The boy from Holywood finally gets his Hollywood ending
Rory McIlroy did not simply have to win the Masters, the one prize he had coveted above all else. He had to win it three times over, suppressing the voices inside his head.
Augusta, Georgia | The reaction, when it finally came for Rory McIlroy, was a convulsion, a sense of catharsis so overwhelming that it left him physically heaving. His face puce and his body shaking, he was so spent by the time he holed his 1.2-metre birdie putt at the 18th for a first Green Jacket that he crumpled to the ground.
At last, the boy from Holywood, Northern Ireland, has his Hollywood ending. For so long tormented here at Augusta, chasing the white whale of a career grand slam, he expiated the curse in thrilling, bewildering, stomach-churning style, completing the full set of golf’s greatest prizes by rallying from every improbable setback.
