On Rory McIlroy: Enough of a Standard

Update: Rory McIlroy won the 2025 Masters Tournament.

Sunday, June 23, 2023. You sit down on the couch—the years of near misses may finally be coming to an end. You watch. It seems like he has it. He’s got it. And then, on the 72nd hole, it becomes clear: he doesn’t.

Sunday, June 16, 2024. You sit down—surely, the years of near misses are coming to an end. You watch. He really does have it. He’s got it. And then, on the 72nd hole, it becomes clear: he doesn’t.

Such is the story of being a fan of Rory. Two United States Open Championships in a row tell the story of the big game. Now, he has won plenty over his career. Enough to make him unquestionably one of the greatest of all time. A future hall-of-famer. But one could make the claim (and there’ve been times I've thought it, too) that he has not lived up to the potential that was undeniable back in the days when he donned a Jumeirah cap.

The start? 2009, Quail Hollow. McIlroy held a simple role: not the PGA Tour's moral compass, but instead just a prodigy. A 20-year-old whose curly hair poking out from under his cap represented his free-flowing swing and the inconceivable ease by which he played the game. That final-round 62 at the Wells Fargo was not quite a coronation, but it felt like the excitement and prodigy label had thickened beyond just an air about the man.

More success followed: contention in majors and multiple wins on what is now the DP World Tour. His Official World Golf Ranking rose, too: top 10 in the world. Anyone who knew anything about the state of professional golf could see major victories were imminent. And among the Azaleas in 2011, the real coronation slipped away.

That Sunday is one of my earliest and most painful golf memories. I’ve re-watched the pull into the cabins so many times that I can’t tell which television set I was in front of during the live broadcast.

Yet for as many times as I’ve watched that 10th tee shot on Sunday at Augusta, I’ve watched the 10th tee shot on Sunday at Congressional Country Club just two months later far more. The Sports Illustrated Cover of the shot with the words “GOLF’S NEW ERA” printed upon it inspires me in a way one of a hypothetical Masters victory that year never could. And in a way, despite Rory’s drought since 2014, that cover story’s title was more accurate than its author, Michael Bamberger, could have guessed. He’s been at the center of the two biggest, most interesting stories in golf since then––golf’s new era is more about the stories than the shots themselves.

Indeed, the story of Rory not winning has been a far bigger story than ten major victories ever could have been. And the tantalizingly-close-misses narrative’s importance has been eclipsed only by LIV Golf, a split that made Rory more than just a player.

Both storylines have changed McIlroy’s public persona to fans: on some occasions, he’s become a choke artist; on others: a hyper-political hypocrite––an immoral compass. It’s difficult to imagine that these storylines didn’t weigh on McIlroy, and one wonders the extent to which they were linked, after Rory began coming closer and closer to major victories in the early 2020s. It seems Rory, too, guessed they were linked: he stepped away from the PGA Tour Policy Board in November 2023. Aging into his mid-30s, finally really contending in majors again, and devoting less time to his role beyond playing (the moral compass he had become), the real chances to win felt less far away.

And at Pinehurst, he had it. Again.

Two up with four to play. And then, the putt on 16—never touched the cup. The putt on 18—lipped out. Another one that got away. A Sunday night of sitting in silence for the devoted Rory supporter, watching his courtesy car peel out of the parking lot at near-dangerous speeds. He offered no words to the media, and really, what could he have said?

But here we are, 2025, and the resilience is no weaker. He’s almost too determined: tantalizing losses have worn me, an irrelevant believer, down. He’s shown the pain, and we the fans have felt it. And yet, you wonder how his character has changed? Not at all.

Rory shows honesty. He’s not perfect; peeling out of the parking lot and cursing out his Ryder Cup opponents shows that. In many ways, he eclipses a persona or character; he’s an authentic human in a way very few in the carefully-curated public eye of golf dare to be.

This year, everyone knows his form is as strong as it’s ever been. Champion at Pebble Beach and The Players won at Pebble Beach. He won The Players, a tournament with maybe the strongest field in the world. He’s never won twice before the Masters. Never before has he carried this kind of momentum to Augusta.

And so, come April, you will once again sit on that couch, hopeful you’ve finally followed Rory beyond the deep cavern and back to the promised land.

But if this isn’t the end––if, once again, he doesn’t win––what then? Really, why do we continue to trample his legacy?

The man has accomplished far more than enough. And maybe that’s the practical implication of all this. Golf Digest's Joey Beall argued after Rory's latest Players victory that it's unfair the fans and media dictate the criteria by which we judge Rory––exclusively majors––whereas Brooks Koepka has told us that his relatively subpar play in non-majors is irrelevant––and we've believed him. The point is valid: it’s a double standard that we don’t discuss––maybe because the clichéd idea of a big-game hunter is so relentlessly attractive. What he’s given us is enough for me, and it should be enough for you, too. The 5th major is undoubtedly integral, but enough should be enough.

And most importantly, beyond the practical, Rory shows us humanity. I would never dare ask for more.