The joyous telling of a great golf win, from one of the sport’s most admired figures.
No one had ever doubted the quality of Mickelson’s game, but despite the fact that he’d won dozens of times on the PGA tour, he had yet to win a major championship. This was more a concern of golf scribes and fans than of Mickelson, who was very happy making a handsome living doing what he loved—namely, whacking a small, dimpled ball about groomed landscapes. Here, with the polishing hand of Phillips, he chronicles his spectacular 2004 Masters win, hole by hole, allowing golf aficionados an extended scrutiny into the head of a golfer at the top of his game. As he recounts that final round, he takes readers into his life: Mickelson is a G-rated guy, but he carries it off with charm. His family comes first, ever and always, and his marriage and the birth of his children take up equal, and delightful, page space with his golfing exploits. So, too, do the words of his mother and father, his wife and children, his coaches and friends, who get extended boxed quotes as Mickelson goes about his game. Who could possibly sneer at Mickelson’s happy childhood, with a father who emphasized the fun of the game? Readers can only marvel that the golfer might be thinking about solar eclipses, spiral galaxies, or that shots made him think about musical composers—“That’s a wedge. That’s Mozart.” But he also appreciates the level of the competition, bemoaning a shot that “falls about an inch short and rolls down into the bunker” after having traveled 200 yards. Mickelson is a freewheeling charger, taking chances because that’s where happiness resides, though he’s aware that a million practice strokes paid his dues.
A luminous story of a golfer having a fine old time and, for duffers, an instructive study of playing Augusta.