Perfect Father's Day par for course

Some guys have it all.

You can't help but get that feeling when you limit your perspective to the victories and defeats of those paid a king's ransom to romp through a child's playground.

Of course, what you learn over time is that not all those who seem to be on the short end of life really have it so bad, and not all who seem to have it so great are as happy as they would lead you to believe.

But if ever there was a man who had a perfect life, it was Phil Mickelson.

He's a pro athlete. One of the world's top golfers. Winner of majors. Wonderful wife. Beautiful kids. Couldn't spend all the money he's made if he lived to be 500. It's never winter anywhere he resides.

He can hit a lob wedge without needing to deposit the weapon in a lake following his swing.

And he doesn't even have to exercise.

I've spent a lot of time around pro athletes and I'm not sure I've ever come across anyone with a better outlook on life, or one I more envied.

Anyone can blast it into the wrong fairway, but Phil can smile, recover from anywhere on the course and always know deep down that even after a double bogey he's still got that perfect existence.

And then came the news that his wife has breast cancer.

For those of us who have seen the worst that life can offer, you sort of expect that light at the end of the tunnel to be a train headed right for your forehead.

When it's not, you consider it a gift.

But it's not supposed to happen to a guy like Phil, and not to someone like Amy Mickelson. She is often around the practice greens or outside the ropes of PGA Tour events, and frequently corralling the kids on Sunday.

I've spoken to her a couple of times, most memorably during the PGA Championship at Medinah in 2006.

Phil had not shaken the Father's Day Disaster at Winged Foot a couple of months earlier, was invisible at the British Open, and with a 2-over on Sunday at Medinah, he lost to Tiger Woods by a couple of touchdowns.

As Tiger put away the field and strolled toward another major in front of massive galleries often 30 deep, a few thousands yards ahead of him Phil walked slowly up the 18th fairway.

And this part I will never forget.

It was deathly quiet, save a few birds amid the trees.

There was almost no one watching Phil finish a very mediocre Sunday.

I only saw it as I was on my way to catch Tiger's victory march through the back nine.

A few inebriated types yelled some encouragement in Phil's direction, but it was forced and embarrassing.

Phil smiled that Phil smile, waved a thank you and trudged uphill toward his final meaningless putts of the tourney.

He couldn't have been more irrelevant, and with Winged Foot destined to haunt him, I wondered how things could possibly get worse.

Yet, the day before, on Saturday at Medinah, Amy Mickelson tried to reassure me that I need not feel sorry for Phil, that his life couldn't possibly be better.

"He's a good guy and he knows he's a very lucky man," she said. "He has everything a person could ever need. He has a great family, great friends, and he gets paid to play golf. Phil's a happy person. He gets over it and lives his life. (Losing) the U.S. Open didn't ruin him."

Those words echo through my head this weekend.

Phil Mickelson has to pretend golf tournaments matter, when they didn't matter all that much to him before the news of his wife's illness.

Sunday is Father's Day, and Mickelson will have considerably more on his mind than the final round at Bethpage.

Despite brave statements about wanting to win for his wife, he probably wonders more about his future and that of his children, hoping and believing they will have a mom to help raise them.

As we speak, Amy Mickelson fights a battle nearly all of us have seen in one form or another.

And Phil finds himself buried in 6 inches of mental rough, unable to find the right wedge to free him from this trouble, no flop shot at his disposal that will dispose of his fear.

Even someone with the best life imaginable, who has a golf course for a back yard, will tell you that the future is promised to no one. He would say that when it comes to your health, and the health of your family, there's no such thing as a tap-in par.

It's the ultimate reminder of what's important, so with Father's Day upon us, hug the ones who matter most and hold on tight.

And if you're lucky enough for it to be a happy Father's Day, keep a good thought for those who fight the greatest fight of all.

Even someone with a perfect life.

brozner@dailyherald.com