In Augusta Company: McIlroy makes history as only the fourth player to win second straight Masters titles

On Friday, Rory McIlroy slept on a six-stroke lead, only concerned with waking up in time to watch Jannik Sinner and Carlos Alcaraz play tennis. But a 73 in the third round opened the door for Cameron Young and Scottie Scheffler to surge into contention. The final round at the Masters is rarely simple. At different moments, McIlroy conceded the lead to Young and Justin Rose. Yet, scrambling like a wrestler, McIlroy relied on patience and courage to navigate Amen Corner, gaining a stroke.

In the closing stretch, still inconsistent, he battled relentlessly to etch his name into golf history. A tap-in bogey at the 72nd hole, from the pine straw to the right, secured a onestroke victory over Scheffler and retained the Green Jacket.

McIlroy screamed in joy, emulating Jack Nicklaus (1965-66), Nick Faldo (1989-90), and Tiger Woods (2001-02) as the only men to defend the Masters. With six majors, McIlroy now chases Bobby Jones, Gene Sarazen, and Arnold Palmer, who each won seven; Tom Watson has eight, while Ben Hogan and Gary Player have nine.


IMPERFECTLY PERFECT

McIlroy’s long game wobbled this week. He found just 31 of 56 fairways, the lowest ever for a Masters champion, and ranked 52nd of 54 in driving accuracy. Though he held the lead after each round, beneath the surface he walked a tightrope. That rope frayed on Saturday as the leaderboard tightened. McIlroy sensed his mind and body were out of sync.

“My path was just getting a little bit too far to the right with every club in the bag. I was just hitting too much of a draw. Then when the path is coming from that far inside, if you don’t keep your body moving at all, the ball is just going to go dead left,” he explained. “I focused on hitting more cut shots and really opening up my lower body through impact. That helps stabilise the club face and start the ball on a straighter, more neutral flight.”

Sunday brought more melancholy as McIlroy searched the familiar course for respite. A double bogey at the 4th and a bogey at the par-3 sixth left him trailing by two. Young and Rose, previously too far behind, now stood ahead. In those moments, McIlroy turned inward. He set himself a number: reach the turn in level par, then play the back nine in 33 or 32. It was a mathematical cover for something simpler — ignore the others, stay focused.

The front nine ended in repair. Birdies at seven and eight, both crafted from driver and wedge, steadied him and cut the deficit. Behind the score, the shots showed traces of his work on the range — the ball started straighter, the flight less violent. If there was a moment when the Masters tilted back to McIlroy, it was at the familiar, treacherous hollow starting at the eleventh tee. Amen Corner, with its ponds and memories, had seen his disasters and near-misses. This time, it saw his most disciplined golf.

McIlroy played the eleventh quietly: drive, long iron, two putts from the right half of the green. On the twelfth tee, he recalled Watson’s advice from a 2009 practice round: wait for the wind, trust the f e e l i n g , then hit. He waited as the w i n d swirled, then aimed a three-quarter nine-iron tow a r d t h e bunker and let the breeze carry it to the flag. The ball held. The birdie that followed was less about gaining on the field than proving he trusted his swing where it mattered most.

He stayed bold at thirteen. A year earlier, leading, he chose three-wood and caution, courting trouble. This time, despite three poor tee shots earlier in the week, he refused to retreat. Driver found the fairway, eightiron reached the green. A tense stretch, but McIlroy mustered a two-stroke lead.

Scheffler, playing ahead, posted 68 for an 11-under total, closing a 12-shot gap to finish one behind. Tyrrell Hatton, Russell Henley, and Rose all reached 10-under but could go no further.

McIlroy stood on the 18th tee needing a bogey for victory. Golf rarely honours such arithmetic. His drive sailed far right—neither player nor caddie knew what stance awaited. He found enough of a swing, sent his second shot into the front left bunker, then, as Augusta held its breath, splashed out of the sand with conviction.

Rory is fond of Augusta, and this epic scramble, will add to that endearment. He has long desired to win without his best game. He has done precisely that: at 36, on a course that exposes any inch of frailty, he drove with all the waywardness of a club golfer and yet summoned, from the small arts around the green and the quiet of his own head, enough order to hold off the best players in the world.