Last year, Rory McIlroy—the now just shy of 37-year-old golfer from Northern Ireland—won his first Masters championship. And last night, he did it again. Back-to-back Masters wins are rare; only three other men have defended their titles (Jack Nicklaus in 1965 and 1966, Nick Faldo in 1989 and 1990 and Tiger Woods in 2001 and 2002). The summit, held annually at the August National Golf Club in Georgia, is 90 years old; these repeats are unusual. During an interview afterwards, McIlroy told the media: “I can’t believe I waited 17 years to get one green jacket, and now I get two in a row. I can’t believe I did it again.”
There were moments, though, when it looked like his second green jacket—the fairway grass-hued blazer that’s the symbolic trophy of the Masters, though victors do also get some hardware—might need to be tailored for someone else.
On Thursday and Friday, McIlroy put together an impressive six-stroke lead over the field. The sweeping romanticization that tends to build in golf discourse, especially during major tournaments, reached a choral thrum; maybe this wouldn’t be a nailbiter on Sunday, but McIlroy—gritty, emotional and very popular—deserved a runaway win.
On Saturday, though, it all came apart. McIlroy shot a 73, one above par, and he’d end up starting Sunday with a much less comfortable advantage (four others were just one stroke behind him). “Having a six shot lead going into the weekend…,” he said, trailing off. “It would have been a bitter pill to swallow if I wasn’t able to get myself over the finish line.”
Sunday, as it happens, did end up with its fair share of nailbiting. Justin Rose, who placed second behind McIlroy last year and who is hungry for his own first Masters title, would lead the tournament after his first nine holes. Rival Scottie Scheffler surged forward after a poor showing earlier in the contest. And McIlroy himself, while largely back in form, wasn’t perfect. He double bogeyed the fourth hole, and bogeyed the sixth. But, with others in the pack charging but not exactly dazzling, McIlroy was able to reattain the lead on the back nine.
The eighteenth hole delivered some fitting final drama. McIlroy sliced his tee shot into a dividing row of foliage. It could have been worse; the lie left a clear but challenging pathway over a large tree that obscured the eighteenth green from view. McIlroy walked forward, gesturing for spectators—“patrons” as they’re somewhat grandly called labeled in Augusta—to keep stepping back. He was two shots ahead, and didn’t need anything spectacular to win it—but he also couldn’t afford another bad shot from this position.
He locked in, and, while hitting it into a bunker, still brought it close enough. He chipped out, and two-putted for a bogey.
The bogey didn’t matter; it was all he needed. Tilting his head back, he let out an extended roar as the Georgian light burned golden over the green and the cheering masses.
McIlroy walked over to his family, first hugging his daughter, Poppy, gesturing to her that it was OK to duck under the barrier ropes. Then, his wife Erica Stoll. Then, his parents Gerry and Rosie, who still live full time in Northern Ireland.
He’d later tell reporters that it was only the second major win that his mother was present for, noting the superstition of perhaps not wanting to jinx their son’s chances. “There was a piece of them that didn’t want to come this year after not being here last year,” McIlroy admitted. “But I’m so glad they got to experience this today.”