At the Open, on the day after Rory McIlroy showered JP Fitzgerald with praise and thanks for the intervention that had stilled his tailspin in round one, McIlroy was asked again about his relationship with his caddie. Because the story of McIlroy’s Open had moved on and the market for JP quotes had cooled, McIlroy’s answer didn’t travel very far from the dais in the mixed zone but there is a line that is worth revisiting now in the wake of Fitzgerald’s sacking.
Asked if Fitzgerald gave many impromptu pep talks, McIlroy said yes. “He does it quite often,” he said. “It’s just whether it penetrates my head is a different thing. He tries to keep me as positive as he possibly can. Sometimes I get down on myself.”
In that answer it was McIlroy’s intention to eulogise his caddie again, somebody who in the changing cast of McIlroy’s support team over the last decade has been a trusted and cherished constant. But the line that resonates now is McIlroy wondering aloud how much of Fitzgerald’s on-course input “penetrates my head”.
Had their professional relationship dulled to the point where there was nothing much new to be said or heard, like a married couple plonked on the sofa of middle age?
About 30 hours later McIlroy was back in the same corner of the mixed zone, partly to explain how his Open challenge had imploded. Under questioning in the witness stand McIlroy is often inclined to make a confession.
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His round had crashed with a double bogey at the 10th that was caused by catastrophically poor course management. McIlroy spelt it out in self-incriminating detail: to take most of the bunkers out of play he needed to hit a one-iron off the tee; to take all of the bunkers out of play he needed to lay up short of them with a four or a five-iron. What did he hit? Three-iron. Where did the ball end up? In such an awkward spot in the bunker that his second shot staggered towards another bunker.
“That was a really bad club off the tee,” he said. “Then I got frustrated.”
It was the second day in succession that he had found a bunker off that tee. Whose fault was that? McIlroy. What could Fitzgerald have done to stop his player making such a bad club selection?
That’s the recurring question that has generated so much commentary on their relationship over the years: when McIlroy has made a bad call on the golf course what should Fitzgerald have done to save him from himself?
Over the years McIlroy has said that course management was a weakness in his game. At the beginning of 2016 he said again that he needed to make smarter decisions on the golf course. How long has it been an issue?
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As far back as 2012 Michael Bannon — McIlroy’s coach since he was a child — said that McIlroy’s course management had improved, acknowledging that it had been a problem before that. But he also said that the improvement “is not coming from me. That’s JP’s job.” A couple of years ago, however, when Bannon agreed to spend less time in the pro shop at Hollywood golf club and more time on the road with his protégé, McIlroy welcomed Bannon’s influence as a strategist. “Now that he travels with me a bit more and he sees me play more on the golf course, our conversations are more about strategy or course management or hitting certain shots at the right time,” McIlroy said.
In the heat of battle, though, the only consultant available to a golfer is his caddie. If McIlroy was comforted by that level of micro-planning with his coach was he trying to make up a shortfall in Fitzgerald’s contribution or in his own capacity to make good decisions under pressure? Or both?
When McIlroy and the former golfer-turned commentator Jay Townsend had their famous Twitter spat over Fitzgerald in 2011 it was ignited by how poorly McIlroy had played the 18th at Killarney during the Irish Open.
“McIlroy’s course management was shocking,” Townsend tweeted. “Some of the worst course management I’ve seen beyond a boys U-10 tournament.”
Townsend slaughtered the point and McIlroy launched a passionate defence of Fitzgerald — not for the last time — but the question of whether McIlroy needed a more challenging presence on his bag continued to bubble below the surface. When McIlroy was trapped in one of his periodic form slumps it wouldn’t be long before somebody would raise it.
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There was a classic reason to bring it up at Augusta during the third round of the 2016 Masters when McIlroy’s putting had cracked and he was trying to force a score. On the 11th hole he put the ball in the trees and tried to reach the green with a shot that could have worked only by sorcery. The ball finished in water. McIlroy was criticised for taking on the shot but Fitzgerald was hammered for not stopping him.
But is that how their relationship worked? There was no evidence to say so.
Fitzgerald was never seen barging into McIlroy’s thought processes. The picture that emerged over time was that Fitzgerald created an environment in which McIlroy was comfortable; in that environment they won 29 tournaments including four Majors. Who can say it didn’t work?
McIlroy’s playing partner when he trashed the 11th at Augusta last year was Jordan Spieth. He is an extraordinary young man with fewer natural gifts than McIlroy but he is possessed of a resilient mind, a great putting stroke and in Michael Greller he has the support of a strong and smart caddie.
Spieth has a methodical approach in which Greller is an active partner: they talk it through; Spieth listens. On the back nine on Sunday at the Open Spieth couldn’t have won without him.
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Maybe McIlroy needs someone like that on his bag. But will McIlroy listen? On the golf course, does he want to be told?
Changing his caddie may count for little unless he changes too.