With the leaderboard in flux on the back nine at Muirfield, Phil Mickelson settled into his stance for an eight-foot birdie putt. It was the final hole of the Open Championship, and the field had come unglued more or less as expected at a tournament that prides itself on reminding the world’s best golfers of their inherent fallibility.
Lefty outlasts the field at Open Championship
to his first Open title. Photo by © Jon Super/AP
With the leaderboard in flux on the back nine at Muirfield, Phil Mickelson settled into his stance for an eight-foot birdie putt. It was the final hole of the Open Championship, and the field had come unglued more or less as expected at a tournament that prides itself on reminding the world’s best golfers of their inherent fallibility.
Lee Westwood had started the day with the outright lead, then bogeyed the eighth and added three more before he was done to post a 75 that shattered any chance he had to win his first major. Tiger Woods, a three-time Open winner on a five-year losing streak at the majors, had kept himself within reach of the lead for most of the tournament before his defiant putting over the previous three rounds finally went cold. Ian Poulter had made his move just a little too late, while Adam Scott had run out of ideas and finished the day where he started, treading water around third place.
Mickelson was tied for ninth when play began on Sunday morning but told a reporter that a score in the 60s would likely be enough to take the trophy at the most unforgiving stop on the PGA calendar. As it turns out, he was absolutely right. By the time he lined up a slightly downhill putt on the 18th green, Mickelson was four under par for the day and had passed nine golfers on his way up to first position on the leaderboard.
He could have missed the putt and likely still held on for the victory. But after finishing second last month at the U.S. Open—a tournament where he has served as the runner-up six times but never won—there was nothing about the last eight feet of his round that Mickelson was willing to leave to chance. So he took his time, making sure he was completely satisfied with his line, and brushed gently forward through the stroke. The ball moved most of the way on its own momentum after contact, picking up speed just a bit and breaking slightly to the left where he thought it would.
Mickelson realized the ball was headed home an instant before the crowd did and raised his arms as it dropped into the cup to wrap up his 66. When a tournament plays out like this, it’s common to say that the victor “stole” the championship. And even though the phrase isn’t meant to be disparaging, it would not only be unfair in this case, it would be wholly inaccurate. Lefty did exactly what he knew he needed to do, and the rest of the field couldn’t keep up. It was more than enough.
