As he strolled up to the final green at Sunday's Masters, Phil Mickelson's smile spoke louder than any words could.
As Phil Mickelson walked up the 18th hole at Augusta National Sunday something about the sly grin stretched across his face said that he knew what was about to happen. He was tied for the Masters lead with Ernie Els, and his approach shot landed a stone’s flick away from the hole. He hits it in, and he wins.
Maybe, at that point, Mickelson saw a flash of light. Maybe, across his mind for a split second, he envisioned a monkey jump off his back, scamper through the fairway and disappear into the woods, never to be seen again. Maybe there was a tingle in his fingers or a supernatural phenomenon that told him he would make the 20-foot putt that would give him the 2004 Masters and his first Major victory.
And maybe that phenomenon made Mickelson smile.
So there wasMickelson , walking up the fairway, applause showering him from every angle. He was 20-feet away from either a grand triumph or yet another heartbreak. And he looked like he was in Sears for a family portrait. But there was something about his swagger that suggested he knew the outcome.
Sure, maybe Mickelson was enjoying the moment. Maybe years of being tagged with the label of the best golfer never to win a major championship had taught him to enjoy these rare moments as they come. Perhaps Mickelson had learned that when you are tied for the lead on the last hole of golf’s most prestigious tournament, you should realize that life can’t get much better.
Maybe it was the criticism he’s taken over the years. The golf experts who said he would never win a major because he didn’t have that killer instinct. Is it possible that inside his head, Mickelson thought of those who cried that his passion for 300-yard drives, and lack-there-of for the short game would always do him in? Maybe he was laughing to himself because they were right. Perhaps he knew that he was in this position largely because of renewed dedication to the precision short game instead of a series of monstrous drives.
Maybe Mickelson was grinning because had drowned out the critics, drowned out the applause, drowned out the pressure of the putt and decided that he would take the moment and make it his. Maybe he thought about his four second place finishes at the Masters and assured himself that this time he would take his rightful place among golf’s elite.
Most likely, Mickelson’s smile was a reflection of possibilities and a culmination of a life-long dream. He had one putt to make to convert dream to reality. He was the only player in contention left on the course. The gods of his sport smiled down on him Sunday and he decided to smile back, simply because it was his time.
He knew.
He had to. Why else would he have been smiling?