“Catch yourself on!’’
That’s the melodious phrase people in Rory McIlroy’s homeland of Northern Ireland direct at those they suspect have let their egos get the better of them. It means “Get real!’’ or “Come back to Earth!’’
That phrase, and the peer pressure it describes of not getting too big for one’s boots, offers a vital clue to how McIlroy has managed to juggle the expectations of possibly being golf’s Next Big Thing without taking on the surliness of Tiger Woods at his worst. The prodigious talent has big ambitions, big hair but, so far, no big head.
When he finally wins his first major — perhaps at next week’s U.S. Open — and his earnings go from merely huge to ridiculously stratospheric, the expectations behind that phrase also explain why those who know McIlroy think they’ll still be bumping into him at normal places like the Dirty Duck Ale House in his hometown of Holywood, perhaps sinking a pint and a plate of sticky toffee pudding while gazing at the choppy waters of Belfast Lough where the Titanic launched a century ago.

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