The outlook was so brilliant for Phil Mickelson that day,
He led the U.S. Open with but one round left to play;
Two majors in a row and with a third so nearly gained,
The excitement of the patrons could hardly be contained.

Rough longer than commercials to provide the sternest test,
And greens as hard as Daly's head ensured the players stressed;
If only Phil could navigate round Winged Foot close to par,
Just keep himself together, sans anything bizarre.

Furyk bogeyed 15 with the always dreaded snake,
A 6 foot miss at 18 proved his fatal last mistake;
The man had played his heart out but grim melancholy sat;
A master of the flat stick, his fall resembled Pratt.

There on the last stood Monty, his ball was laying swell,
A mediocre swing and he could break the wicked spell;
A career of opportunities had missed the famous brat,
Alas again at 18 an approach shot struck too fat.

Two cuts had sidelined Tiger, let history recall,
And destiny seemed standing with Lefty and his ball;
The New York crowd was rooting for the man that they preferred,
No challenger forthcoming with deference to absurd.

Geoff Ogilvy was steady and innocuously placed,
The pressure squeezing others seemed absent from his face;
He deftly chipped at 17 the ball into the jar,
A chip and putt at 18 and at both he had saved par.

Still just one common number was all that there remained,
Between the chosen hero, fate seemed to preordain;
Though errant off the tee box all throughout the round,
The keepers of misfortune had barely made a sound.

So to the tee at 18 he confidently strode,
Adrenalin was pumping, some say it overflowed;
As circumstance seemed begging for a cautionary play,
A caddie lost his voice and left his horse to run astray.

While timing danced with chance with an outcome yet begat,
Serendipity came calling and common sense just sat.
And so he drew the big stick, the man they call The Thrill,
And way up in the booth Johnny Miller felt a chill.

Unrestrained by caddie and unrestrained by Phil,
Lefty played the gambler and put driver to the pill;
The sphere reacted angrily and to the left it bent,
Yet somehow it remained in play by bouncing off a tent.

And now we knew that Drama had awakened in a pique,
With plenty of mischief and mayhem yet to wreak;
Yet still there was a safe play, with bogey worst of lot,
A bullet dodged it seemed no time to try a hero's shot.

But habit wasn't budging after waiting for this game,
The participant felt comfort in reverting to the same;
Half a brain was stifled by the half that took control,
Sugar plums and glory pars were dancing as the goal.

So once again strategy offered up her test,
And once again, with safety shunned, the golf ball was addressed;
A mighty blow delivered the ball caromed off a tree,
It dropped just feet from whence it came and now he's hitting three.

Watching in the clubhouse after earning second place,
A stunned Geoff Ogilvy was now back in the race;
A playoff now seemed likely, but not yet in the bag,
And victory hid grinning 'hind a monumental gag.

With a million eyes upon him and a game in disarray,
A storied shot of legend now remained the only play;
He summoned all the talent that upon him was bestowed,
And sent that ball a green-ward and after it he strode.

It could have landed anywhere, it could have sat up nice,
But on this day the game was being played with loaded dice;
The ball had found the bunker, for pro's an easy shot,
But this time ignominiously it buried in its spot.

Reality no longer crept it sat right on his chest,
Par seemed lost and bogey now remained the only quest;
But even this was now a goal so far from normal thought,
Against himself against all odds, still valiantly he fought.

He blasted with his fourth shot, across the green it ran,
To capture such a blur you'd need a brush stroke from Cezanne;
It settled in the thick grass, it nestled in the rough,
The shocked and reeling faithful had seen about enough.

Yet five was still a number that kept the fight alive,
The legendary short game had one shot to contrive;
The final act was on the stage and up the curtain went
The last hurrah, a desperate chip toward the hole was sent.

And not a breath was taken as the ball played out its role,
But never did it have a chance of going in the hole;
So now the play was over and the crowd was not impressed
"I am such an idiot" their hero soon confessed.

But somewhere in a far off land a favored boy is king,
A U. S. Open trophy was captured with his swing;
Geoff Ogilvy was champion and how such title earned ?
Possibly it wasn't till Spill Fickelton returned.

©  Anguis Darrat  2006