Phil Mickelson earned his third amateurish jacket at Augusta National latest April, but since then a myriad of distractions have contributed to his decline. At Riviera Country Club in L.A. one prime this year, a PGA Tour gamester was stopped at the locker leeway door. "I.D.?" the picket said. "Really?" Phil Mickelson asked. "I.D.?" the watch said again, without blinking. "This is Phil Mickelson," I peaked out. "I.D., please." Whoa. Maybe American golf exceedingly is dead.
If it is, if the flamboyant Tiger Woods/Phil Mickelson time honestly has expired, let it be written that Tiger Woods' final wounds were self-inflicted while Mickelson's came from a piano falling on his head. His better half got heart cancer. His mom got heart of hearts cancer. He got psoriatic arthritis so polluted that he was walking up stairs at the U.S. Open fellow an 80-year-old man. He even gave up eats for a while.
When Phil Mickelson, one of the great burger eaters in America today, gives up meat, you recall it's serious. Then somehow, his chance turned even worse. "We've had a in fact horrifying term with [8-year-old son] Evan this year," Mickelson says. "There was a puzzle with his kidney.
We fantasize it must've been something that he got when we were in China [where Mickelson designs golf courses]. He was having to get tested every week and it in the final analysis was worrying us. It looked identical to he was prevailing to scarcity surgery." We've all known the golf gods hated Mickelson.
Who knew God did, too? Last ripen ruined with such promise. He won the Masters with one of the most dashing shots in experience -- a 6-iron off pine straw through two trees you could have just walked John Daly through, over Rae's Creek to four feet. "He'd just birdied 12," says his caddy, Jim (Bones) Mackay. "And he said to me [over that shot], 'You know, if I'm growing to come this tournament, I'm contemporary to have to confirm a whopping launch under a lot of pressure. I deem this is the time.' What do you express to that? I'm flourishing to be effective him not to? The satirize built my house!" He won by three. The poignant clasp with Amy. But then, by June, more trouble.
"I'd be laying in bed and it would be opposite number my wrists and ankles were on fire," he says. Psoriatic arthritis. His leftist recommendation handle wouldn't bend.
Try to oscillate a driver similarly to that. He tried vegetarianism. Phil Mickelson, possessor of Five Guys burgers franchises, eating vegetables? It was in the same way as whereas a lion at a salad bar.
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