Rochester, New York | Six weeks ago, Brooks Koepka did not sleep. He had brooding to do and demons to chase. After everything – the ghastly knee injury, the agony of unfulfilled ambition, the taunts and the splenetic rift in professional golf that he helped personify – he had rallied to a Masters Tournament lead, and then he had fizzled. Collapsed really.
He ultimately vowed, he recalled over the weekend at Oak Hill Country Club, never to “think the way I thought going into the final round”.
