Rory McIlroy’s latest major near-miss as Bryson DeChambeau wins the US Open

You want to write about resilience, about how majors one and two were about his brilliance, three and four his dominance, five his resilience. About what it must be like to be a successful failure for 10 years; magnificent by every measure but one. You have the line from 2017 ready: ‘You’re Rory McIlroy, what the fuck are you doing?’

When the first birdie goes in at the ninth, you start thinking about it. When the long putt goes in at the 10th, you start typing and then there are two more and suddenly it’s four birdies in five and it’s something breathtaking for an hour and a half and then you know, deep down you know, that with four holes to play, four pars will win and he can probably make a bogey and maybe two and then this, all of this, will be done. It will be finished. He will be the greatest golfer of his generation. No ifs, no buts.

Imagine what it’s like thinking you’re going to win the Open after those eight years. Imagine what it’s like thinking you’re going to win the US Open after those nine years. Imagine now what it’s going to be like to win this major, at this course, in this moment. Personal problems, endless Zoom calls, the spectre of Scheffler. The fact that you had to go back to Hoylake then back to Valhalla and that you have to keep going back to Augusta. You think about New Orleans and friendship and Don’t Stop Believin’ and you know that so many did but that Rory McIlroy didn’t. You think about how wonderful it is that they say he can’t do this, that he can’t win if it’s difficult and it’s firm, and you’ve known all along that he can.

You think about natural talent and how the names of natural talents aren’t written on the US Open trophy but on the walls of clubhouses up and down the land. The work. The hard, hard work. The fact that Rory McIlroy is unique among this generation of golfers: there are those who win majors and those who don’t and somehow he is both of these things at the same time. Not any more. We probably need two good swings, on 15 and 17, to the middle of the green. Remember to just hit the middle of the green.

And then it isn’t breathtaking any more, it’s totally, consumingly nerve-racking. You curse that we have shot tracking that tells you straight away that this shot to 15 is left and you know that left is long and long is a problem. You see the lie and fear the worst. You come to terms with a four and remember that the other one has no control over his ball at the moment. Four is fine. Three to go and the last two aren’t all that difficult really.

You begin to call the drive on 16, which goes so far you don’t know if it will ever stop, his Oakmont moment: Dustin Johnson saying enough is enough and pulverising a golf ball. Then you remember that this isn’t the 18th hole and that there are less than a thousand yards left and he can shortcut 350 of them in one swipe but that this won’t be about yards in the end but inches, inches between the ears, inches between the sides of the hole.

And then comes the putt that they’ll measure in inches. You feel sick and when you look back you’ll wish that it ended there, at the 16th; that DeChambeau had made two rather than four at the hole before. That he took control at this point and in the end it was a good effort and we’ll come to regret that shot on 15 and the putt at 16 but nothing more than that. Those two bogeys are enough to carry into tomorrow.

Now it’s 17 and that’s oh so very McIlroy and it’s left, just a little left, but they’re saying it’s an easy shot. Of course it isn’t. But he does make it look fairly easy and that putt is assured. You’re going to write about how that par was 10 years in microcosm: it was the way he rallied at Portrush and the way he’s picked himself up after St Andrews and LACC but this time it’s not glorious failure but the most glorious success, the one you have to dig out from the dirt, the one you refuse to let be anything else.

Driver. They’re not sure, Faldo is borderline angry, but you know this is the single best driver of a golf ball the sport has ever had. Why shouldn’t he hit driver. Start it left and hit it hard and watch it come back and then we’ll go and see about one of those wedges they say you can’t do when we all know you can. But it’s left. Someone on commentary says it’s bad but the one on course says it’s good, well if not good then doable, and you wonder if he’s as lost in this as you are, no longer able to judge anything properly.

The second is fine, the pitch is better than fine, but the putt is downhill and when they say on television that it should be a four you think yes and we shouldn’t be here, because he should’ve made par on 16, and his ball shouldn’t have bounced left at five, and he should’ve won the US Open, and he should’ve won the Open, and he should’ve done all these things that Rory Daniel McIlroy was meant to do. But he hasn’t done them and he hasn’t done this and when the moment comes and you see how far left he’s aiming you can only hold your breath and you don’t have to do that for long because you know, immediately you know, that this is right and it isn’t coming back.

Now it’s about somebody else. It’s about a fabulous talent, a pantomime villain-turned-influencer who has never been more popular. But you remember those roars an hour ago, the ‘Rory! Rory!’ roars, and you know which outcome here is the one most people want and you can see it slipping away. And then comes the shot. You know it’s one of the very best shots you’ve ever seen. You know that it’s over now, that Bryson DeChambeau will collect the trophy in a few minutes and that someone will have it on TikTok within seconds. You know you can’t bear to watch much more of this.

You know he deserves it because he’s going to have shot the best score but you know he is going to win because Rory McIlroy allowed it to happen.

And when you wake up the next morning and you wonder what day it is and who was meant to be up with the baby and whether the other one’s PE kit is ready and then it hits you, square in the face and then twice more in the gut, and you don’t think you can go to work today, when all of that happens and you manage to get one to school and you’re driving back and the car stereo is playing Missed the Boat and you want to keep driving around until you think of something to say, when all of it leads you back here and you can’t parse the details, you can’t offer proper insight or analysis, you can’t bear to look at WhatsApp, all you can think is that it’s not when Rory McIlroy wins another major, but if.