By Ronald N. Guy Jr.
On the surface, this year’s U.S. Open lacked the drama and
flair of most of golf’s major championships.
First, it rained…a lot…causing multiple interruptions and pushing most
of the final round to Monday. And the
leaderboard, populated for the most part by players known but to devout golf
fans, had about as much flair as a silver mini-van with dual sliding
doors. Tiger was never really in
contention and while Phil Mickelson grabbed a share of lead on the back nine of
the final day, he faded on the last few holes and finished second, again. Actually, Mickelson, who’s never won the
darn tournament, finished second for the fifth time at the U.S. Open. Unlike his prior near misses however,
Mickelson won’t be criticized (as much) for a lack of shot execution or poor
strategy, but applauded for his courage and the message he carried throughout
the weekend. Just a few weeks before
the Open, Mickelson’s wife Amy was diagnosed with breast cancer. After a brief hiatus from the tour while he
and his family got their arms around the diagnosis and treatment plan,
Mickelson returned in time for the Open for what was surely a much-needed
distraction.
According to the American Cancer Society, 1 in 8 women will
develop breast cancer. More staggering,
1 in 2 men and 1 in 3 women will be afflicted with some form of the disease in
their lifetimes. Seriously. I have to admit, I knew cancer was
prevalent, but those figures are shocking.
The reality behind them is it is a near certainty all of us will be
touched by cancer in our lifetimes, be it directly or through a loved one. Breast cancer happens to be one form that
instantaneously boils my blood. It took
my mother-in-law. I miss her every
stinking day. And that’s not the only
time cancer and my family have intersected.
Frustratingly that makes me, well, not much different than a lot of you
or, for that matter, Phil Mickelson.
There are too many families in our County and millions across our nation
with their own stories “starring” one form or another of this rampant
disease. But thanks to the openness of
families like the Mickelson’s, cancer remains in our collective
crosshairs. Through awareness and
persistence, maybe, just maybe, we can drastically change for the better the
meaning of a cancer diagnosis for our children.
With that thought and with all due respect to Lucas Glover,
the guy who ultimately won the tournament, the indelible image from this U.S.
Open will be the pink ribbon on Mickelson’s hat. Here was Mickelson, who’s often called the people’s champ,
competing at Bethpage Black, known as the “people’s country club”, while
raising awareness of our battle against, what is in many ways, the people’s
disease. Few of us can relate to the
lifestyle of an elite athlete or playing in one of golf’s major championships,
but too many of us can relate to that pink ribbon. Best wishes to you Phil in this trying time. More importantly, get well Amy
Mickelson. United we stand – rich or
poor, black or white, pro golfer or weekend hack – for a cure.
Extra Point: Forgive
this brief foray into pop culture. As a
child of the late 70’s and 80’s I have to touch on the recent loss of Michael
Jackson and Farrah Fawcett. Like so
many boys of my generation, Fawcett was the first woman that quickened my pulse
and gave me that previously unfamiliar fluttery, gooey feeling inside…oh the
power of that smile and flip of that feathered hair. Jackson was my generation’s Elvis or Sinatra. In the early 80’s he made MTV an equal rival
to ESPN on my cable dial (or old-school converter box). To this day it is practically impossible to
hear “Billy Jean” and not at least tap my foot…if not vigorously shake
everything the good Lord gave me.
Farrah, age 62, and Michael, age 50, left us much too early. June 25th, 2009: a melancholy day
and one that left me feeling noticeably older than the day before.
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