Lefty finally gets it right

AUGUSTA, Ga. -- The explanations for no majors were always there, and many of them were legitimate. If Phil Mickelson had really wanted to prove a point before yesterday, he could have agreed to participate in a mock trial. An average lawyer could present the facts and easily show, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, that Mickelson is not a cursed loser.

But none of his fans, in this life or beyond, wanted to hear that kind of debate from Augusta National. They wanted to see Mickelson in a green jacket. And if he had left here without one, they probably would have bought him one from T.J. Maxx (43L), just so he could pretend for a couple hours.

Even Mickelson's late grandfather, who was 97 when he died in January, had joined the critical chorus. Al Santos sounded like Al Davis when he talked to his grandson in December: Just win, preferably at the Amen.

Santos had grown tired of collecting flags from tournaments that contained no golf poetry in three words or less. The Masters. Now that's a major.

Not only did Mickelson win the first major of his career yesterday, he submitted a performance that was worthy of a major motion picture. If you're going to win big for the first time since 1992, why not shoot 31 on the back nine? Why not win by a stroke, sinking a 20-foot birdie putt on 18? Why not listen to the roars for Ernie Els -- who shot a final-round 67 with two eagles -- and see if you can produce some noise of your own?

"It feels awesome," Mickelson said. "I'm so excited. I have a memory or an experience that I'll remember for the rest of my life."

He no longer has to listen to the analogies. He doesn't have to hear that he is Jan Brady, forever in pursuit of Marcia. He doesn't have to hear that he is the Buffalo Bills, climbing ever so close just to be knocked down by a missing helmet or a wide-right field goal.

He was close in 1999, when he lost the US Open on the 72d hole to the late Payne Stewart. After the win, Stewart told him that it was just golf and that he would soon learn the importance of fatherhood and family. Mickelson's first child, Amanda, was born the next day.

He was close in 2001, when he lost the PGA Championship to David Toms. Once again, he lost on the last hole. Well, maybe he didn't actually lose since he wasn't in complete control. He just didn't win.

Yesterday was for winning -- winning that was as aggressive as it was entertaining. Each time the manual leaderboard was updated, the crowds would murmur in anticipation and then cheer or groan. It was like being taken back to the days of telegraphs from Western Union, with people fidgeting as the news slowly trickled in.

Back and forth it went. Ohs for Els. Ahs for Phil. If Mickelson hadn't won, it still would have been a fantastic day of golf. But we've been over this before: No one wanted to hear that story.

As Mickelson prepared to tee off at 12, there was a roar from a gallery in the distance.

"I heard that Ernie had just made eagle," Mickelson said. "I heard the roar. I didn't know what had happened, but I figured he had just made eagle."

Els had taken a three-shot lead. And Mickelson was facing one of the most deceptive holes on the course. The 12th is a 155-yard par 3, fronted by water. The pin is placed on the right of the green, and most golfers know not to aim at it. Your shot has to be nearly perfect or else you might see or hear a splash.

But Mickelson felt that he had a secret on the hole. He has been working on his swing with Rick Smith, and Smith helped him understand that he could aim at the pin without the ball going right. No matter what he did, if he aimed at the flag, his shot was going to go left. He attacked 12 and birdied it, 13, and 14.

"When that putt on 12 went in, I started to feel like I could make this happen," he said.

Finally.

Mickelson knew that people were keeping score of his no-major streak. He had that scorecard on his back, not some figurative monkey. The fans mentioned it. The media mentioned it. Obviously, his family talked about it. And after losing yesterday, Els took what can be described as a mild shot at it.

"Phil deserved this one," Els said. "He won this one. He didn't lose it like some of his other ones. He won this one, and full credit to him."

Objectively, it shouldn't have mattered this much. Mickelson shouldn't have been dogged about his inability to acquire the major bling. There is an unfair obsession with great athletes who don't win big. As if. As if Mickelson was somehow less talented than Larry Mize, Tommy Aaron, and Charlie Coody -- all of whom won Masters.

As if Dan Marino lacked something that Joe Montana and John Elway didn't. As if Oscar Robertson was incomplete in the 1960s (there was this dynastic team called the Celtics that he had to worry about).

It shouldn't have mattered in yesteryear, and it shouldn't have mattered yesterday. But it did and does. Fortunately for Mickelson, the constant association with second (and third) place is no longer his problem.

Michael Holley is a Globe columnist. His e-mail address is holley@globe.com.