As he stood in the pine straw late Sunday afternoon, deep in the trees, wild to the right of the 18th fairway, Rory McIlroy exhaled, rolled his eyes and shook his head, as if to suggest that even he had grown exhausted by the drama. Did it really have to be this hard? Apparently, it did.
After entering the weekend with a six-shot lead and a seeming stranglehold on the tournament, the man trying to become just the fourth Masters champion to defend his title had pressed repeat, all right, reprising the feast-or-famine play that marked his Grand Slam-capping run to victory last year. Much like 2025, the 2026 Masters had become his to lose, and for much of the day Sunday, he appeared intent on doing just that. A stressful par on the 1st hole. A three-putt double-bogey on the 4th to fall behind Cameron Young by two. And then another dropped shot on the 6th, with a birdie on the 3rd sprinkled in along the way.
Throughout the week, McIlroy had said that things felt different this time around, now that he had a green jacket to his name and a lifetime invite to the Masters. And yet what he produced on Sunday was more of the same, a nail-biting, whiplash-inducing thrill ride of spectacular shots and head-scratching mistakes.
Elsewhere on the course, the roars carried echoes of the recent past as well. Justin Rose, who fell to McIlroy in last year’s playoff, went out in 32 to vault in front, only to spring a leak around Amen Corner. Every Rose has its thorn, and it’s official: Justin’s is the Masters.
For a nervy spell on Sunday, McIlroy looked destined for more Masters heartache. Never mind what he said about having the monkey off his back — slumping into Butler Cabin and slipping the green jacket onto someone else’s shoulders would have been a particular kind of torture.
Instead, he did what he did last year: playing with a red ass, he put up red numbers, rattling off birdies on 12 and 13 to take command (and then nearly letting it go again when his wedge on the par-5 15th barely made it over Rae’s Creek). He was two clear standing on the 18th tee, the green jacket all but back on his shoulders, if only he could stop being himself for a moment.
He could not. Pulling driver, he flared one far right into the Georgia pines, eliminating any chance of a tidy finish. The groan from the gallery was familiar, almost affectionate. This was vintage McIlroy: maddening, mystifying, marvelous all at once. He hacked out and made bogey, which was good enough. A tap-in for the win and a repeat in more ways than one.
“I just can’t believe I waited 17 years to get one green jacket,” he said afterward, “and I get two in a row.”
With his second Masters, Rory McIlroy has left his demons in the distant dust. He’s chasing history now. It’s going to take a lot of energy to keep up.
