Phil Mickelson and Tiger Woods: one game, 2 different styles

The crown of the PGA Tour’s Everyman has not always rested easily atop Phil Mickelson’s head.

Often, what you saw and what you got were not what you believed.

There were the long lines of autograph seekers who were never left unsatisfied. There were the frequent appearances in pro-am events, especially those long grinds such as the Bob Hope Classic, where Mickelson actually seemed to enjoy every minute and always made his 15-handicap partners feel as if they actually mattered.

Too good to be true? Many thought so.

Then along came his news conference Wednesday morning, the day before he embarks on yet another attempt to win a U.S. Open. These media gatherings are usually exercises in saying the predictable, dishing out just enough vanilla to satisfy the assembled note-takers, and dashing off to a practice round.

Not this time. And seldom with Mickelson, especially not when there is a story line that even a high school journalism student wouldn’t miss.

It wasn’t that there were earthshaking developments about his wife’s breast cancer, or revelations that would move the story forward. Yes, Amy is having surgery soon. Yes, that probably means he won’t play in the British Open, probably won’t return to golf until August. And yes, the reason he is even playing here at all is because, as Mickelson put it, “We have had good news.” He didn’t say exactly what that meant, but it might mean they caught the cancer early or have identified it as less serious than first thought.

What was significant was how Mickelson handled all this, and how it further endears him to a public that is also enamored of the focused, game-face approach of Tiger Woods.

Mickelson is the non-Tiger, and that’s all right. There is room for both. If we admire Woods, that does not mean we cannot admire Mickelson. Different styles don’t just make for great boxing matches. They work in golf too, if they are recognized for what they are.

Many observers of the sport say that Mickelson’s coming of age as the blue collar man of the people got its start right here, at Bethpage State Park in 2002, where New Yorkers adopted him and rooted him on as only New York sports fans can. He walked the fairways with his usual big grin, nodded recognition when they yelled his name, bumped a fist or two and finished second.

To Tiger.

This was New York. If you can make it here, you’ll make it anywhere. And Mickelson made it here in a big way.

Flash forward to his chat Wednesday morning. He talked about how his daughters served him breakfast in bed Tuesday for his 39th birthday, about how he loves the birthday presents Amy gets him because he doesn’t have very good taste in fashion.

Every reference to the surgery ahead and the decisions to be made carried the word “we.” Mickelson clearly doesn’t see himself as a bystander.

“We have a good game plan,” he said, and he wasn’t referring to golf. And, “When we were diagnosed. . . . “

The news conference wandered through the normal questions about whether playing golf this week would be a sanctuary or a distraction. And it took little side streets, with Mickelson thanking reporters who had written about his wife’s situation and saying he had called some of them personally, as well as with him admitting that he loves New York fans so much he has boned up on the Knicks and Nets and Rangers and Jets and Giants in preparation for his week here.

Nobody calls writers to thank them. Mickelson did.

Nobody admits to prepping for the satisfaction of the fans. Mickelson did.

Many will see this as both calculated and phony. Some of us who once did don’t any more.

If Mickelson suffers from anything in the world of athletic image building, it is that the guy who plays Hertz to his Avis in golf is Tiger. They are so diametrically opposed in styles that fans seem inclined to pull for one to the exclusion of the other.

Woods marches courses with steely resolve and bulletproof focus. Mickelson galumphs along, grinning and chatting. Tiger is the tour’s Rock of Gibraltar. Mickelson is more like the tour’s Charles Barkley, golf’s round mound.

Tiger won last year’s U.S. Open by stalking it for 91 holes on a broken leg and torn-up knee. When Mickelson won his first major, the 2004 Masters, he sank a long putt on the last hole and gave a victory leap that was a testimonial to the accuracy of Ron Shelton’s movie premise: White men can’t jump.

Somehow, these things always seem to translate into public perception of an unfriendly Tiger-Phil rivalry.

That was magnified late last year when Woods’ caddie, Stevie Williams, said at a function in New Zealand that Mickelson “didn’t respect him.” He also called Mickelson a name that can’t be printed in a family newspaper, other than in front page Showtime ads for “Nurse Jackie.”

Apologies were made, the situation diffused. But the public remembers that and doesn’t see the flip side in private:

Tiger and Phil as archrivals and frequent competitors in table tennis, where the laughs and banter is nonstop.

Tiger and Phil playfully exchanging verbal jousts at breakfast the morning they were paired for this year’s final round of the Masters.

It is likely that 90% of the fan interest this week will center on Tiger or Phil. Nothing wrong with the “or” in that sentence being an “and.”

You can root for the guy who will stare down the fairways with a laser beam. Or for the guy who may just stop and chat with your Uncle Tony along the 11th fairway.

Or root for both. It is allowed.

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bill.dwyre@latimes.com