One shot destroys the day, and the golf trip to the Outer Banks. One damn shot. Rick Palumbo watches it cut through the glorious sunshine like a knife through butter, the morning breeze having absolutely no effect on its trajectory. Then it disappears into the trees down the right side of the fairway. Mike Tompkins, the guy who hit the shot, grabs a two-iron from his bag and heads down the right rough swinging the iron from side to side like a weed-eater in attack mode. When he arrives at the point of entry, he steps into the woods to find his ball. Moments later, his three playing partners follow in his footsteps to help with the search. Mike is nowhere to be found. But his two-iron is wrapped around a tree and blood is covering the bottom of the face