But is Mickelson really the 21st-century Palmer? A closer look at their careers and lives suggests that while their golfing styles were of a piece, Palmer's massive celebrity appeal and effect on the sport make him more like Mickelson's chief rival, Tiger.
On the course, Mickelson reminds many golf fans--especially those from the Boomer generation--of Palmer. The King, as Palmer was known, attacked every hole of every round with the same fervor, whether he was five behind, five ahead, or tied. The defining Palmer moment may have been his final round at Colorado's Cherry Hills Country Club in the 1960 U.S. Open: Starting seven shots back of third-round leader Mick Souchak, Palmer drove the green on the par-4 first hole and birdied six of his first seven holes on his way to a final-round 65 and the victory. Palmer's lowest career moment was the flip side of that coin: Up seven strokes with just nine holes left in the 1966 U.S. Open, he refused to play it safe and finished four over par on his final nine, eventually losing a 18-hole playoff to Billy Casper.
Mickelson's career highlights--and lowlights--have followed a similar pattern. The defining shot for Lefty is probably his six-iron off the pine straw at Augusta National's par-5 13th hole in the 2010 Masters, where he scoffed at laying up and proceeded to drill a shot under a pine tree, over a creek, and onto the green five feet from the hole. Commentators had a field day at the British Open last week when Mickelson declared that "a smart shot is not having the guts to go for the big shot," and Mickelson's 310-yard three-wood shot off the fairway on the 71st hole was emblematic of that philosophy.
Mickelson's greatest heartbreak came at the 2006 U.S. Open, where he didn't have the brains to go for the "smart shot" with a one-stroke lead on the 18th tee on Sunday. Playing it safe wasn't in Arnold Palmer's DNA 40 years before, and it wasn't in Mickelson's that day, either: He ended up double-bogeying the hole when a simple par would have been good enough to win.
After that brutal loss, Mickelson said of his aggressive play on the final hole, "I'm an idiot." One can imagine Palmer making that statement to his buddies, with the same rueful grin, after blowing his seven-shot lead at the '66 Open. Palmer wouldn't win any more majors for the rest of his career, and Mickelson still has never won the U.S. Open. (It's now the only tournament he needs to win to complete the career Grand Slam. He has finished second a staggering six times.)
The swashbuckling style of both men endeared them to on-course crowds and TV viewers alike. Palmer was the most popular athlete in the world (with the possible exception of Pele) between 1958 and 1964; he was ruggedly handsome with a boyish excitement for golf that was on display every time he bounded down the fairway towards his ball after a particularly good shot. Mickelson, with his omnipresent smile and candid personality, has always been a crowd favorite, and his public struggle to play on after his wife and mother were diagnosed with breast cancer in 2009 cemented his reputation as an All-American family man. Earlier this year, he skipped practice rounds at the U.S. Open to attend his daughter's eighth-grade graduation.