フィル・ミケルソンはなぜそんなに物議を醸すのか？

フィル・ミケルソンはなぜそんなに物議を醸すのか？

He was golf’s everyman. The smiling lefty with the thumbs up, the gambler’s grin, and the short game that could make a grown man weep. For decades, Phil Mickelson was the people’s champion, golf’s answer to Arnold Palmer. But in the last few years, something changed. The man who once owned the hearts of golf fans has become one of the game’s most polarizing figures. He’s split from the PGA Tour, thrown his weight behind Live Golf, and aired his demons for the world to see. This is the story of how Phil Mickelson went from beloved legend to golf’s most controversial figure, and why his dark side is now impossible to ignore. Phil Mickelson’s career is a Hollywood script. Triumph, heartbreak, redemption, and now scandal. He’s won six majors and 45 PGA Tour events. He’s hit flop shots over his own head. Made double bogey from the trees and still won and signed more autographs than any player in history. But behind the smile, there’s always been another sight of Phil. The risktaker, the gambler, the man who bet on anything from the outcome of a hole to the Super Bowl cointoss. For years, that edge made him lovable. A little dangerous, a little unpredictable, but always entertaining. Now that same edge has pushed him to the margins of the game he once ruled. He’s cut ties with the PGA Tour, become the face of the Saudi backed live golf league, and found himself at the center of a storm that’s as much about money and power as it is about golf. And then there’s the gambling, the rumors, the debts, the stories that have finally come to light. The man who once seemed to have it all is now fighting for his reputation, his legacy, and maybe even his soul. Let’s dive into the dark side of Phil Mickelson. To understand how far Phil has fallen, you have to remember how high he once soared. Phil Mickelson was golf’s golden boy. He won his first PGA Tour event as an amateur in 1991 while still in Corage at Arizona State. He was the can’t miss kid. The next great American hope Andy delivered. Winning early, winning often, and doing it all with a smile. He was the anti- Tiger. Where Woods was robotic, Phil was relatable. Where Tiger was all business, Phil was all banter. He’d sign autographs for hours, toss balls to kids, and chat with fans between shots. He was the guy you wanted to have a beer with after your round. For years, he was the best player never to win a major. a label that haunted him until his dramatic masters win in 2004. The leap on 18, the hug with his family, the tears, it was all the stuff of legend. Phil’s popularity soared. He was the most beloved player on tour, rivaled only by Arnold Palmer in his ability to connect with fans. He was Phil the Thrill, the guy who’d try the impossible shot because, well, why not? He was the guy who’d go for the green in two, even if it meant risking a double bogey. He was a guy who’d hit a flop shot over a tree with a tournament on the line. He was the guy who’d smile, win or lose, and thank the fans for coming out. But even in those golden years, there were whispers. Phil loved to gamble on the course, off the course, anywhere he could find action. Stories circulated about Phil’s legendary Tuesday money games with other pros where thousands of dollars would change hands on a single hole. He’d bet on football, basketball, even the outcome of his own practice rounds. He was known to call Vegas sports books from the course, placing six figure bets whenever. For a long time, this was part of Phil’s charm. He was the high roller, the guy who’d bet on anything. Fans love the stories. Phil winning a lot of money on crazy bets. Phil losing a fortune on a bad bet. Phil was always chasing the next big score. But as the years went on, the stories got darker. Rumors of mounting debts, of insider trading, of relationships strained by money. In 2022, journalist Alan Shipnook reported that Mickelson’s gambling losses over the years may have exceeded in the millions. And then there was the Billy Walters saga. Walters, a legendary sports gambler, was convicted of insider trading in 2017. During the trial, it was revealed that Mickelson had received a stock tip from Walters and made nearly a million dollars on the trade. Phil was never charged, but the association raised eyebrows. Phil later admitted he’s caused a lot of harm. He said he sought help for his gambling, but the damage to his reputation was done. The gambling wasn’t just a sideeshow. It was a central part of his story. For years, it was an open secret. On tour, players would joke about Phil’s actions, about the size of his bets, about the time he lost hundreds of thousands on a single football game. But as the numbers came out, the jokes stopped. Millions in losses, IUs to other people, stories of Phil wiring money to cover debts, of relationships strained by money, of a man who couldn’t walk away from the action. In interviews, Phil has been candid about his struggles. Gambling has been part of my life for a long time. He said, “It’s cost me. It’s hurt me. But it’s also taught me a lot about risk, about life, about myself. Some see Phil’s gambling as a metaphor for his career. A man who always bet on himself, who took risks others wouldn’t, who lived and died by the sword. Others see it as a cautionary tale, a reminder that even the most successful can be undone by their own vices. For most of his career, Phil was a PGA Tour’s golden goose. He played everywhere, supported every event, and was the face of the tour’s marketing campaigns. He was the guy who’d show up to a new tournament, shake every sponsor’s hand, and make every proam partner feel like a million bucks. But as Phil entered his 50s, things started to change. He became more vocal about his frustrations with the tour, complaining about media rights, about the distribution of money, about the lack of transparency from tour leadership, saying he’d get anxiety at tour events. Then came the bombshell. Phil was in talks with the Saudibbacked Live Golf League, a rival tour offering guaranteed contracts, massive purses, and a chance to upend the golf establishment. In early 2022, Shipnook published an interview in which Phil admitted he was working with the Saudis to gain leverage over the PGA tour. He called the Saudis scary mother effers, but he said he was willing to overlook their human rights record if it meant changing the tour. The backlash was immediate and fierce. Sponsors dropped him. The PGA tour suspended him. Fellow players including Tiger Woods and Rory Mroy criticized him publicly. For the first time in his career, Phil was a pariah, but Phil doubled down. He signed with Liv Golf for a reported $200 million, became the face of the new league, and cut ties with the PGA Tour. He sued the tour, gave combative press conferences, and embraced his new role as golf’s rebel. The move split the world. Some saw Phil as a pioneer, fighting for player rights and a bigger piece of the pie. Others saw him as a sellout, willing to take Saudi money and burn bridges for one last payday. Phil’s move to live golf didn’t just cost him fans. It cost him his place in the game’s history. He was left out of Ryder Cup and President’s Cup teams, teams he could have assisted with in captaincy. He lost sponsors, lost friends, and lost the adoration of fans who once cheered his every move. On the course, his game suffered. He missed cuts in majors, struggled to contend in live events, and looked like a shell of the player who once thrilled crowds with his daring play. The media turned on him. Social media was even harsher with fans and pundits debating whether Phil’s legacy was forever tarnished. And if you think that Phil couldn’t get any more polarizing with his comments toward the PGA tour, his tweet about Scotty Sheffller back in March made him laughable. In March 2025, Phil took to X, formerly Twitter, and posted a message that stunned the golf world, saying about Scotty Sheffller. Here’s a hot take. Does Scotty Sheffler win before the 2025 Ryder Cup? I don’t think so. The tweet went viral. It was laughable because Phil was telling the best player in the world that he wasn’t going to win before the Ryder Cup. And we all know how that turned out with Sheffler winning six times in 2025, including two majors, the PGA Championship and the British Open. Phil later posted a tweet saying jokingly he was wrong after Scotty won. But it just shows how Phil has created a wall between him and the PGA Tour and its members, calling out a great like Scotty who’s minding his own business. Phil’s story isn’t just about one man. It’s about the soul of golf itself. For decades, the PGA Tour was built on tradition, loyalty, and the idea that greatness was earned, not bought. Phil embodied that ethos until he didn’t. His move to live golf, his public criticism of the tour, and his willingness to take Saudi money have forced the golf world to confront uncomfortable questions. What matters more, legacy or money? Loyalty or leverage? The fans or the bottom line? Phil’s gambling, once a quirky footnote, now looks like a warning sign, a reminder that even the most successful can be undone by their own appetites. His willingness to risk everything, to bet on himself, to chase the next big score. Those are the same qualities that made him a champion and ultimately a cautionary tale. The split with a PGA Tour has also changed the landscape of professional golf. The tour has responded with bigger purses, new formats, and a renewed focus on player empowerment. But the scars remain. Friendships have been strained, alliances broken, and the game’s unity has been tested like never before. Phil’s story is a reminder that greatness is complicated, that the same qualities that make someone a legend can also lead to their downfall. That the line between hero and villain is never as clear as we’d like it to be. So, where does that leave Phil Mickelson? Is he a hero, a villain, or something in between? He’s still a six-time major champion, a Hall of Famer, and one of the most exciting players to ever pick up a club. He’s inspired millions, thrilled crowds, and given us some of the greatest moments in golf history. But he’s also a cautionary tale, a reminder that fame, fortune, and talent aren’t always enough. That the line between hero, and villain is thinner than we think, that the dark side is never as far away as it seems. Phil’s story isn’t over. He’s still playing, still grinding, still trying to prove himself. Maybe he’ll win again. Maybe he won’t. But one thing’s for sure, he’ll keep us watching, keep us guessing, and keep us talking. Because that’s what legends do, even when they fall. Phil Mickelson’s journey from beloved fan favorite to controversial outsider is one of the most dramatic arcs in golf history. He’s been the hero, the villain, and everything in between. He’s made us cheer, made us groan, and made us wonder what’s coming next. His story is a reminder that greatness is complicated, that the same qualities that make someone a legend can also lead to their downfall. That the line between light and dark is never as clear as we’d like it to be. So, what do you think? Is Phil still a legend? Has he tarnished his legacy forever? Or is he just another flawed hero doing his best in a game that’s as unforgiving as life itself? Let us know in the comments below. And don’t forget to like and subscribe for more golf content. Now, if you want to see the dark side of the live golf victims, click on this video.

This is why Phil Mickelson is so controversial. Like and subscribe for more golf content! Let us know what you think in the comments!