A couple of months ago I took up the surprisingly entertaining game (or possibly sport) of Frisbee disc golf (or just “disc golf” for all the purists out there). Disc golf has been around since the 70s, so I'd known it existed; I'd just never played before.
A friend of mine wanted to try it out, so I bought a disc and went along to see what was what.
The “what” was an entire sub-culture that I hadn't known existed: a sub-culture based around throwing half-sized Frisbees into trees on various park lands.
Disc golf is much like regular golf. You throw your aerodynamically-over-engineered-over-priced disc from a tee, just like in regular golf. Er, except that in regular golf you use a ball and a club rather than a disk and your arm, but there is a tee. For disc golf, said tee is sometimes a concrete pad, but more often it's an erosion rut carved into the earth from hundreds of disc golfer feet running along it for their first toss, or drive.
The goal of the disc golfer is to get the disc into a metal basket (or “hole” even though it's, you know, a basket) located hundreds of feet (and possibly hundreds of trees) away from the tee. See? Just like in regular golf, except, of course, that in regular golf the golfer is trying to get a ball into the hole (or “hole” because it's, you know, a hole). Anyway, in both cases, the golfer attempts to get the chosen flying object into the chosen flying obstacle receptacle in the fewest number of tries (“strokes” for regular golf; “throws” for disc golf).
There are three basic types of disc that a disc golfer uses to achieve this goal. There's the driver, which is a heavy, slim disc designed to skim long distances at high speeds at just the right height to decapitate anybody who happens to be walking their dog in the park at the wrong time. Unlike in regular golf, disc golf courses are usually set up in preexisting park lands, where non disc golfers are innocently enjoying picnics, bocce ball tournaments, and squirrel attacks. However, also unlike in regular golf, playing on a disc golf course is usually free -- so it's a fair enough trade.
Right, back to the driver: the idea is that the driver disc gets the golfer as close to the hole (you know, basket) as possible, opening the way for the use of the mid-range disk -- used when the distance between the golfer and the hole is too short for a driver but too long for a putter. You know, about mid-range.
After the golfer has retrieved his driver from whatever tree it just got stuck fifteen feet up in (or maybe that's just me) and has used his mid-range to get really close to the hole (or possibly another tree), then the only thing left to do is to use the thick, clunky-looking putter to finish the hole off.
Once the golfer has thrown the putter at the basket four or five times (or maybe that's just me) then complains about how he always gets a bogey (which is one over par -- par being the number of throws it's SUPPOSED to take to get the disc into the basket, often three), it's off to the next hole.
Strangely, though I find regular golf to be about as entertaining as a movie with Paris Hilton in it, I discovered that I really liked disc golf. Part of it was the interesting people. Most of them are either A). kids pretending to be hippies from the 70s, or B). actual hippies from the 70s. As such, they are outgoing, interesting to talk to, generally willing to help a newbie out with disc-tossing tips, and usually know police officers on a first name basis if the need for a police officer happens to crop up during a game of disc golf.
But the main reason is to have a reason to get out and explore new parks, find new places to disc golf, and enjoy being outside on a nice day. Sure, I could just go hang out in the park, but there's only so many times you can do that before leaning against a tree while staring at another tree gets a little old (despite any associated squirrel attacks).
Or I could take up regular golf. But at one disc golf course there was a whole pavilion-full of Bosnians playing traditional Bosnian music on traditional Bosnian instruments while barbecuing a goat over an open fire.
I doubt that I could find that if I'd been playing the back nine at Pebble Beach.
The author has yet to actually injure anyone while throwing his driver, although there was that incident with the little old lady and her attack poodle.
