DOWN BY the first tee, Chubby Chandler had just watched one of his men – Lee Westwood – walk down the fairway when the crescendo level rose and another, in the shape of Rory McIlroy, strolled onto the tee complex with a pep in his step. “I don’t think there’ll be anyone on the streets of Belfast or Dublin, or anywhere, do you?” said the agent.

For that matter, it looked as if the streets of Washington DC had cleared too and descended on Congressional Country Club in Bethesda.

JP Fitzgerald, McIlroy’s caddie, hauled the three-wood out of his player’s bag. It was the old three-wood which he’d put into his bag for the week, a favoured club with a slight scratch on the head. And, yet again, just as it had done for pretty much all of the preceding quest for the US Open trophy, McIlroy’s club whizzed through the sultry air and sent the ball into orbit down the fairway.

And off McIlroy strutted, down the fairway, to a chorus of encouragement: “Go Rory!” “Go Irish!” “Rory Go Bragh!” Only in America, really. To his credit, McIlroy – a rather obliging bloke even in the heat of battle – responded with yet more magic. A wedge approach to eight feet followed by a birdie putt that rolled in to the tin cup.

The eight-stroke 54-holes lead over YE Yang had stretched to nine and McIlroy – who’d enjoyed breakfast with his father Gerry, manager Chandler and player handler Stuart Cage talking of racing and not a word of golf – was into his stride straight away.

On the second. Again. A swish of the club, a swivel of the hips and the ball lands in the middle of the Par 3. “Let them catch you buddy,” came the cry from the galleries. Not an acknowledgement from the man himself. McIlroy, instead, stayed focused on the task. It was just as well. His first putt was left six feet short of the cup, but he rolled in the par putt. Onwards.

No fairway on the third, though. McIlroy pushed his drive slightly right into the rough but, playing sensibly, ignored the flag tucked behind the greenside bunker on the right and went for the safety of the middle of the green. JP took the Stars and Stripes cover off the putter and his man two-putted for par.

Then, McIlroy put more space between him and his pursuers on the fourth. Using his three-wood off the tee, McIlroy got a slice of luck. Or maybe he made his own? The ball pitched into the primary rough but, instead of digging in deep, it jumped out into the secondary cut and then into the fairway.

Riding his good fortune, McIlroy – getting what turned out to be a ritual standing ovation from the spectators in the grandstands – walked up to the green and rolled in the birdie. He had reached 16-under, another record, and opened a 10-stroke lead. More than ever, he was homing in on the grand prize.

McIlroy didn’t get another birdie on that front nine; and, although Yang finished strongly with birdies on the sixth and ninth to remind him that he hadn’t gone away, there were no loose shots from the champion-in-waiting. No crumbs to feed on. McIlroy reached the turn very much in control. His time had come, and he moved on to the 10th tee – where he produced another birdie and another record – with a six-iron tee shot on the par three to six inches.

Magical.