Tough Luck Is Par for His Event

Let’s get this over with right now. Consider it fair warning: Any golfer who comes to the U.S. Open with the idea of trying to even the score is setting himself up for a nasty case of heartbreak.

The U.S Open is simply not that kind of golf outing. It doesn’t give breaks, it breaks you. The most common injury is a compound fracture of the psyche. With only a few exceptions, such as Tiger Woods’ 15-shot victory last year at Pebble Beach, the winner doesn’t triumph nearly as much as he survives.

This is what U.S. Open history tells us. The characteristic sound of the Open is that of a door slamming.

Consider that Sam Snead won 81 PGA Tour events, more than any other player in history. But he won the U.S. Open zero times.

Now, if the Open were fair, it would have just rolled over on its back somewhere along the line and given Snead at least one title to stick under his snap-brimmed hat. However, the U.S. Open did not care about Sam Snead, no matter how hard he tried to make nice.

Arnold Palmer’s star shines among the brightest in golf’s grand array, but he won only one U.S. Open. And he had to shoot a 65 on the last day to do that. Sure, Palmer was second four times and twice lost in playoffs, but the guy wins 73 times around the world and he can win the Open only once in the 29 years he played it?

All this should be fresh on the minds of a few select players this week at Southern Hills, where the 101st U.S. Open is up for grabs, although probably not for them.

Phil Mickelson, David Duval, Tom Lehman and Colin Montgomerie . . . these guys have shown up trying to win the Open and either erase some bad memories or validate their careers. Worthy intentions, bad choice of venue.

It’s a small, private club these guys belong to. The logo is crossed hankies over a veil of tears.

If Mickelson isn’t the world’s best player who hasn’t won a major yet, then Duval is . . . or Montgomerie is. Lehman already has a major title--he won the British Open at Royal Lytham in 1996--but he hasn’t won much since then.

In the interim, the only constant in Lehman’s life is that he could have won the U.S. Open twice--and managed not to do it either time. There has been a bunch of chances there for Lehman, who has played in the last group on Sunday four times and has been blanked.

In the 1996 Open at Oakland Hills in suburban Detroit, Lehman was the 54-hole leader, but closed with a 71 and tied for second. At the 1997 Open at Congressional in Bethesda, Md., Lehman was once again the 54-hole leader, but dunked his tee shot into the water on the 71st hole and wound up third.

Lehman is a calm and reflective sort whose necklace of puka shells say he is carefree and relaxed. He insists he doesn’t lose any sleep over coming close and failing. Neither does he look at what has happened in anything but a positive way.

Of course, what this actually means is that Lehman’s insides resemble either a spilled plate of spaghetti or a road under construction.

Mickelson has played 222 tournaments and hasn’t won a major, which indicates that every time he shows up at one of golf’s premier tournaments, he carries a burden so heavy on his head, it might even muss his hair.

Mickelson nearly won the 1999 U.S. Open at Pinehurst, N.C., and would have been in a playoff if Payne Stewart hadn’t steered in a 20-foot putt on the 72nd hole to beat him by a shot.

The story is much the same for Duval, who has three top 10s in the last three U.S. Open championships, but nothing better than a tie for second in any major. Duval’s streak of tournaments without a major title has stretched to 168.

Montgomerie is not as easy to love as Lehman, Mickelson and Duval, not with his haughty demeanor, so rich and condescending, but his plight is just as compelling as his brothers in grief.

It’s hard to forget the sight of the overweight and red-faced Monty in the searing heat of the 1994 Open at Oakmont, Pa., when he showed up for the 18-hole Monday playoff wearing a coal-black shirt that basically served as a microwave with sleeves. He was no factor and Ernie Els won.

At the 1997 Open at Congressional, Montgomerie ran afoul of hecklers, wound up second to Els again and shed a tear afterward. Somewhere, off in the distance, a door was slamming.

And now these four are here again, trying to get it right this time. The U.S. Open has wronged them all, so they are expecting better treatment at Southern Hills.

Can you blame them? If you think about it, it’s only human nature for figures in sports, where philosophies such as “What goes around, comes around,” and, “It all evens up,” are what allow them to come back after striking out four times last night, expecting to bang a double off the wall today.

That’s all well and good, but the problem here is that the U.S. Open throws a nasty curveball. The thing is, don’t expect any favors. Or even fairness. Remember that there are 156 players who have the dream of winning on Sunday and 155 of them won’t.

Maybe, though, this is the one time the U.S. Open has a heart. Then again, maybe not. Just remember, there’s a chance you can get ‘em next time, so hang in there, your time is coming.

(Was that convincing?)