Brutal reality is that in quest for legend status, Rory McIlroy is falling behind fast
To watch Rory McIlroy stripe his drive 387 yards off Augusta’s ninth tee, the ball bobbling over the spectator crosswalk and bemusing marshals who cannot believe it has travelled so far, is to wonder how he has gone almost 10 years without winning a major. But then you see him tweak his nine-foot birdie putt left, not even grazing the hole, and you remember exactly why. Never has a player of his stature been a more confounding bundle of contradictions, or more capable of mixing the glorious and the ghastly.
McIlroy was laughing at himself during his one-under-par 71 on Saturday, not quite comprehending how he could be so careless. After a routine five-footer at the seventh barely threatened to drop, he handed the putter back to caddie Harry Diamond with a pained grin. The alternative was to commit some act of wanton violence, which he looked sorely tempted to do when, having fanned a drive into a fairway bunker at the eighth, he motioned to attack the adjacent microphone. He is not one of those identikit PGA Tour automatons who betray the emotional range of a Dalek. Every clumsy mistake visibly eats away at his soul. Asked how much this course had tested his patience, he replied, grimacing: “A lot.”
Acts of self-sabotage
At 34, McIlroy has acquired the skills to salve these psychological wounds. He is far removed from the 21-year-old who tossed away a four-stroke, 54-hole Masters lead with a final-round 80, later crying in his CBS interview with Peter Kostis. But his now-familiar acts of self-sabotage at Augusta are beginning to exhaust his patience. For the 10th straight year, his chances of completing the career Grand Slam have evaporated at three over par heading into Sunday’s final round, leaving him a nearly-man no longer sure where to turn.
In the circumstances, he went light on the self-flagellation. Refusing to despair, he said: “All I can do is come here and try my best. That’s what I do, I show up. Some years it’s better than others.” For all his fatalistic acceptance, the past three days have been chastening. Even with his otherworldly talent, a first Green Jacket remains as stubbornly out of reach as ever.
The goodwill towards him was palpable as he strode out in pristine Georgia sunshine. Even though he started 10 adrift of the leaders, McIlroy has engineered miraculous weekend comebacks before. When he won his first PGA Tour title at Quail Hollow in 2010, before he had even reached legal drinking age in the United States, he made the cut on the bubble but torched the field with rounds of 66 and 62 to win by four. Only this year, he was 10 behind after 36 holes of the Dubai Desert Classic and still prevailed. But as he told anybody reminding him of these precedents, there is a world of difference between Dubai in January and Augusta in April.
This is the tournament that haunts him like no other, shredding his customary composure. His ruse this time was to seek the counsel of Butch Harmon, the 80-year-old coach to six former Masters champions, in an effort to iron out the creases in his approach play.
We can now declare, beyond much doubt, that the brainwave has not worked. Each time McIlroy reaches for a short iron, the pitching wedge in particular, you have to suppress the urge to hide behind the nearest hillock. Take the short par-three third, where he left himself a mere 54 yards to the pin, but miscued his pitch so hopelessly that it flew through the back of the green. He raised a hand to his face in embarrassment.
Some of McIlroy’s statements this week have raised alarm. He has talked of struggling to find his rhythm, of his swing feeling “horrific”. The statistics, likewise, suggest a player in the deepest toil, with only one top-10 finish in the US this season. He wants to be convinced that he is not the victim of some sinister Augusta curse, but the place keeps frazzling him.
The received wisdom dictates that McIlroy is too gifted not to end his career without the title that he covets most. Even though he has tried and failed 16 times, time remains on his side. He turns 35 next month, an age beyond which seven players since 2000 have won the Masters. There is still ample opportunity for McIlroy to inscribe his name among the greatest. But we delude ourselves if we assume such a fate is somehow celestially ordained.
The depth of the opposition he confronts is frightening. Two rounds spent in the company of world No 1 Scottie Scheffler, seven years his junior, brought humbling proof. Brooks Koepka secured his first major three years after the Northern Irishman won his last, and he now has five of them. The brutal reality is that in the quest for legendary status, McIlroy is falling behind, and fast.
