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At 7am on 14 April in an Augusta rental home, Rory McIlroy awoke and immediately spotted a Green Jacket draped over a chair. “You think: ‘Yeah, that did happen yesterday,’” he says. “That.” McIlroy was now the sixth man to win all four of golf’s majors.
The detail of what lay around in the bedroom of my own Augusta billet is of no interest to anybody. That was, however, a memorable morning. I had previously and wrongly believed nothing would top Tiger Woods’s 2019 Masters win in respect of seismic reaction. Scores of messages from friends, colleagues, family members – umpteen of whom have no interest whatsoever in golf – had landed. Broadcast outlets across the world wanted my assessment of what had played out on Masters Sunday. Yeah, that did happen yesterday.
The first major I covered was McIlroy’s debut in the same format, at the 2007 Open Championship. My first trip to Augusta was four years later; I lost my luggage and stayed in a hotel that has long since and rightly been condemned. McIlroy tossed away what had looked an unassailable lead and the rest is storied, occasional brutal, history.
Inserting yourself into a story we only tell for others never feels cool, but watching McIlroy so closely over almost two decades has been so thrilling, so compelling that it has been impossible not to root for him. Writing the words, “Rory McIlroy, Masters champion” was genuinely an emotional moment.
It was also a fraught one. It may be reasonable to think somebody who has covered more majors than I care to remember has preordained sentiment about how to form a report. I did not and was delighted that was the case. Day four of the 89th Masters edition was extraordinary. The task was simple; write what you see.
There was a brief period when I thought it would play out another way, when instead the latest hammer blow to McIlroy’s lifetime dream would be delivered. This was billed as a duel between McIlroy and Bryson DeChambeau, the Northern Irishman’s nemesis from the 2024 US Open.
McIlroy, the natural artist with sporting immortality on the line, versus the LIV man, the bludgeoner. Good versus bad is a stretch, but it sort of was.
McIlroy made a double-bogey at the 1st hole on that Sunday. He missed an opportunity at the soft 2nd, as DeChambeau edged into the lead. “Not today,” said a fellow media member as I caught his eye on the walk towards the 3rd. I feared he was right. And if not today, perhaps not ever.
It would, though, be wrong to depict the press as somehow wanting McIlroy to fail. There is dark humour and cynicism in this environment as routine. McIlroy is hugely popular among those who cover him. It also felt as if everyone had decided, including those Augusta galleries despite McIlroy supposedly being in opposition to an American, that he was due Masters glory. Supposedly is the operative term, because DeChambeau was to collapse.
By the 10th green, McIlroy had the Masters won. Didn’t he? A birdie there took him to 14 under par. DeChambeau was now five back. Ludvig Åberg and Justin Rose lurked without anybody really sensing McIlroy’s Ryder Cup teammates could make a game of this. Rose had other ideas with a surge to 11 under (Åberg reached 10 and a three-way tie before collapsing) as McIlroy wobbled from the 11th onwards.
Well, it had all felt a little too straightforward. McIlroy found a dodgy lie for his chip to the 13th green, which slid into water. Wondrous shots at the 15th – with a seven-iron he subsequently gave to the club – and 17th could not prevent a playoff.
Harry Diamond, McIlroy’s caddie and best friend, is no trained sports psychologist, but delivered the line of the week as the pair prepared for extra time. “Well, pal, you would have taken this position at the start of the week.”
Journalistically, it was horrendously tricky. It was either the McIlroy moment or an outright disaster. I could not exactly fudge words or hedge bets. On that Sunday in Augusta McIlroy was not only playing for the Masters, he was not only playing for completion of a career grand slam and he was not only seeking to end a wait for a fifth major stretching back to 2014. It was all of these things at once and, therefore, so significant.
McIlroy’s reaction to victory is an easier reference point than the majestic approach he hit into the opening playoff hole. Pounding the grass, head in hands, tears in eyes. One of many incredible things about McIlroy is how relatable he has remained despite superstar status. You need not be a tour golfer to appreciate the magnitude of what was unfolding and the pain McIlroy had encountered on a path towards it.
McIlroy may well win more Masters. He will certainly win more majors. Nothing will compare to this one.
