The Open 2019: Jon Rahm interview: ‘I’m not going to shy away from who I am. It’s my way of life’

There are two faces to Jon Rahm and, for now, he’s doing his best to split their personas. On the golf course, the broad-shouldered Spaniard is fiercely intense, a charged pit of emotion, capable of tremendous skill and unpredictable implosions. Showered in a red mist, he is deciding whether he’s ever met anyone quite as competitive as himself. “Close?” He pauses for half-a-second. “Maybe. But more than me? Not a chance.”

The enigmatic world No 8 has ridden into Portrush on the back of a storm. A fortnight ago in Lahinch, he shot a 62 on Sunday to clinch a second Irish Open title in three years and believes he has as great a chance of victory as anyone in the field. His track record at The Open is poor, but he is a form player who either fires on all cylinders or splutters black smoke. Having won two miles down the road at Portstewart in 2017, he’s found a homeliness in this vertiginous part of the world.

“I don’t fear losing,” he continues. “But I can tell you right now, I probably hate losing more than I like winning.”

But then there is the other half to Rahm. The side who is tired of his temper being used as a tarnishing brush; who wants to separate the golfer from the person and eschews social media because hurtful comments about his character have “left him in some dark places”. The real version of himself that can’t be compartmentalised to the golf course alone.

“I’m a deeply caring person,” he says sincerely. “When each shot matters so much to me, sometimes I need to get mad to get the frustration out. I might be rude to somebody but that’s not who I am and I hate myself for it. I know I will get mad on the course again, but it doesn’t dictate who I am. Off the course, I’m humble, I’m 24, I’m just a normal person. I know where I come from.”

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Rahm was sitting at home in a dormant fishing village that lines the Bay of Biscay when he received an email from Tim Mickelson – Phil’s brother – blindly offering him a scholarship to Arizona State University. The standout amateur in Spain, he arrived at the swamped 55,000 campus armed only with scraps of English gleaned from rap songs and walked into his first lecture with eyes wide in shock as 360 dizzying pairs of eyes stared back at him.

“When someone said ‘see you tomorrow in class’ I didn’t have any idea what they were talking about,” he says. “I was too ashamed or too shy to correct myself. I would just say yes or no to questions without knowing what I was talking about. I got in trouble a fair share of times because I had no idea what was going on. It was harsh, but somehow I made it.”

Due to the nine-hour time difference, Rahm couldn’t call upon his parents for support. Instead, he adopted Mickelson as a “father-figure”, who was tasked with harnessing the caprices of a talent capable of warming a room or hot-wiring it within the length of a sentence.

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Those questions and caveats over his potential have long been consigned to a forgotten dimension. In the following tournament, he finished in the top-10 and went on to establish himself as the number one amateur in the world for 60 weeks – a record – while grasping English by way of a hip-hop version of Rosetta Stone.

The initial struggle was merely a pre-cursor, a necessary leap out from the safety net of boyhood prodigy. To everyone else, that is history. He has since gone on to win eight professional events and establish himself as arguably the best young player in the world. “I can remember it all like yesterday,” he says.

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Rahm is a throwback style of player, perhaps born a generation too late. In an area of closed-off, ice-laden demeanours of Brooks Koepka, Rahm is all fire with a hose of gasoline. In the past, he has even gone as as far as employing a former bomb-disposal expert in a bid to help him tame his temper. Perhaps, then, his greatest growth in maturity, still at such an early stage in his career, is the acknowledgement that his incendiary nature is something that defines him, rather than needed to be reconfigured.

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“It’s part of me. What people need to understand is that when I turned pro, I was 21 years old,” he says, tiring of the same charge placed against him. “I’ve definitely done some things I regret. There was a lot of attention on me and it can take years for somebody to mature and learn to deal with that.

“Footballers, basketball players, baseball players, even tennis players have bad reactions, but in golf it’s viewed negatively. Fifty years ago, golf was all about those moments; Tom Watson on the 17th at Pebble, Jack [Nicklaus] running onto the 16th hole at Augusta. I mean, if you ran on the green at Augusta now you’d probably be scared something is going to happen to you,” he laughs. “Those reactions, positive or negative, are what made that era of golf so attractive.

“So I’m not going to shy away from who I am. I’m an expressive person. It’s my way of life. If I haven’t changed now, I’m not going to change. Anybody hoping that will happen can just forget about it.”

And then the minute Rahm leaves the course, the softer side is ubiquitous once again. A settling face to a 6’3” suspension of emotion. He describes the loneliness at starting life on tour without his fiancé, the warmth of his quiet life back in the Basque Country, neglecting any remnants of star aura. By way of the greatest compliment, Rahm is resoundingly and disarmingly normal. And that is the lesser-seen Jon Rahm that he wants you to know.