Players 2025: Why the underdog thinks he can beat Rory McIlroy

PONTE VEDRA BEACH — The ball traced a defiant path across a rain-soaked green, needing to travel 30 feet, 4 inches. Four inches from its destination, the ball lost its war against gravity.

J.J. Spaun sank to his knees, eyes transfixed on the ball that refused his command. His expression wasn't one of anger or devastation but bewilderment—as if silently questioning if this ball didn’t know what it was supposed to do or what was on the line. He had made a 4 when he needed a 3 to capture the Players Championship ... but crucially, he also didn’t card a 5, forcing Rory McIlroy into a three-hole playoff that will be decided Monday.

“I showed myself that I don't have to shy away from the moment,” Spaun said Sunday evening, his final-round 72 placing him in a three-hole playoff against McIlroy. “I think in the past I've done that, just kind of been afraid of being in that spotlight, being in that pressure, be worried about failure. But it's hard to win, and you have to fail multiple times in order to win. That's kind of what I've learned throughout my career, and it paid off today.”

A Monday finish seemed inevitable for most of Sunday as dark thunderclouds besieged TPC Sawgrass. Tournament officials moved up final-round tee times by four hours, but Mother Nature's authority proved absolute, with storms paralyzing play throughout the afternoon. Yet the weather broke, and after a four-hour delay the tournament seemed over within five minutes: McIlroy, nursing a one-shot advantage when the horn blew, swiftly expanded his lead to three after birdieing the par-4 12th while Spaun stumbled with a bogey on the par-5 11th. Yes, this course has authored dramatic finales, but conditions were benign—winds had calmed and greens were receptive from the rainfall. Moreover, this was McIlroy, a former Players champion and one of golf's towering figures, holding command against pursuers whose names rarely appear in Sunday's final paragraphs.

For Spaun, it was precisely this moment of disadvantage that liberated him.

“Once that bogey kind of hit me, I just tried to just fight back. I kind of went with the odds. I had nothing to lose,” Spaun explained. “Now I'm trying to catch Rory, and I can't really control what he does, but I can control what I do, and I just started committing to my shots and my swing and trusting it more. Because it's easy to kind of—now when I'm hunting, it's easier to let it go. Whereas, starting the round I was a little tentative, a little scared and stuff. I think it put me in a pretty comfortable spot to finish off the round.”

The momentum shifted with McIlroy's errant drive at the 14th that led to a bogey. Spaun, seizing the opening, delivered his most exquisite shot of the championship—a laser-like approach that settled inches from the cup for a tap-in birdie, narrowing the gap to a single stroke. Ahead, McIlroy's putting abandoned him; makeable birdie opportunities at the 15th and 16th slid past the hole, and his birdie attempt from the fringe at the 17th caught cruelly in the collar. The opportunity that Spaun had been waiting for his entire career materialized. A nifty up-and-down at the 16th yielded the birdie that pulled him even with the four-time major champion, and he navigated the treacherous island green at 17 with composure. When both competitors made par on the final hole, darkness intervened to postpone the three-hole aggregate playoff, leaving Spaun's chance at transcendent victory suspended until morning light.

Now, the margins in professional golf between greatness and anonymity are infinitesimal, yet the sport's biggest prizes typically find their way into the hands of its biggest names. Spaun, with just one victory in 226 previous starts and having twice endured the hardship of losing his tour card, hardly fits the profile of a Players Championship victor. This season, however, has witnessed a transformation. He arrived at Sawgrass riding a wave of confidence from a T-2 finish in Palm Beach and a T-3 result in Hawaii to begin his campaign. Earlier in the week, Spaun had attributed his resurgence to a shift in perspective—the realization that while this competitive opportunity is precious, it no longer carries the existential weight it once did, not since family reshaped his priorities. After Saturday's third round, he elaborated on this personal evolution.

“I think it was kind of in the middle of the season last year when I played really terrible to start the year,” Spaun said. “I had some health stuff, like, fighting off viruses and flus that put me physically unwell. I didn't want to blame that on my poor play. But halfway through the season it was looking like I was going to be done, like not going to finish 125, and I kind of was thinking about, Hey, I played eight years out here, I've got a great family, I've accomplished, I've won. So it's not the end of the world if this is how it ends for me. With that, that's kind of when my attitude changed.”

Nevertheless, Spaun harbors no illusions about Monday's challenge—the caliber of his opponent, the magnitude of the stage, the overwhelming public sentiment.

“Everyone expects him to win. I don't think a lot of people expect me to win,” Spaun said. “I expect myself to win. That's all I care about.”

The declaration carried no trace of bravado or performative confidence. He was merely saying his truth. Perhaps this explains why Spaun remained composed on the 18th green despite the narrowly-missed opportunity. Spaun has spent years in professional purgatory—the missed cuts, the lost tour cards, the cost that can only be measured in the doubt of wondering if this chance would someday come. The moment is here, and only a night away.