ESPN 2007 Masters

"I am such an idiot."

Most great golfers -- with self-described "yellow dog" Bobby Jones the notable exception -- don't go there. They might disparage a golf shot, but almost never themselves. An inner firewall as fundamental to what they do as a good grip prevents such an emotional meltdown, and revealing any weakness at all is considered, well, weak.

Phil on Phil
What does Phil Mickelson have to say about Phil Mickelson? Read his first-person ESPN The Magazine piece to find out. Story

We prefer it that way, taking vicarious strength from those who seem bulletproof. That's why Phil Mickelson's despairing words after his final-hole disaster at last year's U.S. Open at Winged Foot were so unsettling.

Win or lose, he always had been Unflappable Phil: the smile, the adoring family, the autographs, the upbeat postmortems. Mickelson's fans found him so squeezable he might as well have been made of Charmin, the killjoy Mr. Whipples of the world be damned. Failure flew away from Mickelson like grass blades tossed into the wind, and even his train wrecks seemed cushioned. After holing the winning putt on the last green of the 1999 U.S. Open, Payne Stewart grabbed Mickelson's face and reminded Phil he was about to become a father. And Mickelson's ruinous three-jack from six feet on the 71st hole at Shinnecock Hills in 2004 didn't keep adoring New York fans from bathing him in a prolonged ovation on the 72nd. It has been as if the man's resilience belongs to all of golf.

But Winged Foot was more than a derailment. It was a perfect storm of hurt, the cruel game at its cruelest. After the most thorough course reconnaissance since Hogan at Carnoustie, Mickelson for 71 holes brought all the heart, intelligence, concentration and short-game artistry he could muster to overcome a severe case of the sprays. When he arrived at the final tee, the treasure awaiting him seemed to spread all the way to the green: a third consecutive major championship, a third leg to not only the career Grand Slam but a so-called MickelSlam, and the most substantive challenge to the supremacy of Tiger Woods.

Perhaps overwhelmed by all the pending history, perhaps completely blank, perhaps lost in a desperate search for a swing, but determined to call on the same soft-fade driver that he had executed successfully on the final hole of his three major victories, Mickelson popped out of his follow-through and pushed his driver left off a corporate tent. Fortunate to catch a good lie that made trying a slice 3-iron from 210 yards an eminently doable shot, Mickelson, with a world of room to the right, hit an even worse push than he had with his driver, sending the ball crashing into a maple tree. It began a chain reaction of three desperation shots, none of which came off. Squatting behind his putt for double bogey, Mickelson held his head and for once appeared crushed.

"I was watching on television when the camera showed Phil's face on the 18th green," remembers Mickelson's sister Tina. "I had seen that expression only once or twice before. I went completely numb. And then I started to cry." Rubbed raw, and too emotionally honest to pretend he was fine, Mickelson told the millions watching, "I am such an idiot."

As he heads to the Masters, Mickelson's words echo so hauntingly that it's easy to forget that the last time we were in Augusta, Woods was helping him on with his second green jacket. Or that Mickelson has 30 official PGA Tour victories, including his three majors since 2004. That his best golf -- like his 13-stroke victory last year the week before the Masters -- might be better than anyone else's. That he has bounced back -- from fallow years, erratic short putting, Sunday sorrow -- many times before.

Still, the pathos of Winged Foot seemed to not only dwarf those accomplishments but demand an assessment of the damage. Asked to speculate on his emotional state as he opened his 2007 season, Mickelson sighed at questions that cited Palmer, Jacklin and Norman as former greats who lost their mojo after major heartbreaks. "Who knows?" he said. "Maybe I will, too." Then, more firmly, he added, "It won't be put to bed until I play well."

Mickelson did just that in winning by five strokes at the AT&T Pebble Beach National Pro-Am in February. Putting together a final-round 66 in which he made nine birdies, Mickelson showed the ball control and fortitude that were in question after Winged Foot. Over four rounds, he tied for the lead in greens hit in regulation and was tied for fourth in driving accuracy.

"I believe I'm going to take what happened at Winged Foot and make it a plus for the rest of my career," Mickelson said afterward. "I think I'm going to be a better driver of the ball for the rest of my career. At least that's the goal."

It reversed a post-U.S. Open trend that had some Mickelson critics calling for Dr. Phil. Following a second half of 2006 in which he never finished better than T-16 and ended with a listless 0-4-1 performance at the Ryder Cup, Mickelson opened this year T-45, T-51 and missed the cut.

But Mickelson's greatest strength might be figuring things out. At 36, he has become more knowing than know-it-all, more wise than wiseguy. After a decade of trying to fulfill the role of designated challenger to Tiger Woods, Mickelson tacitly has accepted that Tiger is more physically gifted, possesses better swing mechanics, is more well-rounded through the bag, and is more driven, consistent and mentally tough.

What makes any future role reversal most unlikely is their drastically different approach to improvement. Woods embarked on swing overhauls after some of his most impressive feats (1997 Masters, the Tiger Slam), and he thrills to the process. Mickelson possesses the more typical quality of being influenced by outcomes. After reporting early this year that Winged Foot forced him to address the swing flaw that caused him to hit so many pushed tee shots, Mickelson was asked what his approach to the pushes would have been if he had hit his drive on the 72nd hole down the middle. "I probably wouldn't have addressed them, no," he said. "Because I would have won the tournament."

It's not a fair fight, and Mickelson has made the smart play. When asked about Woods, he immediately defers to his greatness. "I don't think of comparing myself to him," he says. "I'm trying to win tournaments, and I know that's tougher when he's in the field. But I love competing against him. It makes the majors I do win that much more fulfilling."

When Mickelson short-game coach Dave Pelz said before last year's PGA Championship, "When Phil's at his best, I'm thinking nobody can beat him. His short game, I believe, is the best in the world," it was widely theorized that such a bold statement would anger Woods. But the next day, Woods' swing coach, Hank Haney, sidled up to Pelz and said, "D.P., Tiger says you're right." The easier interaction between the players was also evidenced in spirited Ping-Pong games in the team room at the Ryder Cup.

Most important, accepting that he isn't and can't be Tiger has freed Phil to be Phil. Through trial and error, Mickelson has learned that concentrated periods of intense preparation, including early visits to major-championship sites with Pelz and swing coach Rick Smith, bring out his analytical strengths. Mickelson has taken the Nicklaus template to new lengths, banking that by working hard enough on the right things at the right time, he can, in effect, "out-peak" Tiger.

Mickelson started clicking off majors with this approach (2004 Masters, 2005 PGA, 2006 Masters), and he credits his elaborate preparation at Winged Foot as the main reason he was able to stay in the lead despite erratic ball striking. The result only deepened his conviction that he is on the right track. When asked if he would be happy to retire with five career majors, Mickelson says, "Just two more? I wouldn't be happy with that. If that happened, I would be really upset."

Accordingly, Mickelson returned from a four-month hiatus from competitive golf, including excursions to Italy and Bora Bora, with a new plan.

His first priority was his body. At 6-feet, 3 inches, Mickelson was closing in on 250 pounds by late 2006, and he had huffed and puffed at the finish at Winged Foot and during his two-a-day matches at the Ryder Cup. It was enough for Mickelson to commit like never before to his personal trainer, Sean Cochran, who designed a workout that emphasized weightlifting, martial-arts-style kicks and core training to make his man stronger, leaner and more flexible. "In the past, Phil was a hard sell on training, and especially on eating right," says Cochran, who began working with Mickelson in 2002. "He's an enormously gifted guy, and sometimes those people get in the habit of skating on their talent. Phil has finally broken that syndrome."

The results of three months of work were apparent in more muscularity and the hint of a waistline taper when Mickelson made his 2007 debut. Indeed, Mickelson attributed his lack of precise distance control with his irons in his first few tournaments to the increased size and strength in his upper arms.

As for the elimination, or at least a reduction, of the "left shot" off the tee, it's an unstated but accepted tenet in the Mickelson camp that Phil has been playing catch-up on his swing fundamentals since he was a teenager. In retrospect, Mickelson's talent proved to be his long-term enemy, because his gifted hands reduced the urgency to correct mechanical flaws. Mickelson's swing remained too long and loose, his downswing too narrow and steep, and his resulting balance too unsteady for him to be a truly consistent ball-striker.

Under pressure, the poor drive that has cropped up the most has been a severe push slice to the left. The root problem is the highly active leg action that has been a hallmark of Mickelson's swing. Because the shaft of Mickelson's driver goes well past parallel on the backswing, if the sequence of his forward leg motion is too early, his arms and hands stay behind, crowding his left shoulder. An extra-steep downswing results, requiring precise hand action to square the clubface. Because an over-release of the hands and resulting hook is more damaging to a player with Mickelson's power, his more common mistake has been to leave the clubface open.

It's what happened on his final drive and second shot at Winged Foot. "All I'm trying to do is square up the face a little quicker," he says.

"Phil learned to play by driving his legs on the downswing and hanging back through the ball," says Smith. "He relied a lot on rhythm and feel to square the clubface. To get a more consistent and repeating impact, we've worked to quiet his lower-body transition. The main theme, with the weight training and the mechanics, is more stability in the swing."

The fix, ironically, is to become more like Woods in mechanics. Employing the increased strength and flexibility, Mickelson will endeavor to wind his upper body more tightly against a more stable and resistant lower half. The result will be a backswing that is wider and more compact, which will trigger a more rotational downswing in which the leg movement is less pronounced and the arms don't get as close to the left shoulder, creating a more sweeping angle of attack that will facilitate more accurate driving. It's the same process Mickelson went through to improve the flight and distance control with his middle and short irons, clubs with which he frequently uses a more compact swing with reduced leg action.

The ultimate goal is consistency and the elimination of long periods of swing confusion. The latest occurred when he came back from his two-week break after winning the Masters only to discover he had lost the swing that had worked so well. Despite a furious effort to find it before Winged Foot, he never did.

Mentor Jackie Burke Jr. worries that Mickelson is relying too much on instructors. "I just don't think he has the confidence to know he can hit the shot that's required," says Burke. "Especially the shot in play off the tee."

Since Winged Foot, Mickelson deliberately kept answers about his emotional recovery more evasive than incisive. Asked directly if he is scarred by the experience, he said, "No. A scar happened in 1994 when I broke open my leg [skiing] and they cut it open and stuck in a rod. That's a scar."

For what it's worth, those closest to him say that resilience always has been a strength.

"I know people think Philip has been devastated, but they don't know him," says his mother, Mary. "Even as a little boy, things never bothered him for very long. When he took his first hard losses in junior golf, I'd meet him when he finished and say, 'Oh, Philip, I'm so sorry.' And he'd say, 'Mom, it's OK.' In the same way, I'm sure I worried more about the effect of the U.S. Open than he has. We haven't talked about it, but I've learned there's no need to. He's always been very good about saying, 'It's over,' and positively moving on. He actually started that process at Winged Foot when he stayed out there on Sunday and signed autographs. I've never been more proud of him."

Adds sister Tina: "It's not that Phil denies his emotions. If it hurts, he'll let it hurt, and he'll show it with his mood or what he says. But then it's done. I'm sure Winged Foot hurt a lot more than any of the others, which is why it was so hard for us to watch it happen. But I know it taught him a lot.

"That's how we were brought up," Tina adds. "I remember one of the first times our dad took us skiing, and Phil and I were bragging to each other, 'I haven't fallen. I haven't fallen.' And my dad heard us and said, 'That's too bad, because the more you fall, the more you learn.' So we both started trying new things, and by the end of the day we were bragging about how often we fell. Because we could tell that it had made us better.

"So yes, he fell very hard at Winged Foot. But as far as winning U.S. Opens in the future, it was the absolute best way to lose."

If that sounds like a reach, consider that Burke, a two-time major winner, essentially concurs.

"You know, Winged Foot is not going to bother him one bit," said the 84-year-old Texan. "It happens to everybody who gets between those markers. I did stuff like that in tournaments 50 times. You mix it up in tournament golf, you get your nose bloodied. Maybe it was worse because it looked like he might catch Tiger, but he knows he's not going to be Tiger Woods."

Augusta is where we start to find out how close Mickelson is to healing. And for those who still shudder at the memory of Winged Foot, it's worth remembering that after Bobby Jones' "yellow-dog" finish at the 1923 U.S. Open -- bogey, bogey, double bogey -- he won his first major championship in a playoff the next day. And know this: Phil Mickelson is no idiot.

Jaime Diaz is a senior writer for Golf World magazine