So, Rory McIlroy, you've got your $250m contract with Nike, you've got your two major titles, you've got your drop-dead-gorgeous celebrity girlfriend to go home to and you've recently been rated as the second most marketable athlete in the world.

So where, to pose the question a waiter famously put to George Best as he lay on a hotel bed strewn with £10 notes and with the reigning Miss World by his side, did it all go wrong?

Actually, nobody put it quite that way when McIlroy strolled into the Muirfield press room yesterday, but the bulk of the interview was along those lines. Amongst the golf writing fraternity – a breed not generally distinguished by possession of wealth, power and A-list celebrity squeezes – the 24-year-old is clearly a basket case at the moment, his game (and therefore his life) in ruins.

Fortunately, McIlroy has a level of perspective that seems to desert golf hacks at this time of year. Dropping from first in the world to second is maybe a little unfortunate, but something short of a calamity.

Hence the look of weary bemusement worn by McIlroy throughout most of his interrogation. That mountain of Nike dosh probably came with the stipulation that he would not make a habit of dismissing the cream of the world's sporting media as a bunch of dribbling old goats, but there was something in that long-suffering expression of his that suggested he was certainly thinking along those lines.

Actually, the only individual who came closest to being charged with dribbling goatishness by McIlroy was Nick Faldo, who had suggested earlier in the week that the Northern Irishman should forget about the trapping of success and concentrate on golf to the exclusion of everything else.

"I saw what he said," spat McIlroy. "He said I should be at the course nine to five. I was actually on the range at 6.15am [on Tuesday] and got out of the gym at 6.15pm. A 12-hour day, compared to his eight-hour day.

"Nick should know how hard this game is at times. He's been in our position before. And he should know how much work we all have to put into it."

In fairness to Faldo, when the Englishman was in his pomp his work ethic was beyond reproach. But then, his obsession with the game would probably be classified as a psychological disorder these days and he was such a cold fish that it was a wonder he never struck a sponsorship deal with Findus.

Which is to say that he was, and maybe still is, a very different character to the gregarious McIlroy. When McIlroy was asked if he could ever live life the Faldo way, he could scarcely have looked more aghast if someone had poked him in the privates with the heel of their putter. "No," he stuttered when the question was put to him. "I could never . . . No, I'm not like that."

The consensus view of McIlroy's troubles on the course this year – he has not won an event since his season-ending victory in Dubai last November – is that he is paying the price for changing equipment at the turn of the year. When Tiger Woods made the change to Nike equipment many years ago, he did so in stages. McIlroy, however, did it in one fell swoop. Or possibly one fell swoosh. And he knew there would be teething troubles. "I would rather have [them] in a three or six-month period than draw it out over two or three years," he explained. "I'd rather get it done straight away. You don't mind maybe not playing your best golf for six months. It isn't a great sacrifice in a 30-year career."

In truth, the lifelong Manchester United fan seems more animated by Wayne Rooney's predicament at the moment. "I think Wayne must be very confused," said McIlroy of the speculation surrounding Rooney's place in the Old Trafford pecking order.

"I don't think he should be playing second fiddle to Van Persie. He's been a great player and a very loyal player for Man United."