Phil 2004: Family perspectives
Personal vignettes of what made Mickelson's major breakthrough special
For nearly 18 years, I was lucky enough to serve as the golf columnist at The Augusta Chronicle. This meant getting to write cover stories for the Chronicle’s exhaustive Masters Preview Edition. Unfortunately, when the Chronicle redesigned its once pretty awesome Augusta.com website, all the hard work we produced prior to 2012 or so disappeared entirely from the digital realm and was left only to tattered and yellowed newsprint in the morgue.
On the 20th anniversary of Phil Mickelson’s maiden major victory at the 2004 Masters, I’ve resurrected all the pieces of my takeout on Lefty from the dusty papers. Here is part 2 of that look back. This section of Phil’s story still gives me goosebumps. Enjoy.
These stories first published April 3, 2005, in the Masters 2005 preview section of The Augusta Chronicle. (Part 2 of 3)
The Son
Miracles don’t really happen on golf courses. Sometimes shots go in; sometimes they don’t. Sometimes you win; most times you don’t.
For Phil Mickelson, the real miracle wasn’t a putt falling on the 72nd green at Augusta National to win the Masters. It was what was waiting for him behind it. It was a son in the arms of a mother.
That they were there at all is a miracle. Mickelson is thankful for it every day, and it washed over him when he made eye contact with his wife, Amy, before going to sign his scorecard. All he ever really wanted was standing right in front of him.
“It means so much for me to see her standing there holding Evan,” Mickelson wrote in his book, One Magical Sunday. “After almost losing them both, here they are sharing in this wonderful, almost miraculous moment. And I realized that winning the Masters, as great as it feels, isn’t the most important thing in my life.”
Amy Mickelson and Evan at the Masters scoring hut. (John Biever/Sports Illustrated via Getty Images)
On March 23, 2003, while his peers were slogging through a storm to finish the Bay Hill Invitational, Mickelson was in a much darker place.
This was going to be a great day. Amy, three weeks past her due date, would have her labor induced. The whole family packed the delivery room at 8:30 a.m. to laugh and joke until it was time to move outside and wait for Evan to arrive.
“Bye, Amy! Bye, Evan! We’ll see you in a few minutes.”
Minutes turned into hours. The light mood in the waiting room dimmed. Amy’s mother, Renee McBride, sensed something was wrong.
A few minutes later, dozens of doctors and nurses started running in and out of the delivery room. The next thing they saw was newborn Evan being rushed to the neonatal intensive care unit trailed by Phil’s screams from inside the room. “Breathe, Evan, breathe!”
Evan was essentially stillborn. He didn’t draw his first breath for seven minutes.
Amy’s situation was worse. Scar tissue from her previous two pregnancies caused a tear in the main artery in her uterus during the delivery. She was losing too much blood and went into shock. She was rushed past her whole family to the operating room where, as luck would have it, a specialist would arrive in only a few minutes having been in the vicinity of the hospital on his way to dinner.
Mickelson was lost in the middle. At opposite ends of a sterile hallway, his wife and son were fighting for their lives. He paced between the two rooms before finally sitting on a bench with his head in his hands. He was no longer in control of his world. It was not a position he was used to.
“It was hard to see him that way,” said Tina, Mickelson’s older sister. “I couldn’t bring myself to go down to the end of that hallway, because I couldn’t do anything to make it better.”
At the end of that hallway, Mickelson experienced the most agonizing hour of his life. He heard nurses whispering: “Isn’t it so sad that those children are going to grow up without their mother?”
As anyone might do in that desperate situation, Mickelson prayed and made promises to God.
Those prayers were answered. Amy’s artery was repaired and she slowly came back. Evan was breathing on his own and showed no adverse signs from his traumatic entry into the world.
But an experience like that changes people.
“There’s always been an appreciation for Amy and the kids, but now it is heightened when you didn’t know it could be,” Tina said. “Having to think about what he would do without her – his life would be over. Done. I wouldn’t want to witness the extreme pain he would be going through without Amy.”
Mickelson couldn’t talk about it for months. He still can’t, really. He prefers not to be asked about it and quickly diverts the subject.
“We certainly had a tough time for a while. Stuff like that may affect you,” he said. “It didn’t take something like that for me to appreciate what I have. I knew how lucky I was with Amy. I knew how lucky I was with our kids. I didn’t need that experience to slap me in the face.”
He also didn’t feel the need to share the details of Evan’s birth with the rest of the world.
Mickelson had withdrawn from the Players Championship, skipping the entire Florida swing to be home with his family. On Tuesday in Ponte Vedra Beach, Florida, an upbeat birth announcement from Mickelson’s agent was distributed to the media saying that mother and baby were fine. There was never any hint of the trauma.
“It was an especially, personally hard time for us and people didn’t know,” Amy said. “It was an incredible, life-changing thing that had occurred to us.”
By the end of 2003, Mickelson had no victories. No top-30 money earnings. No points in five Presidents Cup matches. By his own admission, it was his worst year on tour.
But he had his family and together they started a new outlook that would rewrite his professional fortunes. No more looking back, only forward.
“We really made a commitment to each other to just start fresh,” Amy said.
Now 2 years old, Evan plays with his sawed off golf clubs on the practice green outside his grandparents’ house and refuses to come in for meals, just like his father.
Whatever promises Mickelson made, the miracles keep coming
The Wife
To say that Amy Mickelson had a feeling that her husband was going to win the Masters is like saying Cubs fans have a feeling that each spring will lead to a pennant.
“I’ve honestly felt he was going to win it every year that he’s played it,” she said. “When you’re lying in bed and talking, I’ll say, ‘Honey, I know this is the day. This is the year.’ I think I’ve been saying that to him every day since the day we met. I obviously believe in him and what he can do.”
Needless to say, Amy has seen a lot of her boyfriend/husband’s work in the past 13 years. Enough that last April, she could even see through her own biases.
First of all, Mickelson came into the Masters riding a streak of successes and top-10 finishes all the way back to a season-opening victory at the Bob Hope Desert Classic.
“He didn’t have to raise his game,” she said.
Secondly, Mickelson entered the final round of a major at Augusta with a share of the lead, something he’d never done in 46 prior major appearances. When you consider that not even Tiger Woods has ever come from behind to start the last day and win any of his eight majors to date, that was a huge key.
Thirdly, and most significantly in Amy’s eyes, Mickelson had a calmness about him all week, and especially Sunday, that was unusual.
“He was just very comfortable in his own skin,” she said. “It wasn’t like a typical major Sunday where he would be like, ‘Okay, I’ve got to focus and go get it and win this tournament today.’ It was more like ‘I’m going to enjoy this day.’”
Through the birdie, birdie, birdie on Nos. 12, 13 and 14 that drew him within one of Ernie Els, Amy believed more than ever it was Mickelson’s day. She could feel it all around her.
“It was incredible to see the people,” she said. “It was almost as if they were willing him on. It was incredible energy.”
Those same people carried her through the final hole and the breakthrough moment that changed the perspective on her husband’s career. Those same people carry her every time she follows Mickelson around.
“I’ve always said to Phil, ‘I wish you could come out and walk two holes with me,’” she said. “When I’m at a tournament alone, a lot of people will come up to me and tell me how they feel about him. It’s incredible. He’s very lucky. It’s very flattering.
“Of course, I’ve always thought he was wonderful. It’s really special when other people see what you see.”
The Mickelson family celebrates his Masters triumph / Timothy A. Clary, AFP via Getty Images
The Girls
It’s the littlest women in Phil Mickelson’s life who constantly remind him how much winning the Masters has changed his world.
Amanda, 5, and Sophia, 3, have enriched the experience far beyond the exorbitant purse, trophies and lifetime exemption into the field.
“To this day, a year later, Sophia still comes up to me and says, ‘Daddy, you won a green jacket! Great job! High five,” Mickelson said.
As for Amanda, Easter Sunday 2004 colored her childhood in a whole new way.
“Her new favorite color is green,” Mickelson said. “Ever since then, she only wants green notebooks and green pencils and green hair clips and green clothes. Everything’s green and it used to not be. They used to be pink and yellow. It’s amazing how that’s had an impact on us but amazing how fun it is to share that with them.”
Mickelson has made it very clear what his priority was. When he told the world he would walk away from the lead in the U.S. Open at Pinehurst and go home if his wife went into labor with Amanda. Their first daughter was born the day after Father’s Day and his one-stroke loss to Payne Stewart in 1999.
That it took nearly five more years to finally get his first major victory didn’t matter at all. When Mickelson walked off the 18th green at Augusta and picked up each of his daughters, it was a moment as enduring as his winning putt and gravitationally challenged leap.
“Daddy won! Can you believe it?” he said to them.
They’re getting the hang of living with major Dad. When Mickelson won the FBR Open in Phoenix in February, it was Sophia who put it all in perspective when her father was presented the traditional blue blazer of the host Thunderbirds.
“Oh my goodness, Daddy,” she said. “You won a green jacket AND a blue jacket.”
The Dad
As his son was standing over the putt of his life, Phil Mickelson Sr. had only one wish.
“I wish I could see more,” he said.
All the elder Mickelson saw was a wall of green jackets standing up in front of him before his son’s outstretched arms rose above them and the din surrounding the 18th green.
It was a little frustrating for the man who owns Sportscope, the company that makes those sleek, handheld periscopes with the magnification lens that you see at every golf tournament – except the Masters.
“My concern was that I’ve got something in the car that would allow me to enjoy this so much more, and it’s so frustrating that I can’t see,” he said.
In the long run, it was a my minor irritation for the man who in so many ways made the 2004 Masters champion into the golfer he is today.
It was in the back yard 32 years ago that a naturally right-handed toddler became the mirror image of his father. While he hit golf balls, the elder Mickelson would put young Phil in front of him where he would be out of harm’s way.
Before Mickelson was 2, his father gave him a cut-down right-handed wood to play with himself.
“I had it all set up to hit right handed and said, ‘Okay, now you can swing it,’” Phil Sr. said. “And he immediately would go over to where he was and regrip the club left-handed and swing it with the back of the wood.”
The results were surprising.
“The swing was better than anyone can imagine,” his father said. “A good turn, high finish, feet didn’t move, stayed on balance, ended up on his forward foot after he swung. After he did that three times and went back over to his spot, I decided I wasn’t going to change his swing. I changed the golf club.”
Mickelson slept with his filed-down backyard club like most kids sleep with a teddy bear. It now resides in a shadow box in his trophy room.
By the time Mickelson was 3½, his father had to talk the starter into letting him play on an 18-hole course. It was a hit-and-run experience that convinced his father that golf would be his destiny.
“That was a day I’ll never forget,” Phil Sr. said.
The Mom
Mary Mickelson stood among the thousands of people surrounding the 18th green at Augusta National and saw a 9-year-old boy. He was sitting her family room, watching a swashbuckling Spaniard make his victory walk at the Masters.
“Mom, Mom! Come here,” he shouted. “Look, someday that’s going to be me and they’re going to be cheering for me.”
Then she said what any good mother would say: “Oh, yes, Phillip, sure. If you want anything bad enough, you can get it. If you want the Masters, go after the Masters.”
Suddenly the family room is gone, and here comes her 9-year-old turned 33. And everyone all around her is cheering for her son.
“I remember looking at him as he was coming up, and he had that smile on his face and I thought, ‘Phillip, 20-some years ago you said this would happen and now it’s happening,” Mary Mickelson said. “Everybody’s children have certain dreams. Then when you see your child’s dream come true, it is the most incredible feeling. You feel the same exhilaration they must be feeling.”
Since that victory at Augusta, Mickelson’s mother sees a son at peace.
“He’s looking at golf differently now,” she said. “It is fun. It’s really fun. That’s always important when you want to pull off the shots that you want to do.”
The Sister and The Grandpa
Phil Mickelson’s maternal grandfather, Al Santos, was a collector of dreams.
Every time Mickelson won a tournament, his caddie carefully gathered the flag off the pin at the 18th green so Phil could present it to his grandfather. The flags were displayed on the wall of his grandfather’s kitchen.
By the end of 2002, when Mickelson presented him with two more flags, Santos counted them. There were 21 PGA Tour wins. All of them special. None of the majors.
“Enough of these regular tour wins,” Santos told Mickelson at the end of 2002. “Don’t bring me any more flags unless it’s for a major. I want the Masters up there.”
Mickelson didn’t collect any flags in a difficult 2003 season. When the family gathered for the usual post-Christmas dinner at their grandparents’ home, Santos was 97 and fading. Everybody knew it was time to say goodbye.
When the dinner and the emotional tributes were done, Santos called Mickelson over for the final words he would ever say to his grandson.
“This is your year,” he whispered. “You’re going to win the Masters.”
Santos passed away on January 8, 2004 – 17 days before Mickelson won his 22nd PGA Tour event in his season debut at the Bob Hope Desert Classic.
Tina Mickelson, Phil’s older sister, was especially close to Santos – the kind of closeness years of weekly dinners and tableside chats can form. She sobbed at the thought of her grandfather being gone.
“You will know I’m there,” Santos told her. “I will come back and say hello to you in any way, shape or form that I can.”
After his death, Tina Mickelson started having dreams about him. Random dreams about random things, like telling her where he’d left some keys. She’d tell her mother and sure enough the keys would be there.
“I was shown that he really was telling me things,” Tina said.
So when her grandfather visited her in a dream a month before the Masters tournament, it never occurred to her that it wasn’t real. To her it was a vision, like showing her the keys to the near future.
“He and I were standing behind the 18th green at Augusta,” Tina said. “There was nobody else there. It was dead silent. Phil was the only one on the green. He knew he had to make that putt to win the Masters. It was the exact same putt had that Sunday – 18-footer downhill, little bit of a break.
“I turned to my grandfather and said, ‘Oh, I want him to make this so bad.’ He said, ‘Honey, why do you even question whether or not it’s going to go in? It’s going to go in. I know it is. Even if I have to help it, it’s going in.”
In his sister’s dream, Mickelson’s putt fell in. On April 11, 2004, the dream came true.
“The roar of the crowd was so deafeningly loud, it woke me up,” Tina said of the dream. “That doesn’t make sense, I know. But I remember saying to myself, ‘Oh my God, he’s going to win.’”
She didn’t tell her brother about the dream. She didn’t even tell her parents for fear it might get back to Phil and somehow jinx him.
But she couldn’t keep it a secret.
“I called three of my best friends and said you’ve got to go to Vegas and put a bet down,” she said. “He’s going to win.”
So Tina Mickelson walked around Augusta National Golf Club that Sunday confident she’d already seen the outcome. She never felt more sure of anything. Even when her brother trailed Ernie Els by three at one point on the back nine. Even walking up the final hole as her mother fretted about where everybody should meet in the event of a playoff. Tina kept telling her to save her energy.
“Relax, Mom,” she said. “Don’t worry about it. There’s not going to be a playoff.”
Eventually, Tina reached the 18th green and sidled up to a spot to watch. As Mickelson stepped over his putt, the dream flashed back.
“This is exactly where we were standing,” she said to herself. “This is exactly the putt. This is exactly the view I had. I know you’re here grandpa even though I can’t see you. I know this is going in.”
The noise built as the ball rolled toward the hole. It started to drift left before catching the lip and curling into the cup. The rapturous eruption was as loud as anything Tina Mickelson dreamed.
Mickelson hadn’t seen his sister’s dream – he lived it. And when it was over and he reflected to the media, his grandfather immediately came to mind.
“It was hanging on that left lip,” he said of the putt. “Instead of falling off, it caught that lip and circled around and went in. I can’t help but think that he may have had a little something to do with that.”
Tina still hadn’t told her brother about the dream, so when she heard him mention Santos she couldn’t help but hear her grandfather say again, “even if I have to help it, it’s going in.”
“It freaked me out,” she said. “He brought up my grandfather and I had to leave the room. I just lost it. It was amazing.”