Took some newbies out to my favorite disc golf course, which is, of course, sanctioned by the DGA, or for the tragically unhip, The Disc Golf Association. The sport is my life, and I was mindful to select the right group of beginners to introduce to this activity. Many applied, few were chosen. I chose Rock Solid, Travis Damn Quillen and Mr. John Lamb, ESQ.
A little about my equipment: I usually carry a Ching 12 pack sports bag, insulated, of course, which also features a separate putterdisc slot, a tie ring for a towel, key compartment and optional hemostat holder.
Depending on the course, my overall soberness factor, wind speed and direction, I can be seen carrying discs like the DiscCraft Avenger series, or perhaps the Slick Willie Sick Disc, which allows you to look cool regardless of form, technique, or clothing choice.
I wear bowling shoes upon which i have grafted tiny little rubber ridges, and filled with grass fertilizer, which both repair and replenish the ground as I step. Since I am always on the fairway, I have no need to carry a machete like Lamb did.
Sun rays can make or break your game, and glare is a constant threat. I opt for the Ray Ban Disc Series IV, with titanium frames, spring release temples and lenses coated with extra UV protection.
I could tell my companions were a tad intimidated by the first leg of the course. Danger lurks around every tree-filled corner, and it is uphill most of the way. Eventually, we were able to coax lamb from the car with the promise that we would stop making fun of the diaper bag he brought to carry his discs, and we began the lesson. I went first, so they could observe my flawless RHBH reverse three step X maneuver, and I was tickled to see the awe in their faces as my disc sailed effortlessly down the fairway before nestling into the soft grass approximately 360 feet from the tee box.
Those poor guys were all over the place. We had to stop numerous times to find their discs, as they repeatedly tossed them into the thickest of weeds, or, even more unbelievable, stuck them in the branches of trees which line the fairway. I can’t tell you how many times I had to scale a tree and shake loose someone’s disc.
We had more success on the back nine, especially once we convinced Lamb to stop throwing his pork rind wrappers and empty Red Bull cans all over the course. Travis Damn Quillen, who stands around 6 ft 8in tall, but is so uncoordinated I’m truly surprised he has mastered walking, actually learned to throw his disc without injuring himself.
All in all, a good day, and I won’t embarrass anyone by posting the actual score. Suffice to say there is some newly found respect for my athletic ability, though I thought the whole “holding the car door open for Mack” scramble was a bit much. Sigh. Fans are fans everywhere, I suppose.
I’d post a bit more, but I need to go sand my discs. More soon!