Rory McIlroy in the third round of the U.S. Open on Saturday.
getty images
OAKMONT, Pa. — When I first met Rory McIlroy, he was 19 and had not yet played his first tournament as a pro in the United States. Over a brown-bag lunch in Southern California, he talked about traveling the world as an amateur golfer from suburban Belfast. The things he saw! Grand (the Opera House in Sydney), fun (Disney World in Orlando) and wrenching (the slums of Mumbai). He was a prodigy with a broad view of the world. He was unexpected.
In the years since then, McIlroy has talked about his growing reading list, his humanitarian travel to Haiti, his psychologist and his insights, his parents and their sacrifices, his daughter and her favorite movies. He’s been joyful in victory and candid in defeat. He talked and talked and talked, and a lot of it was interesting, insightful and intelligent. His swing, with driver in hand especially, came out of a golfing dream. In the history of the game, there was never anybody quite like him. He was beloved.
On April 13, he won his first Masters, on his 16th trip to Augusta, and became the sixth player to win the career Grand Slam. It was the most popular win in golf since Tiger won his fifth Masters in 2019. It was hugely popular. On May 4, he turned 36. From the outside looking in, Rory McIlroy seemed healthy, wealthy and wise beyond his years.
Then, on the eve of the PGA Championship at Quail Hollow, he was told that his driver, the driver with which he won the Masters, did not pass the USGA’s conformance test. The face, degrading over time, had become too thin. On the Friday of the PGA Championship, there was a report about this failed driver on SiriusXM PGA Tour radio. And since then, from the outside looking in, Rory McIlroy — beloved Rory McIlroy, with his six majors and his career Grand Slam and his wife and young daughter and devoted parents and discreet caddie and his South Florida pals — appears to be on an epic run of. . .cranky.
And it’s kind of a freak-out moment for possibly millions of people because . . .
If this guy is cranky, with all he’s achieved and all that he has, what chance do the rest of us have?
If you follow men’s professional golf closely, you know about the smashed tee marker at Oakmont. You know about the half-dozen times he has blown by various reporters who have covered him with a detectable delight for years, while giving his private life a wide berth. You know about his uninspired play since the Masters.
Something is going on here. Could it just be the non-conforming driver and how the news of it eked out? That just seems so unlikely. That would seem like an overreaction.
McIlroy talked to reporters after his Saturday 74. It was like a divorced couple having a court-mandated conference in chambers. The first question was posed by Stephen Watson, a veteran sports reporter and anchor for BBC Northern Ireland, a notably staid news organization.
“Can you give us an assessment of your U.S. Open so far?” Watson asked.
McIlroy’s two-word answer, and the long, excruciating pause that followed it, told you loads about his state of mind.
“Pretty average,” he said, as if the BBC Northern Ireland audience, and millions of other people beyond its reach, don’t have the right to know more.
I don’t want to turn this into one another self-absorbed media v. famous athlete contretemps. There’s way too much of that, everywhere. My view is that Collin Morikawa is lucky that people are actually interested in what he does as a professional golfer. But if he doesn’t want to share insights into his experiences on any given day, that’s up to him. For Rory or any of the others, the same. I have great respect for Tiger Woods, that he stood up there round after round, when golf was easy for him and when it was not, and took questions. And the times he didn’t, no big whoop.
But this feels different. For over 15 years now, we, reporters and fans, have made this investment in caring about Rory McIlroy, the person and the golfer, in good times and bad. And we’re finding out now the feeling is not always mutual. That, at the very least, is disappointing. From the person who just two months ago won the Masters and became the sixth golfer to win the career Grand Slam. Weird, weird, weird.
So there’s that, and there’s also something much more significant, and it’s one of the trickiest things in the human experience: Can you be in regular, meaningful contact with your own sense of gratitude? That’s a question for Rory McIlroy, for you, for your correspondent, for anybody and everybody. It’s a universal.
The last question a reporter asked McIlroy on Saturday afternoon was this: “What do you look for tomorrow?”
“Hopefully a round in under four and a half hours and get out of here,” McIlroy said.
I realize that’s a quick and annoyed answer to a question of no particular depth. But it is insulting to the hundreds of USGA officials and volunteers who work so hard to put on this tournament, and the Oakmont members and the club’s hundreds of employees. To the people who prepare the food he and others ate here, who cleaned the toilets he and others used here, who provided the security and the first-tee welcoming and everything else. It is the answer of an entitled person not in touch with the fundamental value of gratitude. (Asked Saturday whether he felt like he has the right to decline post-round interview requests, McIlroy said, “I feel like I’ve earned the right to do whatever I want to do.”) I’m not judging. Believe me, I’ve been there myself, acting uppity and important. I try to be aware. Here, with Rory, I’m observing, is all. We see what we see. I’m guessing it’s a passing mood.
Arnold Palmer grew up 40 miles down the road from here, in Latrobe. He was lucky. He played golf in an era when the game actually was glamorous. The stars wore Egyptian cotton shirts, cashmere sweaters, leather shoes. Their clubs were handcrafted artworks. Money took a back seat to camaraderie yet somehow the players were more independent-minded than they are today. I know how much Rory admired Arnold and his era. Rory and his brethren would do well to remember Arnold’s golden rule: Never put yourself ahead of the game.
Things feel a bit grubby in golf right now, self-absorbed, off. Not everywhere. Scottie Scheffler is a shining example of that. The British Open, the same. This year the Open visits Royal Portrush, a one-hour drive from McIlroy’s childhood home. Maybe a different Rory, old Rory, will be on display there, the one who traveled the world as a teenager and wondered at it in awe.
Michael Bamberger writes for GOLF Magazine and GOLF.com. Before that, he spent nearly 23 years as senior writer for Sports Illustrated. After college, he worked as a newspaper reporter, first for the (Martha’s) Vineyard Gazette, later for The Philadelphia Inquirer. He has written a variety of books about golf and other subjects, the most recent of which is The Second Life of Tiger Woods. His magazine work has been featured in multiple editions of The Best American Sports Writing. He holds a U.S. patent on The E-Club, a utility golf club. In 2016, he was given the Donald Ross Award by the American Society of Golf Course Architects, the organization’s highest honor.
