Finally, as courtesy of the Sawgrass night, the “old Rory” trope was dispelled. Wheeled out as a matter of mantra throughout the final round of the Players Championship, first it came on the fourth. The gallery gasped collectively, McIlroy stifling a grimace as his ball splashed into the water and his foothold on the tournament trickled away.

After a series of unspectacular slumps, it seemed as if Sunday at the Stadium Course might be another to leave those in attendance pondering on the phantom of McIlroy’s former self. A bogey on seven followed and by the 14th he appeared ready to be unseated by the bluster as local hero Jim Furyk ran ahead on middle-aged turbines and Englishman Eddie Pepperell holed a 50ft putt on the famed island 17th to take a share of the lead.

But then, after the question marks over six near-misses already this season, came a defiant rally, one in which the soon-to-be 30-year-old reminded golf fans not of what he was, but who he still is. This McIlroy may be more measured – aggression moderated by maturity, a temper eased by expectation – but for two-and-a-half hours along the back-nine stretch, we were treated to a taste of that old vim. The type of which has been clogged and corked since being out-tussled by Patrick Reed at Augusta last year, and seen him fail to drive home the dagger of contention on eight occasions from the final group since.

On the 15th hole, after blocking a driver into the bunker, McIlroy heaved a six-iron from the sand to within 15ft of the raised green, followed it up with a blasé birdie on the next hole and floated a nerveless nine-iron to the centre of the green on the gauntlet island par-3 as his challengers fell away.

By the time his playing partner, Jason Day, had tapped in, McIlroy was already waiting, gloved, driver cocked on the 18th tee as the commentary mused over his club selection. A shortened practice swing, save a stifled mumble of caution from his caddie, and a blistering drive across the shore to safety.

There would be no roar to the crowd as he tapped in for a one-shot victory, just a cathartic smile in the direction of his caddie Harry Diamond and, with that, McIlroy returned to his more judicious self.

“It’s just another day. It’s just another step in the journey,” he said. “I don’t play golf to answer... I play golf for myself.

“I’ll just keep doing the same thing. Even with some noise around me, whether it is, ‘He can’t close, he can’t play on Sundays’ blah, blah, blah. I’ve just got to do my thing, and if I go and I concentrate on me, control what I can do, good golf and good attitude takes care of the rest.”

And in that regard, while he may still burn in patches of frustrating inconsistency, McIlroy is far sprung from the shadow of his relentless fiery youth. He is showing his age and all the possibilities of his prime; calmer, wiser and of wider consideration. At times where he may have once flared up, he remains composed, when he might have thrown caution he instead inhales it, now aware and at ease with the demand and expectation upon him – characteristics which proved himself such a leader in Paris at the Ryder Cup.

Of course, though, beyond that, the relief and thrill is still there, along with that smile that steadily seeped through into his press conference, and will have stayed long into the gauzy St Patrick’s Day night.

“I feel I’m playing some of the best golf of my life,” he continued. “I think I have started the second phase of my ­career. I have been on Tour 11 years, and I feel I can make the next 10 years even better than the previous 10. That is my motivation.”

The McIlroy of old is gone, chaptered in the record books. The third player in history to reach 15 PGA Tour victories before his 30th birthday – only behind Tiger Woods and Jack Nicklaus – the four-time major champion. And, with that, comes no need for dwelling. After a spell of storming against the tides of his own inconsistency, he has come to a peace with his position and priorities.

And, with that, one of the best spells of form in his career has dutifully followed. One where victory at the Players is not only a dismissive swat to his plaguing critics, but a release and reaffirmation for a player who, on his day, is comfortably the best in the world. Augusta awaits.