conquering hero or the man in black?
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