Rory McIlroy’s incredible Masters victory gives him 29 TOUR wins
Written by Paul Hodowanic
This Masters Tournament was my first on property at Augusta National. Feeling all the emotions that come with the realization of a childhood dream – joy, wonderment and a bit of anxiety – who better to ask what to do, and how to handle it, than the man who has voiced the Masters for decades?
Nantz gave me a few procedural tips, then launched into memories of his first Masters – 1986, the year Jack Nicklaus won his sixth green jacket. Nantz was in the 16th tower. “The Bear … has come out of hibernation,” he famously said, as Nicklaus made birdie en route to the historic victory. That year is up there with 1997 and 2019 as one of the best Masters of all time.
“I can feel that initial voyage so so clearly,” Nantz said over the phone. “It’s so vivid in my mind.”
How amazing, I thought, that Nantz has that year to look back on as his first. It felt like a pipedream that something similar could play out for my inaugural jaunt around Augusta National.
What unfolded over the next nine holes (well, 10, but we’ll get to that) was unlike anything in recent memory as I watched a man battle the immensity of his impending crowning achievement – the realization of his own childhood dream – and the dreams of those following along.
The 10th hole was the first time I thought it was done. Standing near the 11th tee box, looking down the hill at the 10th green, I watched as McIlroy stood over an 8-iron from the middle of the fairway and hate the swing he made. His right hand jettisoned from the club as soon as he struck the shot, but the ball did a funny thing: Its line never left the hole, landing a few paces short and spinning to 15 feet. McIlroy got away with one, and he knew it. DeChambeau, still a threat then, found the green but missed his birdie putt. Then McIlroy capitalized, holing the birdie.
I looked over to a colleague and said, “It’s over.” It was the first of many times that thought crossed my mind and the first of many times I was wrong.
As McIlroy made the long walk back to the 11th tee, an older gentleman waited along the rope line. His pure-white wispy hair stuck out of his yellow Masters cap, his back angled in a permanent hunch that told you he’s seen better days.
“The luck of the Irish to ya,” the gentleman said to McIlroy as he passed, now revealing a thick Irish accent.
It hit me then. Most everyone at Augusta National on Sunday had their own connection to McIlroy. I have one.
It’s a broad truth that golf media has a soft spot for McIlroy. Generally, they chase the best story, and no story would be as titanic as McIlroy becoming the sixth man to achieve the career Grand Slam, while excorising decade-long demons that stem from his 2011 Masters collapse. Much of the Masters press was there for that one and has waited 14 years to write the redemption story.
That’s not my connection, though I remember that dreadful day McIlroy shot 80. I was 11 years old and a massive McIlroy fan. I think it was the long, bushy hair, which closely resembled mine that drew me to McIlroy. Who truly knows how we pick favorites as kids, but McIlroy was my guy and that Sunday was a horrible day.
I remember sitting on the couch and crying when he lost and I remember sitting in the same place and crying when he won the U.S. Open the next month at Congressional.
In the intervening 14 years, that fandom has waned. Such is life when you write about sports for a living. You force objectivity on yourself. The work necessitates it. But as I saw McIlroy birdie the 10th, the same hole he lost the 2011 Masters for good, a piece of that kid came out in me.
I stood next to the older Irish gentleman and gazed at McIlroy, thinking back to 2011. Then I looked back toward the man. I wanted to know his story. I imagined he had been waiting years to see his this, as had so many others at Augusta National on Sunday. But by the time I spotted him, he was already bounding down the hill, his countryman putting a pep in his step for the first time in I wondered how long.
The 13th hole was the second time I thought it was done. McIlroy managed to avoid disaster on the first two legs of Amen Corner. His approach on 11 stopped dangerously short of the pond that has wrecked many Masters dreams, and while McIlroy made bogey, DeChambeau made double. Suddenly, McIlroy’s biggest competitor entering the day was vanquished. Any charge would come from a group ahead.
McIlroy kept his tee shot on the 12th dry, which prompted me to quickly ditch the horde of patrons surrounding Amen Corner and bolt for the 14th tee, where I had a clear vantage of the 13th green. I had learned quickly to stay ahead of the crowds and passed several famous athletes, including Brittney Griner and Ken Griffey Jr. Patrick Reed had just hit his approach when I settled on a spot. With a chance to get within four of McIlroy, Reed three-putted from 3 feet, effectively ending his pursuit of a second green jacket.
“I’ve been there,” a patron said, “but not here. What a mistake.”
It took only five minutes to see a bigger one. When McIlroy finally came back into my view, he was lying three on the left side of the fairway. He had hit 3-wood off the tee and laid up, hoping to plot his way around the course and eliminate any big numbers.
Then, inexplicably, McIlroy dumped a lob wedge from 86 yards into Rae’s Creek. What? Stunned silence hung over Amen Corner. This was supposed to be McIlroy’s coronation. The celebratory party had reached a fever pitch, seemingly picking up every patron who had passed by. This was not supposed to happen.
The gallery stood shocked as McIlroy dropped, hit onto the green, and failed to get up-and-down. It was a double bogey, his fourth of the week. As McIlroy approached the 14th tee, the silence finally broke.
“Rose birdied 16,” someone shouted. Behind me, the leaderboard had updated. McIlroy’s lead, which was once five, was gone. He was tied with Rose.
The anguish didn’t fully hit until the 14th green, when McIlroy failed to get up-and-down for par and now trailed by one. My colleague had left me by now, jumping up to follow Rose’s round to completion. So there was nobody to hear me say, in a bewildered murmur, “It’s over. Rory lost, again.”
The 18th hole was the third time I thought it was done.
I had eschewed thoughts of peeling off McIlroy’s group, reassuring myself he still had a chance and that, no matter how Rose finished, McIlroy was the central figure of this Masters. History was on his club over the final four holes. I quickly walked (no running allowed at Augusta National, I reminded myself) up the left side of 15 and behind the grandstand situated next to the Sarazen Bridge. I found a nifty angle alongside a staircase left of the 16th hole. From there, a perfect view of the 15th and 16th greens unfolded.
The drama that the no-phones policy adds to the Masters can’t be overstated. I was flying blind out there, and my heart was racing. But I was happy to bump into a father and son, who were sitting up against the railing and getting updates from the son’s Apple Watch. There I learned Rose had missed a short putt for par. McIlroy was tied for the lead again, this time with Ludvig Åberg, too. It’s also how I figured out which tee ball was DeChambeau’s and which was McIlroy’s.
I’m glad I didn’t have my phone to dig deeper and check to see how Åberg made his move, otherwise, I might have missed the shot that produced the single loudest roar I have heard in my life. Of course, it happened on 15 – the hole that seemingly sunk McIlroy’s chances on Thursday and brought them back to life on Saturday. It was tournament-saving variety again, a slinging 7-iron that avoided the left trees, landed on the front edge of the green and rolled to 7 feet.
No matter that he missed the eagle putt or that he missed the 10-foot birdie on the 16th, McIlroy’s Masters dreams were brought back to life with one electrifying, eardrum-shattering shot on the 15th.
I scurried my way back up the 15th fairway, crossing over to get a spot behind 17 green. Standing on my tiptoes, I saw McIlroy hit it to kick-in range on the par 4, a shot the nearby patrons were convinced McIlroy despised. “He hates it,” one said. It seems McIlroy was just walking after it. McIlroy tapped in for birdie and I flipped around and watched him pipe a drive down the 18th fairway.
“It’s over,” a volunteer standing next to me said to his friend, who had peeled off from volunteer duties earlier in the day to get a spot on the 18th tee box. It was the volunteer’s 30th year manning the 18th hole and he seemed confident enough for the both of us. So, I agreed.
I had learned my lesson by now. There would be no declarations. Not after McIlroy dumped a simple wedge into the greenside bunker and failed to hole a 5-foot putt to win the Masters. I had learned all of this from a Masters content staffer who I found behind the 18th green. We didn’t have a view of the green but she had an earpiece and was relaying play-by-play of the proceedings.
I retreated to the Augusta National clubhouse, where a group of members were streaming the broadcast on a computer screen. Huddled around, the members and few journalists watched McIlroy and Rose hit their tee shots. The members should be proud of the soundproofing, because we heard nothing of Rose’s shot, which settled 15 feet away, from the throngs of patrons outside. When McIlroy stuffed his shot to 4 feet, we sprang outside.
Another member was standing under the big tree and asked me what just happened. I did my best Nantz impression, saying McIlroy had the advantage.
“Thank you, Jesus,” the member exclaimed.
The views were still difficult as we approached the 18th, but I found an unoccupied chair to the left of the green and hoisted myself on top of it. I could see Rose’s upper body positioned over the ball, but nothing more. Groans followed a few seconds later. He missed.
Then I saw McIlroy. It was a simple putt under any circumstances that weren’t these. I didn’t get a good glimpse of the final moment as patrons quickly stood and obstructed my view.
I didn’t need to see it, though. The roars told the story.
