Rory McIlroy downplays viral ‘gesture.’ But also knows why it matters

If you trace the roots of the FedEx St. Jude Championship, the opening salvo of the PGA Tour’s three-tournament playoff system, you’ll find yourself a long way from Memphis.

The event found its footing as the Westchester Classic, which from 1967-2007 was played annually at Westchester Country Club, a sprawling 36-hole private facility not far from New York City. In its golden years the Westchester event was known as the Buick Classic, but when I was a young’un, the tourney was called [deep breath] the Manufacturers Hanover Westchester Classic, or, informally, the Manny Hanny.

As a kid, I was never much of an autograph hound, but I also wouldn’t turn down the opportunity to snag a Hancock when I found myself in the vicinity of a Sharpie-wielding superstar. In my day, Greg Norman fit that description and then some: the powerful swing, the confident strut, the enviable mane cascading like liquid gold from his signature straw hat. If ever you encountered the Shark in person, know he is a sight to behold. In his prime, and still to this day.

At one edition of the Manny Hanny in the late-80s, I was so enthralled by Norman that after watching him play a shot from the rough, I hustled over to his divot, picked it up and slipped it into my pocket. Later that day, after Norman had finished his round, I spotted him (by happenstance!) walking toward to the entrance of the clubhouse, which doubles as an eight-story hotel. Exactly what happened next is a bit hazy, but I recall fast-walking after the Shark and hollering something along the lines of “Mr. Norman! Mr. Norman! Please, Mr. Norman!”

He could have ignored me, especially given I surely was in an area where fans weren’t permitted, but he didn’t. Norman stopped and quickly scribbled his name on a blank scorecard before retreating inside. The thrill! When I got home, I raced up to my bedroom and found a home for the card and accompanying divot, which was now safely in a plastic baggie. I treasured those mementos for years.

Here’s the point: to fans of a certain age, these fleeting moments with the game’s luminaries can be impactful. All these years later, I’ve seen this dynamic at work with my own kids. When my oldest son, Mac, who’s now in college, was 10 or 11, we attended a Tour event at Ridgewood Country Club in northern New Jersey. He hadn’t the slightest interest in golf (still doesn’t), but he still enjoyed the day, thanks in part to the graciousness of Padraig Harrington. As we were strolling down a par-4, Mac seized the opportunity to blissfully cartwheel his way down the rope line, which caught Harrington’s eye. The three-time major winner approached us and commended Mac on his tumbling skills. It was a tiny, seemingly insignificant gesture — and yet for Mac (and his proud parents!) … day made. Maybe even week made.

Rory McIlroy knows the feeling. When he was growing up, the London-area course Wentworth — which this week is playing host to the DP World Tour’s BMW Championship — was the site of the World Match Play. The event fell during a week when Rory was off from school so his parents would fly him over for a few days of wide-eyed spectating. Rory remembers Ryder Cup legend Sam Torrance tossing him a ball. Mark O’Meara did, too, fresh off wins at the 1998 Masters and Open Championship. Speaking from Wentworth on Tuesday, McIlroy said, “I think that’s why I have such an affinity for this place is because I had that experience as a child.”

McIlroy had been asked to reflect on his days as a young fan because of heart-warming images that had been making the rounds last week of giddy kids watching McIlroy en route to his rousing win at the Irish Open.

One clip in particular was heavy on the feels: that of McIlroy flipping a ball to a girl — maybe 8 or 9 — just before disappearing into the press tent after the third round. The youngster, incredulous and overwhelmed by what had just transpired, stares hard at the TaylorMade stamped with RORS before burying her head into her father’s midsection and weeping.

McIlroy saw the video.

“It’s not like it’s some great gesture,” he said. “I’m handing a kid a ball.”

But he also has been a star long enough to know that even little gestures can have big effects.

“If that makes them a fan of golf for life or makes them want to get into it or play it more,” he said, “that’s a really cool thing.”

You couldn’t blame McIlroy for wanting to give something back to fans at the K Club, where all week he’d been showered with adoration from the heaving galleries. That he ultimately won the tournament and in such dramatic fashion only injected more hysteria into the masses. Afterward, McIlroy said of his relationship with fans:

“It has taken me a while to get to this place, where I do embrace it and enjoy it. [But] after the year I have had, and the career I have had, to be able to come home in front of these crowds and feel the love, and show them my appreciation for their support over the years, I love it.”

Feeling’s mutual.