AUGUSTA, Ga. — Throughout the first nine holes of Sunday’s final round at the Masters, Sergio García was greeted with thunderous applause from the grandstands. Just 15 years ago, when he was perceived as precocious but persnickety, he was ridiculed by crowds at American major golf championships. But now García, 37, was a fan favorite.

He had the empathy of the galleries because they knew the 18 holes of Augusta National Golf Club had grown to be his personal house of horrors. Before this year, García had contended for the Masters title six times and never finished higher than eighth. Sometimes he fell all the way to 38th or 40th.

People will always root for someone trying to shed a millstone. Enough is enough.

And besides, this was the first April that García had arrived at Augusta promising a new, uplifting outlook. His normal mien, which he had never done anything to hide, had been to expect the worst. If he was promising to turn over a new leaf, the crowd was playing along. It cheered him as he left the ninth green and walked toward that famed golf crucible: the back nine on a Sunday at the Masters.

But within minutes, the spectators felt sorry for him all over again. Poor Sergio. Same old Sergio. There he was, going to pieces again.