What If Rory Never Wins The Masters?

Rory McIlroy is included with some of golf’s highest royalty as a player to have three of the four Grand Slam jewels. But his latest adventure on Sunday playing in the final group with eventual winner Patrick Reed might be one his most perplexing failures.

Starting just three shots back and delivering some smack-talk, Rory went out and shot a demoralizing 74–beating only 3 of the 53 golfers on Sunday.

So, now what? If he does eventually grab a Green Jacket, it will have taken him the most attempts–over three–of the other five players (Nicklaus, Player, Hogan, Sarazen and Wood) to earn the Slam.

Shane Ryan asks what if McIlroy never celebrates at the Green Jacket ceremony.

It had to be one of the two most disappointing rounds of his professional life, a close rival to the famous Sunday 80 that spoiled his 54-hole lead in the 2011 Masters. And it was Reed who stood up to the overwhelming pressure of the moment, accomplishing an act of survival with his “B-game” that was perhaps more impressive, and more heroic, than anything he could have mustered with his best.

But here we are. And in the green jacket, Rory McIlroy has found his white whale.

Rory is not Ahab. We’re not there yet. But then again, it’s not meant to be a perfect parallel. It’s meant to describe what just became the game’s most fascinating story—Rory, already one of the greatest golfers ever, deprived of the thing that he wants the most.

There have been some terrific white whale examples in golf, where one player has captured three legs of the grand slam and been cruelly deprived of the fourth. The most famous of our current era, of course, is Phil Mickelson, who has finished runner-up at the U.S. Open an astounding six times without ever winning the thing. Before him, there was Tom Watson and Arnold Palmer at the PGA Championship, and Sam Snead at the U.S. Open. But it’s never happened quite the same way at the Masters. There are players who have won all three of the other majors, but there is always a decent excuse why they couldn’t crack Augusta. Jim Barnes never played. Tommy Armour and Walter Hagen were too old to play in their prime. Lee Trevino boycotted the tournament for a handful of his prime years.

Today, Rory finds himself in the unique position of being the only golfer in memory who has competed every eligible year of his career, won the other three majors, and yet never captured the green jacket.

The longer he goes without winning the Masters, the more a second, parallel interpretation of that 2011 loss becomes valid. The one that validates his fear, and that asks the ugly question: Was that, actually, the best chance he’ll ever get? Does he care too much now, and does his Sunday performance this year illuminate the trajectory of the decade and change to come? Is it the one thing, for this tough, brilliant, likable champion, that looms a little too large?