t was a chilly morning in November, a great day for golfing, and I was stoked. Maybe that’s why it didn’t register at first that my buddy, Rock, hadn’t worn his trademark visor for our match that day at Stonelick Hills Golf Club. That visor was all he ever played in, his silvery mane of perfectly coiffed hair on full display, the envy of every guy on the course. It was his look, one not many 60-year-old men
