AUGUSTA, Ga. — Three thousand nine hundred and twenty days is an awfully long time for stress to build up, for disappointment to coarsen the heart, for resilience to wither under sustained assault. That’s how long it’s been since that summer evening in Liverpool when Rory McIlroy won the third leg of the career grand slam, an at times agonizing wait that finally ended on a beautiful springtime evening in Augusta when he slipped into a green jacket and into history.
By the time he collapsed into the arms of friends by the clubhouse, the accumulated emotion was spilling out.