Paul Lewis: Who masters pressure wins

Pressure is both the poison and nectar of sport. There's an old saying from somewhere: There is no talent; only pressure. Absolutely.

In the last couple of weeks, there have been examples aplenty of the way intense pressure affects sportspeople - none more so than the fateful last day of the Masters golf tournament.

Rory McIlroy's tragic meltdown was pure and utter pressure. There is no denying his vast talent. There is probably no other golfer who can bend and shape a ball and manufacture inventive shots as the precocious 21-year-old Northern Irishman. Not even Tiger Woods, though Phil Mickelson might beg to differ.

McIlroy had drunk deeply from the cup of outrageous ability but he'd never been alone, in the lead, at the Masters; never subject to Augusta National's siren call to passing heroes; drawing the ship carrying many a golfer's hopes onto the rocks.

In McIlroy's case, it was the rocks in Rae's Creek at the 11th which really showed the extent of his fall after a hideous botch of the 10th.

It had looked like there could be no other winner. He was four shots clear. In the three previous rounds, he had calmly and faultlessly hit his driver while others took more conservative options. He had produced time and again impeccable approach shots. Then, after the tee shot into the creek, he slumped over his club; the body language speaking only of defeat. The supposed dawn of a new era only revealed an eternal truth: the best don't always win; those who handle the pressure best do.

McIlroy had the cojones to turn up at this weekend's Malaysian Open (many would have taken a week off to re-group), only to find that, unbelievably, the airline lost his golf clubs. What next? A plague of locusts in his underpants? But after two rounds, he led in Kuala Lumpur, carding a fine 64. Good luck to him.

The way he handled himself after the Masters, speaking openly and frankly about his experience, showed he had the temperament and personality to recover quickly. Life's worst stings are often dulled by youth's resilience and the liberal application of the ointment of time.

McIlroy was built up as a prodigy by the British news media in their inimitable way - remember Tim Henman? - and now every move, every shot, in a major tournament will be examined under the electron microscope of public scrutiny to see if that odious term - choker - can be applied.

Woods also showed the effects of pressure. He three-putted; he parred par-fives; he missed shots at holes at Augusta where he has previously had a party. One six-foot putt that the old Tiger would normally have drained with one hand tied behind his back, while Steve Williams threw photographers into a lake and a naked blonde cocktail waitress ran across the green, trundled dismally past the hole; destroying his charge.

Some held up his rather terse interview with CBS's Bill Macatee after he left the 18th hole at 10-under, still in contention, as further proof of Woods' cracked veneer. He was called rude or criticised for smartass answers.

If Woods made a mistake, it was in agreeing to do the interview so soon after probably realising he wasn't going to win. Talking to professional sports stars immediately after a downer like that is always fraught. You're never sure what you'll get. Which is, of course, why the Great God TV does it.

Macatee's questions were not exactly Pulitzer Prize winners. Do you think you've played well enough to win; and do you feel you are back (translation: So, have you got over screwing up your own life yet?) are custom-built to earn a put-down or a guarded response. Which was exactly what happened.

The other great fissure under pressure of recent times was Wayne Rooney's foul-mouthed burst into the lens of a TV camera after scoring his hat-trick against West Ham. That was caused, at least in part, by the media circus.

After all, Rooney has been the pressured subject of weeks; months; of criticism for not scoring and after finding himself on the front and back pages of British newspapers for personal misadventures - including seeking comfort in a prostitute while wife Coleen was pregnant. He'd never be mistaken for a member of Mensa nor a nuclear physicist. A bear of very little brain, perhaps, but he can't be all that daft. He earns £250,000 a week ($529,000) after all.

But there's the rub. Earning half a million googoos a week brings some heavy pressure. He's paid to perform; to score. When he doesn't, the intensity mounts. So it should.

Some apologists for Rooney have said it's ridiculous that he was banned for two games. The contention is that he was doing nothing more than fans and people everywhere do.

What a crock. Rooney often appears to be an ugly character and terrific proof of the old adage that being a personality isn't the same as having one. It's nor just his fault. Football in Britain and Europe has allowed a culture of abuse to reign. Referees are roundly abused by players; players are abused by fans; it's an ugly scene. If football drew a line under someone like Rooney abusing fans down a camera, so they should.

Even in professional sport, there is an implied contract of respect between fans and players; the latter undertaking implicitly to do their best and to avoid drugs, booze (and hookers) who might stop them performing at their best.

There is also the small matter of dignity. The best have a kind of dignity which envelops everything they do and say. Reference: Sir Colin Meads. Champion All Black; champion bloke; who has learned to deal with media, fans and all in his own, singular way and who is loved because of it.

These same people tend to be the ones who handle the pressure.

When his talent departs, as it inevitably will, Rooney will be left with his money, his mansion, his cars, other trappings of success and, hopefully for his sake, Coleen and his family.

Will he be revered like Bobby Moore, Bobby Charlton, Colin Meads and others? No. Almost certainly not. He'll be remembered. But not like that.

McIlroy might be.