Peter Bills: Mickelson the master - on and off the course

Whatever tricks the notorious Augusta National course played on its victims in yesterday's final round, one man emerged triumphant, whether he walked away in a green jacket or a simple white shirt.

Phil Mickelson bestrode this place like some colossus as an enthralling weekend moved to its denouement.

The shots he played and the energy he transferred to the watching public, those fortunate enough to have tickets for a ringside seat or others entranced in front of their television sets at home, was astonishing.

Here was the ultimate, pure sporting theatre, much of it provided by a simple boy from San Diego, California.

In front of our disbelieving eyes, Mickelson came as close as a human being can to making a golf ball talk. "Go there, turn left; see that white cup, that's your target. Drop in there."

It was as astonishing as it must have been nerve shredding for Lee Westwood, the leader for much of the final two days.

Westwood had carved out a five-shot lead at one point in the third round.

Exactly 27 minutes later, he had a big striding American shoving him on the shoulder, saying figuratively, "Hey buddy, move over; gotta make room for two up here now."'

It was a similar story yesterday as the 74th Masters moved to its dramatic climax.

Yet Mickelson emerged this week as the real winner at Augusta in a category far greater than even the donning of the green jacket.

He gave delight and pleasure to unknown millions; his selfless act of offering joy and putting smiles on people's faces, all the while with a considerable courtesy, was the true meaning of individual human achievement.

Not only that but he did it against a backdrop of family angst and trauma which would have gone close to destroying lesser men.

Watching Mickelson bouncing down the Augusta fairways in his usual farmboy-type ambling gait, with his shy, sheepish grin acknowledging the encouragement of well-wishers, you wouldn't have known that the American, who will be 40 in June, had a care in the world.

He waved at the crowds, pumped his arms in triumph, like on his eagles at 13 and 14 on Sunday, and when the tricky putts dropped yesterday.

But his seeming contentment, almost nonchalance has long hidden a terrible trauma. His wife and his mother have been diagnosed with breast cancer.

Mickelson wears this burden with a grace and acceptance that shames we mere mortals who complain about the irrelevant aspects of life.

To us, they seem important but it is people like Mickelson who have been forced to understand, to come to terms with real adversity.

His patience with endless media questions on the subject is remarkable.

His tolerance of sometimes crass insensitivities is astonishing. He was asked about it again at the weekend and, briefly, his face lit up.

His family have been able to travel for the first time in many months. There is progress, the signs may be better. But with this illness, you never can know.

Despite all that agony at the back of his mind, Mickelson has at times played golf as if to delight the Gods.

He has offered his God-given skills to an audience of millions and they have revelled in the sight.

And you have to conclude one thing above all else. Sinking birdies and firing birdies is the staple diet of Mickelson's business.

But what he has added is a grace, humility and understanding of human beings that elevates him to a plateau shared by few sportsmen.

At a time when another of golf's so-called superstars has stumbled, that surely, has been the greatest triumph of Augusta this year.

If you peruse a broader canvas in life than just golf tournaments, it has to be a Master's performance.

* Peter Bills is a sports writer for Independent News & Media in London.