McIlroy’s breathtaking Masters win was as good as sport will ever be

Was that the best finish to a sporting contest, ever?

I think so. And yes, the victory of Australia II in the America’s Cup in 1983, the Canberra Raiders’ 1989 grand final win and Cathy Freeman’s 400m triumph at the Sydney Olympics in 2000 were all beyond superb. But this victory will be globally celebrated for years to come, sporting theatre that is simply as good as it gets.

Consider the build-up.

Rory McIlroy, the one-time wunderkind of world golf – winner of four majors by the age of 24, only to fail to win a major for the last 11 years – starts the day at 12 under, four clear of Bryson DeChambeau, who had run him down on the last day of last year’s US Open in humiliating fashion.

The likeable Englishman, Justin Rose, at the beginning of this day? An afterthought. Yes, a great player – with a major and an Olympic gold medal to his credit – but as he begins the day at seven shots off the pace, his best hope will be to make the podium, not be atop it.

But now sport delivers what it does at its very best – giving us more twists and turns in the road than the track winding back to Gundagai and, in real time, unveils plot twists that no-one ever saw coming.

The butler did it! No, no, it was the maid! Hang on, I think the butler is having an affair with the maid, and they were in the broom cupboard at the time, so weren’t anywhere near where the murder happened!

But near-murder is what we saw, with a staggering twist.

For this final day’s play was not a case of McIlroy trading death blows with a fierce opponent at all. The theme of this last day was the Northern Irishman trading blows with himself, unleashing vicious uppercuts to his own chin, only to come back swinging for the fairways regardless.

Rory McIlroy celebrates winning the US Masters.Credit: Getty Images

Time and again he followed the kind of choked shots that were Greg Norman’s infamous hallmark on his own final-day choke for the ages in the same tournament in 1996 with masterful recovery strokes that simply took the breath away. In the course of the tournament, McIlroy hit four – count ’em four – double-bogeys. But instead of throwing himself to the ground and weeping, he composed himself, against all reason, and delivered birdies.

A double-bogey to begin this day? No problem.

A wedge shot that put his ball right in the middle of what the denizens of Augusta call “Rae’s Creek”, but which to McIlroy had obviously become a creek of another name, and he was a man without a paddle. But no, he recovers again!

All the while, however, Rose is quietly putting superb birdies together himself, less the double-bogeys, to start to mow down everyone between him and McIlroy.

All of which sets up the best of the theatre, the play’s final act.

McIlroy, with caddie Harry Diamond, is overcome with emotion.Credit: Getty Images

For even as McIlroy cruises regardless to what looks to be a two-shot win, they keep doing cutaway shots to Rose who – having finished two lots ahead of McIlroy – is on the practice tee, staying limbered up and focused on the exceedingly off-chance that his rival will blow this.

Surely, surely, Rory is not going to blow it now and ...

And before our very eyes, on the 18th, he puts it in the bunker! Again, he could be forgiven for wrapping his club around the nearest tree, before falling to the ground and saying “I CANNOT do this any more!” But no, he pulls off a miraculous bunker shot to have the green jacket in his grasp, if he can just hole a relatively easy putt that he should be able to knock in with his eyes closed ... only to … only to miss.

McIlroy can clearly barely believe that this can have happened again. Is he about to be humiliated as he was last year when in the last few holes of the US Open he bogeyed four of the last five holes – including two sitters on the 16th and 18th – to lose to Bryson DeChambeau? Cue Nick Faldo on commentary at the time. “That’s going to haunt Rory for the rest of his life, those two misses.”

Say, Rory, are you facing that, now, only worse? “Haunt” you? If you lose this mate, it will be your waking thought for the rest of your life!

Steely-eyed, he makes his way to the tee for the play-off hole, with his caddy, Harry Diamond. Best friends since they were kids, and best men at each other’s wedding, the two talk quietly – settle, Rory, settle, it will be OK– as Justin Rose arrives.

And now, as Rose and McIlroy face off before beginning, do they glare at each other, a la boxing? Do they mutter crude imprecations under their breath, as cricket is infamous for? Do they even ignore each other as tennis players are wont to do in the tunnel at Wimbledon?

None of the above.

Instead they warmly embrace each other, and sincerely wish each other the best.

This time, no chokes, no jokes. Rose hits a wonder shot to be a couple of metres off the hole – only for McIlroy to hit an even better one, just a metre off. Rose two-putts to sink his.

Over to you, Rory.

McIlroy embraces Justin Rose after the dramatic climax to the Masters.Credit: Getty Images

This one for the money. For the glory. For the monkey off your back. For your first major in 11 years. This one, to take your place as one of only six players in the history of golf to have completed the grand slam of majors, with the last one being Tiger Woods 25 years ago. This one for your mum and dad, who raised you as their only child and made so many sacrifices to give you every chance of competing with the off-spring of more privileged folk – who even now, are watching in your childhood home at Holywood, where you dreamed of this moment from the age of ten onwards.

Can you do it?

McIlroy lines it up. He taps. It drifts . . . drifts . . . drifts . . . in!

Victory!

McIlroy brings his hands to his head, throwing his putter behind him as he does so. His whole body shakes with emotion.

Now, Rory, now. Now you can throw yourself to the ground.

And so he does, simply unable to stand.

Rose, though obviously devastated – his own life’s dream, snatched off him just instants ago – hangs back so as not to impede for a second on McIlroy’s glory. Only when it ebbs does he come into the frame, to warmly embrace his great rival and sincerely congratulate him, before withdrawing. The podium is all yours. It is sport, as good as it gets – and golf, which has somehow resisted garish carry-on, (yes, yes, yes, apart from LIV, I mean,) to maintain its sheer class.

Making his way to the clubhouse, McIlroy is further engulfed by all and sundry, including his wife and children, but must finally extricate himself, to say “I’ve got to go and get a green jacket.”

For that ceremony, he remains composed, right until the moment his parents, Rosie and Gerry McIlroy, are raised. The golfer breaks down once more, and can only get out that he can’t wait to be home with them in Ireland next week.

And then they give him the green jacket.

Bravo, the lot of them. I’m telling you: sport, as good as it gets.

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