It was a day the USGA had tried to take away from its fans, but with one hole to play, Phil Mickelson was one good shot from giving it all back.

In taking this 72-round bout down to its final act, Mickelson already had saved this rain-soaked tournament from being a total washout.

Now he was trying to put a ribbon on it, write the kind of story you would scoff at in a movie theater or in a book.

Phil Mickelson was trying to consummate a most unlikely love affair, the one between a lefthanded-swinging golfer and the New York fans, by pulling out a victory Monday at the U.S. Open.

Just four days earlier, the USGA had made an island full of enemies by trying to take the money and run after a rain-shortened first day of play.

The Association told its fans that three hours of soggy golf was all they could expect for their hundred bucks this time. They would all be welcomed back, of course, the next time the Open came to Bethpage.

The way the weekend unfolded, that sounded pretty much like never. But caving into the pressure put on by the media, and needing one more day of play, the USGA had relented.

All weekend long, they shouted his name, told him they loved him, wished his wife well in her battle with breast cancer, and serenaded him with arena-style chants of “Let’s go, Phil!”

Could he ride the wave of emotion showered over him by the crowd to overcome a five-stroke deficit and pull out a dramatic final-day victory?

For 12 holes Monday, it certainly appeared he could. And after the 13th hole, it seemed almost certain that he would.

But then came the moments that you wait for when Mickelson is playing in a major, and especially a U.S. Open — a bogey on 15, a missed putt on 17 and an errant chip that left him with a final 25-footer from behind the hole on 18.

He needed that birdie to put some heat under Lucas Glover, the eventual champion. But you didn’t need a view of the green to know what happened next.

First, a roar as the ball approached the cup. Then, the sound of 1,000 pairs of lungs drawing a deep breath, followed by a collective sustained groan.

And the gallery that cheered him like a prizefighter entering the ring when he arrived, cheered him now as he left. But instead of raucous cheer, it was a polite applause of goodbye.

The match was over and they knew it. They weren’t even sure who won. They knew only that their man lost.

Had this happened here in 2002, or even last year at Torrey Pines, Mickelson once again would have been what he had always seemed to be — an object of ridicule. A guy who didn’t have what it took. A choker.

But Mickelson’s image has undergone a remarkable transformation.

Now, instead of a choker, he is a lovable loser, an Everyman, an approachable alternative to Tiger Woods.

Mickelson embraced that image, slapping dozens of palms on the way to each tee, making eye contact and small talk with the fans and tipping his cap more than any golfer in USGA history.

Without Mickelson to provide the drama, this might well have gone down as one of the most forgettable U.S. Opens in recent history.

Instead, even in defeat, he turned it into one of the most memorable.