Augusta, go. A brew from sweaty bodies and cameras with long lenses was stuck in the top left corner of the No. 15 grandstand at Augusta National as Rory McIlroy’s 7-foot Eagle Putt under the cup. At that time of the day, the Foneless Masters Tournament customers were not unknown with the sound of thousands of simultaneous moans. However, repeatedly hearing and participating in them did not become easier.
A green jacket stood out of his plastic stand chair in a frenzy.
“I can’t take much of this anymore,” the Lord said. He led to the steep downward staircase, his sons close behind him, rumbling to tie the jacket that can only exercise a select group on this house.
Until it actually happened, McIlroy’s pursuit of the career Grand Slam and the end of his 11-year-old big championship dried more as if you were taking the most nauseous roller coaster on earth and his speed discourse. Or put yourself in a blender and turned to the highest setting, causing the table to shook.
An opening Double Bogey, a water ball in Rae’s Creek with a wedge in hand, the first sudden death play-off in the Masters since 2017 Mcilroy gave Augusta National the show, it didn’t know it wanted. The customers on the site are still not sure if that is what they would have registered for. Sunday was a heart attack with a ticket.
“My fight today was with myself. It wasn’t with anyone else,” said McIlroy Sunday evening, a 38 normal green coat over his shoulders. “You know, at the end there was Justin (Rose), but my fight today was with my thoughts and stayed in the present.
“I would like to say that I did better than me. It was a struggle, but I got it over the line.”
It was perhaps an internal Wagging of the Wars for McIlroy, but the whole of Augusta National felt it with him. They leaned with the quirky discs, hurried to catch a glimpse of the gravitone-very-dingy escape routes and hopes-oh, they hope that the putter face made contact with the golf ball, would find it a hole. Only this, Rory.
Rotation through rotation they held their breath.
Then, a final roar that could only mean one thing: sweet, sweet relief.
In his Masters file from 1975 for Sports Illustrated, the Great Dan Jenkins wrote: “There is an old saying that the real masters only start on Sunday until the rear nine.” That was 50 masters ago. It is still true.
This back nine out of 89th masters started with an appearance of something that you can never trust on the spot: comfort. It is almost always an air mirroring.
No. 10 Masted McIlroy’s Masters Dreams 14 years ago as a naive 21-year-old. On Sunday morning, McIlroy opened his safe for a note from Angel Cabrera, the 2009 champion that played with McIlroy that day.
Patterns surrounded Rory Mcilroy all day. (Richard Heathcote / Getty images)
The ride on No. 10 was demonless. The subsequent Birdie Putt to take a lead of four shots? Exciting. Patrons surrounded the 10th green and 11th Fairway 30 deep, stirring through tree branches and shuffled around aimlessly to find an opening where they could see something. Something. Amen Corner lurked. So that they all knew it all, the rug was about to be torn under the Noord -Ier.
It all happened in a blur. A bogey at no. 11 – a number that could have been much larger. A par at no. 12. A 3-wood from the Tee at number 13, McIlroy plays safely with a lead of four shots.
There is no tighter part of the building for customers than Amen Corner, tens of thousands pressed together to watch while McIlroy’s ball once flew through the air, then twice. He stood with a wedge in his hands from 82 meters. If he would ruin all this, it would not be here, with the whole of Georgia on the left side of the green. Right?
McIlroy’s ball tumbled into the creek. He bent his back in two and threw his hands on his knees. At that time of the day there had been numerous triumphant’s patron reactions. Here, in the last chapter of Amen Corner, the panting came back. They didn’t stop.
First, the Red 13 from McIlroy came from nearby manual leaderboard and was replaced by a gloomy 11. He paused, waiting for a moment before he went over the 14th tee, almost as if he knew it would come. Rose suddenly had his 10 switch off for an 11.
Tie score.
No Masters champion has ever won the green jacket with four double bogeys. Is that the kind of history that McIlroy would make?
Every time it seemed as if McIlroy had thrown the golf tournament away forever, he followed it with a shot, a moment, even a bouncing in his step that the opposite added. He looked like he was in cruise control until the emergency brakes struck. The fists of the protectors in the air were linked to burnt faces buried in the hands. More new red numbers caused a stir. McIlroy threw another arrow. Birdie-par-Birdie. Triumph? No. Close bogey. It was there. Everything would come down to this. A sudden death play-off against his Ryder Cup teammate, Rose.
Harry Diamond, the Caddie of McIlroy and the best friend since the age of 7, looked at his player as they went to the golf cart who would bring the couple to the 18th Tee Box again.
“Well, Pal, we would have taken this on Monday morning,” he said.
The damn national public of Augusta did not agree. The fear became unbearable, borderline tiring, but also the best masters of modern times. Anyway, it had to end. McIlroy had to place herself – and everyone else – out of their misery.
Walk through the white and gold doors of the Augusta National Clubhouse, a winding staircase and through a picturesque but decadent dining room, and you will sit on a veranda. It overlooks the gigantic oak, the iconic rows of green and white umbrellas, and in the distance, if you have your neck just enough tap, no. 18 green.
But today that image was clouded by a sea of fearful bodies. On the floor, some suggested starting a “telephone” game to communicate the play-by play on the Green.
On the veranda you can rotate 180 degrees and you are confronted with a row of white windows. They lead to a 35-inch television, the only piece of modern technology in a radius of 100 meters. A strange combination of green jacket carriers, off-duty broadcasters and confused writers gathered around to view the play-off. Patrick drove into to order an Azalea cocktail. The incoming USGA president showed up. Everyone was too nervous to say a word. Nobody did it.
A sound of this power cannot be delayed. All Augusta National felt the energy release of McIlroy after that 4-foot Birdie Putt fell. And because of the appearance of him – on his knees collapse and convulsion with sobbing – he felt it too.
One of the most chaotic final rounds of recent memory ended with pure emotion, a release that is suitable for the sixth man to complete the career Grand Slam, and McIlroy concluded a story, he wondered if he would ever escape.
“It was all enlightenment. There was not much joy in that reaction. It was all enlightenment,” said McIlroy laughing after the round. “And then, you know, the joy came fairly afterwards. But I was here for 17 years, and it was a decade-plus emotion that came out of me there.”
We know, Rory. We know.
(Top photo: Harry How / Getty Images)