Unless you’re a pretty well-read golf fan, chances are that one of the first times you heard about Graeme McDowell was Friday afternoon when he absolutely ravaged Pebble Beach en route to a 36-hole lead. But there’s a little more to the lad than that. A quick primer:

McDowell is an Irish guy who went to college in Alabama. It sounds like the start of a very good joke, but it’s the truth. McDowell was named the nation’s top collegiate golfer in 2002, the same year he joined the European Tour.

Since then, he’s been one of Europe’s top golfers. He won in only his fourth event as a pro, and by 2004 he was ranked sixth on the European Tour’s Order of Merit. He bounced back and forth between the European and PGA Tours, finally distinguishing himself once and for all on the 2008 Ryder Cup team. And now, he’s leading the U.S. Open.  

"This is one of the special places in the world of golf," he said after his Friday round. "There’s a lot of golf
courses in the world that kind of give you the goose bumps when you’re
playing them. Sort of first tee at St. Andrews, maybe the 17th at St.
Andrews, here, Augusta, obviously. But when you’re walking down 7,
8, 9, 10, here, it just is a beautiful place to play golf. And obviously
to have your name at the top of the leaderboard of the U.S. Open at
Pebble Beach is a special feeling. But you’re out there and the golf
course has got some teeth, so you’re really trying to keep your wits
about you."

We’ll see over the weekend how long he’s able to keep his wits.

Ernie Els is back, baby! The Big Easy, who won his first Open way back in 1994 while O.J. Simpson was on his slow-speed Bronco chase, is back in the mix. (O.J., however, is not.) After two rounds, Els sits at -1, two shots off the lead of Graeme McDowell.

That 1994 win was on Els’ mind on Friday. "I’m 40 years old now," he said. "When I look back now, it’s amazing when I think I
was 24 when I won this event at Oakmont. I must have been out of my
head to think I could have won at 24."

Winning early can be the start to a legendary career, but it can also be a huge burden if everyone expects you to win every time out. Els would win two more majors after Oakmont, but he very well could have had a lot more were it not for … well, you know.

Put it this way: there have been 63 majors since that U.S. Open. Nearly a fourth of them have been won by one guy. If there were no Tiger Woods, would Els be the guy we’d be talking about as the best of the 1990s and 2000s? Perhaps, perhaps not.

Regardless, he’s got his chance right now. He’s already won two tournaments this year; who’s to say he can’t hunt down some big game? 

"Not too many people give you too many chances winning a Major
after 40," he said. "But I feel good. I feel my game’s there. I’d like to think
I’ve got quite a few more left."

Phil Mickelson has owned Tiger Woods over the last nine months or so, beating Woods both on the course and in the court of public opinion. Tiger loses the Masters and sulks alone; Phil wins the Masters and hugs his family. Tiger appears in public stiff and ill at ease; Phil shows up at a Krispy Kreme in Augusta wearing the green jacket.

And now, Tiger fumbles his way through two rounds at Pebble Beach, while Phil cards a Friday 66 that’s just one stroke off the U.S. Open record for Pebble Beach. (Tiger set that record in 2000, and the fact that it still stands is one of the few edges he still has on Phil right now.)

Mickelson was simply outstanding on Friday, carding an astonishing 9 threes. He finished with six birdies against a single bogey. He learned from every mistake he made on Thursday; he putted like an assassin and erased all memories of his birdie-free first round. He analyzed the course with the eye of a Masters champion, not the twitchy club of a videogamer hopped up on Red Bull. 

Mickelson sits tied for second, two behind Graeme McDowell, but make no mistake: this is Phil’s tournament right now. Yes, there are plenty of ways he could lose it. One bad choice, like the one he made on 18 on Thursday that sent his shot caroming into Stillwater Cove, and it’s back to bridesmaid for Mickelson. One hot golfer — Ernie Els and Dustin Johnson are both tied with Mickelson right now — could blow past Phil and the rest of the field. 

But right now, at the halfway point, if you had to bet your house on who’d win the U.S. Open, the smart money would take Phil over Tiger. When’s the last time that happened? Ever? 

It’s all right there for the taking for Phil Mickelson. Is this the year the five-time runner-up finally puts it all together?

These are the faces of Pebble Beach. Not a whole lot of smiles out there these days. Vijay Singh, Paul Casey, Rory McIlroy, Tiger Woods and Hudson Swafford are probably longing for the days when holes had a clown’s mouth at the end of ‘em.

For complete U.S. Open coverage, follow Yahoo! Sports’ Devil Ball Golf blog on Facebook and Twitter.

Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time to recalibrate your Tiger expectations.

With his first two rounds of the U.S. Open in the books, Tiger Woods has posted rounds of 74 and 72 to sit at plus-4, seven strokes behind clubhouse leader Graeme McDowell. He’ll make the cut, but barring a miraculous charge on Saturday, he’ll have to set his alarm a lot earlier on Sunday than he usually does.

On Thursday, Woods putted like he was on ice skates and finished the day at 3-over. Friday featured a few more red numbers — he had three birdies — but at the end of the day, he still surrendered yet another stroke to par.

The conditions had an impact on Woods, certainly, but it’s not like he was the only golfer playing in the swirling winds rolling off the Pacific. Plenty of other players, including his own playing partner Ernie Els, were able to solve the mystery of the winds and the slick greens and post below-par scores.   

So this is how it’s going to be for the greatest golfer in history for awhile. He’ll have some outstanding rounds, and he’ll have some rounds where he’s scratching and clawing just to stay in the middle of the pack. He’ll win again, obviously, and he’ll probably make a good run at Jack Nicklaus’ longstanding majors mark. But for now, and apparently for some time to come, the ugly combination of off-course drama and injury has him in a stranglehold.   

Certainly, Tiger fans and foes alike will slather blame on everything in sight. Supporters will blame the media, his swing coaches, his fumbling inner circle, or the parade of mistresses; critics will blame Woods himself. But blame isn’t the point here. At the moment, Woods has so many moving parts misfiring in so many different directions, both on and off the course, that he can’t get enough peace to solve even one of them, much less all of them.

It’s got to be a bitter irony for Woods that his game is so out of tune here at Pebble Beach, the site of one of his greatest professional triumphs. When Woods walked off the 18th at Pebble Beach at the 2000 U.S. Open, he had just completed the most dominating golf performance in any major, ever. He was unquestionably No. 1 on earth. Now? He’s just one of 156. 

This U.S. Open isn’t a total meltdown for Woods. It’s worse than that — it’s just mediocre.

[Editor's note: Every so often, we open the private course that is Devil Ball to a guest. Today, AJ Voelpel joins us to tell you folks what it's like to get up close with a significant individual at the U.S. Open. Enjoy. -JB]

Does anyone know the name of a certified golf shrink I can speak with? I think I need one more than Van De Velde did in ’99. I‘ve been haunted with the same agonizing question for a year. An utter mystery that still knots the neurons in my brain. Some days it hurts worse than others, especially when I’m playing the Black.

The question is this: In 2009, did Lucas Glover really hit 6-iron/9-iron into the 72nd hole of the world’s most difficult major championship?

The answer is the reason why last June’s version of the U.S. Open golf tournament is a complete washout in my eyes. If you’ll remember, the sky chose to fall for a full week on Bethpage State Park, making it look more like the Long Island Sound than an impossible golf course. The constant downpours made for a tournament nobody wants to remember.

Well, except for me (and probably Glover). And it’s not because of the despicable setup.

You see, I had the pleasure of hosting a pro caddie for the week. He did his best to brighten my spirits. Or maybe it was vice-versa; after all, his boss spent more time in the weeds than a pancake slinger at IHOP. Funny how it came about, really. I guess I should begin by thanking Tiger Woods for making it all possible.

It‘s a cinch to recall: A sunless Monday morning, with gravestone-gray clouds that were threatening like a vacuum does to a house pet. Woods was snaking his way around the Black course a day after his victory at the Memorial, one week before the Open. The news monopolized headlines and sports blogs like a steroids leak. My brother Matt and I thought we’d go scope it out. Hell, I live a mere 6-iron/9-iron from the Black anyway.

There we were standing on Round Swamp Road, accompanied by a dozen other spectators, reporters, police officers and anyone else lucky enough to catch the 8 a.m. "SportsCenter." It was a rare chance to catch a glimpse of the world’s best player in a private setting. Normally, clinics like that require (a) an invitation, (b) a generous charity donation and your right arm, or (c) the letters CEO chasing your last name.

While hanging out adjacent to the brutally unfair par-4 15th, an old pal of mine rolled up in a utility cart. In a series of gracious blurbs, he began rattling off more bits of random information than you’d find in a case of Snapple.

"You guys have some time, Tiger’s only on 12," my friend said. "He’s with Hank Haney and three state troopers. They’re not letting anyone else follow him."

"The Black’s public, though," Matt, the lawyer, said.

He brushed Matt‘s comment aside and said, "You know, Geoff Ogilvy was out here practicing last week. I was speaking with his caddie. I asked him where he was rooming for the Open and he said he had no idea. Can you believe that?"

"Really?" I asked curiously. "Did you happen to get any of his info? I live two minutes away. He can stay with me."

"Nope, nothing," he said. "Sorry man."

Matt turned to me and said, "What makes you think he would wanna stay with you guys anyway?"

I could only grin. When word broke that the Open was returning to Bethpage, I was all about getting involved, like a Hell’s Angel in a bar fight.

So after the Tiger parade, I went home and put my inner journalist to work. I searched on "Geoff Ogilvy’s caddie" and somehow gathered the number to Ogilvy’s management company based in Arizona. I dialed and chatted up a sweet woman with an even sweeter Australian twang. I asked if she could relay to Alistair Matheson that I’d be no problem at all if he borrowed my room for the week. I described to her the close proximity between my house to the clubhouse and that he would feel very comfortable. And like an 8-year-old eating at Denny’s, it wouldn’t cost him a dime.

Three days later, I received a call from a 012345678 number while devouring a Chicken Marsala dinner at my girlfriend’s. Generally, if there’s a plate full of mushrooms and wine in front of me, no interruption would deem necessary. But I knew it had to be him.

"Ello, is this A.J.?" the heavy, English accent said. "This is Alistair, calling about the room. It’s extremely generous of you."

"Hey Alistair, good to hear from you, buddy!" I shouted into the phone. "Don’t sweat it at all, it’s my pleasure. Actually, our pleasure. I live with three knucklehead friends and a Golden Retriever. I hope you don’t mind."

He said, "It all sounds rather good… I’ll phone you when I land."

He arrived the following Monday driving a car smaller than Advil. My roommate Dave was the first to notice:

"A.J., I think Alistair is here!" he yelled from his bedroom.

"Oh yeah, how do you know?" I screamed back.

He said, "Because there’s someone outside parking like a complete moron!"

I glanced through the window just in time to witness his 17th attempt at parallel parking. He gave up with the car sitting halfway in the street. I went outside and greeted him. His wide smile and stubbly beard were inviting. The face of a stereotypical pro looper, I thought. We proceeded to his digs and I made sure to point out all the Black portaits hanging from my bedroom walls.

"You see, Alistair, the fifth green runs back to front," I said, half-jokingly. He smirked and offered his gratitude once again.

We prepped the fridge that day with layers of Amstels, which we casually drank that night. I didn’t want to bore him with golf talk, but my wits managed to inquire about the tour’s biggest jerks. He kindly answered, but at that point, I was too deep in the suds to remember who they were.

He came home with quite the goodie bag after his practice round on Tuesday: Three Caddie Hospitality Tent passes, which permitted us to eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner for eight straight days (which I assure you we did), a super-convenient parking pass, a slew of Titleist hats and five tickets for every single day of the tournament. Oh yeah, and a brand new Titleist 5-wood for me. That night, we drank another 100 Amstels to celebrate our good fortune.

On Wednesday, he introduced me to Geoff on the tee box of the monster par-4 fifth. After his drive, he walked over to me, shook my hand and held a brief conversation. As he trotted off, a woman dressed like a walking Puma ad approached me.

"You know Geoff Ogilvy?" the lady enviously muttered.

"What, are you kidding? We’re like this," I said as I crossed my fingers.

The first bomb was dropped later on that evening. We were all lounging around the television. We meaning myself, brother, roommates and their girlfriends. The topic of "how terrible it is to lug a loaded staff bag on the Black" came up, inviting this blunder from one of the blonde girlfriends: "Wait, golfers don’t ride in golf carts?"

She halted the record with her inquiry. "I believe that’s why he’s here with us," I said, trying my best to save her.

Alistair smiled and said "On this course, I wish they did."

Every day when he came home, we would briefly discuss Geoff’s round and what clubs he hit onto some of the greens. OK, it was mostly me asking and him replying with some heavy English jargon I didn’t quite understand.

When the clouds weren’t convened into the Apocalypse, we played wiffle ball and Frisbee. He gave a thorough demonstration of why there are few, if any, professional Brit ballplayers. Though he did toss a soaring disc.

But most of the time our main concern was to do or say anything to make him laugh much as possible. It was a deep chuckle that could’ve been more contagious than the chicken pox.

When Tuesday morning finally came, I don’t think he was ready to leave. He told us we supplied him with a unique experience he’s never had while touring the country as a pro jock. I asked if he meant that in a good way. He nodded, waved and drove away in his tiny Hyundai.

[Editor's note: Ogilvy shot 73-67-77-75 to finish in a tie for 47th at Bethpage. And for the sticklers among you, that photo is from the 2007 Open Championship.]

The U.S. Open! Hell yes. We love this week ’round these parts, and in this episode of the Golfcast, we kick around all the aspects of this weekend at Pebble Beach, from leaders to losers to Tiger to Phil to, well, pretty much everything. Who’s going to win? What’s better, the U.S. Open or the Masters? We have the answers for you right here, friends.

As always, I’m joined by Shane Bacon of Dogs That Chase Cars. (Follow Shane on Twitter right here, and while you’re there, follow me too.)

We welcome your thoughts, ideas and recommendations on the podcast. Hit me up at jay.busbee@yahoo.com. And if you’ve got a question or comment for us to kick around, call our Skype line at 678-389-9173 and leave your message. Click the little arrow below to play the podcast or right-click it to download, and hit the iTunes site linked below to subscribe. Have at it!

Devil Ball Golfcast, Episode 42 — Pebbles in our pants! The Open is here

For complete U.S. Open coverage, follow Yahoo! Sports’ Devil Ball Golf blog on Facebook and Twitter.

While Tiger Woods was on his "indefinite" leave from golf, many observers wondered if he’d ever play a round again without hearing heckles and catcalls. Once he returned to the course, there were shouts and airplane banners, sure, but for the most part, the crowds have been the same awed, reverential masses they’ve always been.

Then came No. 9 at Pebble Beach. As Tiger walked the hole, a voice shouted out, "It is our business, Tiger. You made it our business."

The heckle was apparently in reference to Tiger shooting down inquiries about his marital status, and how that would affect his game, as "none of your business."

As Golf Digest’s Ron Sirak noted, there were a few muffled boos, but most people in the gallery simply watched to see Woods’ reaction. He remained steady, but afterward admitted, "I heard it." When asked if the heckler had anything to do with Woods’ three-putt, he replied, "No, God, no." Still, Tiger had an ugly day, shooting no birdies at all and finishing five shots off the lead.

Maybe he’s right, maybe not. Still, that shot was the most direct of any heckle so far. Tiger still has an army of fans, and there are plenty of others who are happy to put this whole mess behind them and get back to golf. But clearly, there are some in the gallery that aren’t ready to forgive and forget.