It was weird to see Phil Mickelson drive up in a cart. You always see star athletes with others and imagine there must be people around them constantly; agents, managers, friends, groupies, stalkers, and so on. So it was surreal when Phil pulled up to the Del Mar Country Club range alone, walked over, handed me a cup of coffee (in his logoed cup), and said, "We’re partners today. I need you at your best. Drink this." That is how I met one of the greatest golfers of our time.
A minute later, I was skulling and chunking chips with Phil watching me.
I can't explain how embarrassing that is. Truly. I'm an okay golfer. I used to be good but the chipping yips have plagued me for years. Now I am standing on a practice area with a six-time Major winner, and the already crippling anxiety I usually feel over a chip is thirty times worse. I grip the club so tight that my knuckles turn white. Chunk, skull, decent one, skull, skull. Finally and mercifully, Phil tells me to stop. "I've got a tournament to play soon. I can't watch that much longer." One of the many Phil zingers I’d hear over the next two days. It stung a bit and made me laugh.
