Nice haircuts

Rock had written something critical of the Arkansas Razorbacks' baseball team in a story published by the paper, and he subsequently ran into the school's sports information director at a minor-league baseball game in North Little Rock.
They were longtime, somewhat close acquaintances, and Rock teasingly behaved as if he were trying to avoid his friend.
"We weren't all that bad, were we?" the SID said. "Besides, even if we were, you didn't put anywhere in there about all the nice haircuts our guys have."

Scared

Rock did not at first debate that there was a nearly unimaginably evil force on the way, headed around the world from east to west. It was beyond mankind's control, and with the evidence available to him, involved fire and extreme heat brought by some otherworldly force. His house had already begun to exhibit hints of a coming flame.
As far as Rock could figure, this vicious, omnipotent power had no voice, but it nonetheless spoke clearly. He was not mistaken. Awful, life-ending, torturous destruction would soon arrive.
Rock struggled with balance as he searched for Joe, the big Orange Street cat who had lived with him for nearly a year. It seemed important to find him. Rock knew how scared they would both be, though—wait a minute—the news on TV seemed incongruously encouraging. He was frightened beyond reason by the approaching fire, but Rock watched these odd men express more concern for America's cumulative pocketbook than its seemingly inevitable flame-filled finish.
"What is this, Joe?" Rock said.
The cat was asleep on their couch.

The debate

Someone Rock didn't know tried to convince him that all that was required for entry into a house or room was a knock, or the equivalent, even if the door was locked. It made no sense to Rock, who asked why anyone would bother with locks if this were the case.
The debate endured beyond daybreak, until Rock fell and hurt his right foot in a last-second twist to avoid impaling his chest on a steering-wheel lock near his desk.

Hole-in-one

Evidence of Rock's hole-in-one was there for everyone to see. He left the ball in the cup on the approximately 30-yard par-three, and it was obvious to his neighbors and anyone who reviewed the internet video of his shot. It clearly bounced off a rock near a neighbor's driveway and directly into the cup.
The ball was there hours later. Other golfers complained as they played through, but no one removed it.

The deal

Someone at the Arkansas Activities Association had given coaches an opportunity to replay the final minutes of a famous high school championship football game from the 1980s, and it all seemed perfectly reasonable to Rock and the coaches.
The key issue was a punt play late in the game in which the coach of the receiving team was allowed to decide whether the ball should be punted again. No one could remember what had happened in the first place, but the general consensus was that the play had no meaningful bearing on the outcome of the game.
This old coach—the overweight, gray-haired, sadly weathered man all coaches become—said they should just let the thing from all those years ago stand. The deal was, he would have to field the punt himself.
"I don't think that would turn out well," he said.

A reenactment

Rock had carefully set into motion a computerized reenactment of his morning routine, but there remained flaws. It was essential he remove them or forego any use of the program. His safety relied on an accurate representation.
This cycle of activity repeated itself nearly every morning: Rock would get up at about 5 a.m. to use the bathroom. After he returned to bed, his cat Joe, awakened from his shallow sleep, would begin to walk laps around Rock's pillow. Rock would toss Joe from the bed two or three times, a futile effort that inevitably proceeded his placement of Joe on the front porch. Rock would get up for good a couple of hours later and let Joe back in.
He had hoped the program would allow him to remain asleep, but apparently, Joe found it all unnecessary.