Saturday morning, May 2nd, 2015. Thin-faced, silver-haired, Arizona-tanned Justin Case is whizzing northward up Interstate 77 in North Carolina. The sky is already azure-clear and the air is a refreshing 48° Fahrenheit (9° Celsius) as he crosses the Yadkin River, merges left, and takes Exit 83 (US 21 Bypass). He muses: Should be a perfect weekend for golf. Both days with highs around 70°. [F; 21° C] I’m going to blow ol’ Steve-O off the course. No, I’ll go easy on him. Let him think that he has a chance to win. Then on the 34th and 35th holes, it’s birdie-birdie, bye-bye. The 36th hole tomorrow should be quite satisfying as he rears up and mis-crushes a desperation tee shot in an attempt to eagle. The pill [golf ball] will go way out of bounds. Yeah, he’ll probably hook it into the woods. The trees will play ping pong with his Titleist. Or, maybe he finds a bunker. He’ll finish even farther back. Will thoroughly relish the walk up to that green. Can hardly wait. As Justin’s rented-from-Hertz-at-the-CLT-airport, black, super-shiny, 2014 Corvette Stingray curved through the Thurmond community on the now-two-lane highway, he could see the Blue Ridge Mountains ahead, or more specifically, Murphy Ridge.