Oakmont, Pa. ? Did we take a wrong turn at Punxsutawney and wind up in some alternative golfing universe?

Aren’t we supposed to be at the U.S. Open media center grilling Phil Mickelson about his Van de Veldian meltdown at last year’s Open – one of the biggest chokes in golf history?

Aren’t we supposed to be asking whether he ever will recover from the psychological scars of stupidly pulling out a driver on the final hole last year, slicing his tee shot into a hospitality tent and then inanely trying to blast a 3-iron through the trunk of a giant tree?

But instead of asking Phil about being a choking dog, we’re here asking Phil about being a profile in courage. Nearly every question Phil is asked at his pre-U.S. Open news conference is about whether he possibly will be able to play four murderous days of golf with a sore left wrist.

Phil, do you think you can make it through four grueling rounds with that wrist?

Phil, will you have to wear a brace when you play?

Phil, if it weren’t for the U.S. Open, would you even try to play this week?

Ohmygawd, can we stop it? Can we just please stop it?

Phil Mickelson is a golfer playing in the U.S. Open with a stiff wrist. Let’s not make him out to be Jack Youngblood refusing to come off the field with a broken leg.

What’s Phil going to do today – limp out to the first tee of the Open like Willis Reed limping out for Game 7 of the NBA Finals? Or maybe he’ll pull the brace off his slightly swollen wrist, turn to his new swing coach and say in his best Rocky Balboa voice, “Cut me, Butch, cut me!”

Sorry if I sound cynical about Phil’s plight, but I’ve always found it hilarious how golfers turn the most minor injuries into major ordeals. My amusement dates back to the days when I was a columnist in Jacksonville and defending champion Steve Elkington failed to show up at The Players Championship because of “bad sinuses.”

Can you imagine an NFL injury report a few days before the Super Bowl – Peyton Manning, doubtful (runny nose)?

The fact it’s Mickelson who has a boo-boo coming into the Open makes the hyperbole even more ridiculous. Then again, what should we expect from golf’s ultimate drama king? Tiger Woods may be the most dominant player on the planet, but Phil is the most dramatic.

Which is why I hope Phil never, ever changes. I love him just the way he is – melodrama and all. I just wish he would learn to love who he is instead of constantly trying to change who he is. Phil reinvents himself more than the Orlando Magic.

Coming into this year’s Open, he has a new coach (Butch Harmon), a new physique (well, sort of) and a new approach. He is once again the new, improved Phil Mickelson.

To which I say, what was the matter with the old, flawed Phil Mickelson? Isn’t that why he is more beloved than Tiger – because he’s not perfect? Tiger has a sculpted physique; Phil has a pillowy paunch. Tiger is glaringly intense on the course; Phil acknowledges fans with that crooked grin and a goofy doff of the cap. Tiger is completely healthy coming into the Open; Phil, judging by the line of questioning this week, will be playing with two broken arms, a fractured leg and a bullet lodged inches from his heart.

“You do the best you can,” Phil says bravely. “. . . I can’t sign autographs or hit balls or do strenuous workouts.”

Can’t sign autographs?

Now there’s the ultimate sacrifice.

Somewhere, Jack Youngblood is in awe.