
FARMINGDALE, N.Y. -- Just once, as his pleading fandom mustered a "Let's Go, Phil!" chant with the vocal force of a late-inning Yankees rally, you wanted him to focus and make the damned putt. All his life,
Phil Mickelson has been missing the shorties in the critical moments. Now, as his cancer-stricken wife and concerned kids watched on TV in San Diego, he was standing over a ball that could pave his path to one of the most inspirational victories in the history of, well, sports.
This was on the 17th green at Bethpage Black, where Mickelson was being hand-delivered his first
U.S. Open title by a chorus line of stumbling wannabes -- that is, if he could take advantage. He had nailed a 35-foot birdie putt at No. 12, sending familiar roars blasting through the trees and quaint, Buttafuocoan homes of suburban Long Island. On the 13th, he ripped an approach to within a few feet of the cup and converted an eagle. Was the Win One For Amy dream actually going to happen? Was a man who has experienced so much heartache in his career -- and, suddenly, in his family life -- about to trump just about anything we've witnessed in recent golfing memory, including the monumental victories of his far more successful rival,
Tiger Woods?