Spring Loaded

Phil Mickelson choked.

Again.

You could certainly say there were extenuating circumstances contributing to his failure to finish on top Monday in the closing round of the U.S. Open golf tournament at Bethpage Black golf course in Farmingdale, New York.

People who wouldn’t know tea time from tee time have heard the tragic news that his wife, Amy, is facing surgery for breast cancer. That has to play with a man’s mind as he stands over a putt in a sport where there is sometimes too much time to think.

Except we’ve seen this disappearing act all too many times before.

Mickelson’s roller-coaster final round was hardly the first time he has followed the peaks-and-valleys course.

There was Phil getting a birdie on the 12th hole.

There was Phil eagling the 13th.

There was Phil charging back into contention like Mine That Bird coming down the stretch at the Kentucky Derby.

But then, there was Phil blowing a three-foot putt on the 15th hole.

There was Phil blowing a five-footer on the 17th.

There was Phil fading from contention.

There was Phil finishing second in the U.S. Open for a record fifth time, the same Phil who blew a two-stroke lead with three holes to play at the 2006 U.S. Open.

Phil is Steve Sax, who could handle hot ground balls at second, but couldn’t make the simple throw to first.

Phil is Wilt Chamberlain or Shaquille O’Neal, who could slam home shots with defenders climbing on their back, but couldn’t convert an unencumbered free-throw shot.

Put Phil in rough thick enough to cover him past his knees or place him 40 feet from the flag on a multi-level green better suited for miniature golf and watch him pull off a highlight-reel shot.

But put the same guy three to six feet from the cup, faced with a shot that is often considered a gimme in social games, what should be a tap-in for a pro golfer, and watch Phil sweat and think and adjust and, all too often, miss.

Yogi Berra used to say that baseball was 90 percent mental and the other half physical.

Using the same logic, golf is 99 percent mental with whatever Yogi feels is left over being the physical part.

Talk all you want about golfers looking over their shoulder when Tiger makes a charge, as was the case with Jack and Arnie in earlier eras, but the fact of the matter is, it ultimately comes down to the golfer and the course. There is no defender in his face, nobody trying to tackle him, nobody buzzing a fastball at his head.

Not even cheering is permitted.

Just the man and the course.

I once interviewed Mike Piazza after he had hit a mammoth home run.

Do you play golf, I asked.

Yes, he said.

How far can you hit a golf ball, I wondered.

I’ve hit it over 300 yards, he said, but I have trouble hitting it straight.

So explain something to me, I said. Somebody throws a ball at you, sometimes at close to 100 miles an hour, and, as a talented big-league batter, you can not only hit the ball, but usually direct it to left, center or right. A golf ball just lays in the grass and you can’t control its direction. How come?

Maybe, he said with a grin, I’d do better if somebody picked up that golf ball and threw it at me at 100 mph.

Maybe Phil ought to try that.

He obviously needs to do something to bring his mental game up to the level of his tremendous physical skills.

Instead, what happened Monday only figures to further erode Phil’s confidence next time he stands over a crucial putt.

Until he finds the answer within himself, he will continue to hear those two dreaded words: Phil choked.

On the set of Wednesday night’s TNT postgame show, Charles Barkley ducked out of sight while a discussion of the just-completed L.A. Lakers-Houston Rockets playoff game was going on.

What are you looking for? asked co-host Ernie Johnson.

“Andrew Bynum,” replied Barkley.

Good luck.

Oh there’s no question where Bynum is. It’s not hard to find a 7-foot, 285-pounder. He’s sitting on the Laker bench, moving further and further down the pine. At this point, he’s about to slip past Kurt Rambis in the rotation. It’s been 14 years since Kurt last played, but he could at least still put his body between an opposing player and the basket without automatically triggering a referee’s whistle.

Bynum, it seems, cannot. In this postseason, he has become a foul machine, hacking and banging and stumbling his way through a thicket of Rocket and Utah Jazz players. In the Lakers’ first-round playoff series against the Jazz, Bynum had 16 fouls in 77 minutes. Against the Rockets, he had three in 15 minutes in Game 1 and picked up his pace with three more in only eight minutes in Game 2.

But it’s more than just fouls. It’s not Barkley in search of Bynum so much as it is Bynum in search of his game. He’s totally lost out there.

Bynum keeps fouling because he’s trying to make up for the fact that he’s slow to react on defense.

And he’s no better on offense. When the ball goes into Pau Gasol, the offense clicks, the cutting and rolling functioning as smoothly as Tex Winter designed it. When the ball goes into Bynum, forget it.

The worst part is Bynum’s attitude. When he’s called for a foul or otherwise screws up, he pouts, his shoulders drooping, his usefulness to the team lost.

I know, I know. He’s:

-- still young.

-- still inexperienced.

-- still rusty from missing 32 games because of a knee injury.

-- still not fully recovered from the injury.

-- still bothered by the knee brace he is forced to wear.

That may all be true, but it doesn’t answer the still lingering question of when -- and even if -- he will reach his potential. There’s no question the potential is there. He’s not Shaquille O’Neal, but he’s not Benoit Benjamin, either.

The one-word answer to all his problems is: Maturity.

Not only is this a 21-year-old who didn’t go to college, but he played sparingly in high school. When Kobe Bryant made the leap from preps to the pros, he was out of control. Jermaine O’Neal, who also skipped college, struggled with the culture shock as well. By his fourth season in the NBA, he was playing only around 12 minutes a game, averaging 3.9 points and 3.3 rebounds.

That’s what made LeBron James so unique. He hit the NBA hardwood out of high school running and has never looked back.

The level of Bynum’s maturity, or lack thereof, was clearly demonstrated one day in his rookie season when he disappeared -- there’s that word again -- from practice at the team’s El Segundo training facility.

No one could find him. Sound familiar?

Coach Phil Jackson dispatched Rambis to look for the wayward center.

Rambis indeed found Bynum, sitting in the trainer’s room, eating sugar-soaked cold cereal.

What are you doing, Rambis asked. You just can’t leave practice without telling anyone.

I don’t have any energy and I thought this might give me some, Bynum replied.

It turned out Bynum, on his own for the first time 3,000 miles from home, was living on fast food and depleting his body.

Although he’d never admit it, nobody on the Lakers could be more frustrated than Bynum’s mentor, Hall of Fame center Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. He has constantly been by Bynum’s side, tutoring him in all aspects of the game.

Abdul-Jabbar himself knows about growing up fast. No pun intended. He was already in the national spotlight as a New York high school star named Lew Alcindor. By the time he was Bynum’s age, Abdul-Jabbar was leading UCLA to its third consecutive NCAA title.

Bynum says he has the ultimate respect for Abdul-Jabbar. How does he show it? When the NBA’s all-time leading scorer first started working with Bynum, Bynum stiffed him, showing up late for a practice session.

Nobody is suggesting Bynum doesn’t have a future with the Lakers. Look how long it has taken Lamar Odom to realize his potential. And there are still nights when he is lost out there.

Nobody is saying Bynum won’t be a productive center in the NBA.

The agonizing question is: When?