In light of this, Mickelson’s appeal is a bit mysterious. Despite his extraordinary talent (and wealth), Lefty is the people’s choice. Is it empathy for his failures? Unlikely. Palmer’s chain smoking and blue-collar pants-hitching were points of validation for the average Joe, and perhaps the same can be said for Mickelson’s flabby midsection.

But while Palmer reached the game’s pinnacle—if only briefly before being toppled by Nicklaus—Mickelson never took advantage of the four years between his turning pro and Woods’ arrival in the fall of 1996. Still, Mickelson is at the peak of his career. He might win five more majors, putting him ahead of Palmer. But Mickelson will never come close to matching The King’s legacy—on or off the course.

It says a lot that while Palmer received such a regal nickname, the best sobriquets anyone has been able to do for Mickelson are the obvious “Lefty” and the pedestrian, unimaginative “Philly Mick.”

Folks point to Mickelson’s 2004 Masters victory as one of the tournament’s most exciting, but for impact, don’t forget Palmer’s victory in 1958. Witnessed by a throng of soldiers from a nearby base who dubbed themselves “Arnie’s Army,” that Masters literally put televised golf on the map and established it as a sport that could be enjoyed outside the country-club set.

For 40 years, his was the face of the game, with a list of endorsements so long that he entered the 1990s as one of the world’s most recognizable athletes. Palmer will always be remembered as the greatest ambassador the game has ever had; Mickelson, the great talent who played second fiddle to Woods. The irony is it’s all because neither of them wanted to play safe.