July 27, 2003
Good Idea: Disc Golf With Friends. Bad Idea: Playing Barefoot.
Last Thursday, I played disc golf with Rusty, Sarah, and two Matts. We went to the Carrollton course I think of as "Over the River and Through the Woods". The first couple holes aren't too bad, but then you get into the back of the course, which includes:
1) a huge mud-pit that seems to have a disc magnet in the center
2) A scary hole around a deep part of the creek that seems to overflow with water moccasins
3) This psycho hole shooting up into a cliff, where if you don't get your first drive just right, you're going disc hunting for the next hour
It's a fun course. However, I recommend shoes. Strongly.
As I was hopping across the creek in the middle of hole 2, I landed funny on my right foot. My sandal broke, knocked me off balance, and tweaked my knee. That was not cool. So, cursing floridly, I headed off to my disc and shot in. I decided that a) the sandal was beyond repair (that'll teach me to leave my duct tape in my other bag), and b) one sandal is worse than none. So I velcro'd the good one to my backpack, and the broken one to the pin. For a souvenir.
So, the next sixteen holes were punctuated by tenderfoot me yelping as I got hit with sharp rocks and pointy vegetation. Although nightfall presented a challenge (partly because I hadn't brought my disc lights), I was doing all right and only chickened out on a couple holes. Sarah be'd a big hero and rescued my disc from somewhere I was scared to go barefoot, and then cracked Rusty in the shin as she shot out. It was his turn to cuss.
So, just as we were finishing, I walked back up to the parking lot. Right at the edge of the lot was a minefield of burrs. Not the happy little velcro guys, the ones that look like caltrops. Of course, it was dark, so I didn't see them until I was on my back picking them out of my feet.
Not fun.
So, after figuring out that the bar I wanted to go to was in fact called The Flying Saucer and not The Gingerman (sorry Erin! My bad!), we met Erin and Teel, and beer happened to me, and I was a much happier guy.
Posted by Lee at 01:23 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
July 31, 2002
I Am The Putt-Master
Wednesday, July 31, 2002
'Member how I was so glad for Tommy making such a nice putt the other day? Well, I have two words.
My turn.
97.5 feet, baby. That's what I'm talkin' about! My sister Liz came out with us today, and she signed my disc. I'll get Rusty and Sarah to do it next time I see them, and take a better picture of the disc and the pin.
Posted by Lee at 01:38 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
July 26, 2002
Sprinklers and Golf Discs=Fun.
Friday, July 26, 2002
Well, after the services, Emily missed her flight. It was an issue of simply scheduling too tightly. We were on the road from Houston at 11:45, and at the DFW Airport at 4:25...for a 4:45 flight. And a 20 minute wait at the ticketing desk. Ruh roh.
When we stopped for gas on our way out of town, I bought one lotto ticket. Emily blessed it for me. Didn't win. Bummer. It's still a good souvenir, though.
So Emily stayed over a night. We were both feeling really sweaty and grimy and grumpy, so I dropped her at Rusty and Sarah's and went home to scrape off 300 miles of road grit. Then, we went to play disc golf! Yay!
It was a hot day. The ladies found some sprinklers. Havoc ensued.
Emily and I were on one team, and Rusty and Sarah were on the other. It was neck-and-neck for a while, but then I started throwing all crazy-like, and we fell behind. I'm going to say it was because I was tired, but that's just an excuse.
Emily, on the other hand, was turning in some very nice shots, particularly considering it was only her second time to play. Good thing New York doesn't have courses, because then she'd be able to practice, and if she practiced, she'd kick my butt. Glad she's on my team.
When we play, we don't really do much in the way of keeping score. I mean, we usually have a vague notion as to whether we're at or under par for a hole, but beyond that it's pretty laid back. And, we also frequently invoke "Sarah's Rule", a codicil which states that striking the pin with the disc, whether or not the disc goes in the basket, is sufficient to declare victory.
And I'm pretty sure Sarah likes it because whenever we invoke this clause, we sing out "Sarah Rules!" I think it's good for her ego.
On frequent occasions, Sarah DOES rule. Check out this putt.
Seeing as how Sarah's the better part of six feet tall, and the pin is about five and a half feet tall, you can see by geometry that this was quite a long shot. I didn't pace it off, but I'd estimate that it was about 30 feet. Good show!
All in all, a most pleasant evening.
Posted by Lee at 01:37 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
July 20, 2002
On Putts and Snoopy Kisses
Saturday, July 20, 2002
If Tommy asks you if you know what a Snoopy kiss is, make sure he doesn't give you one. Trust me.
Tonight, I got out of work and went to play disc golf with Tommy over at the Plano course. We play nine holes, and manage to only have to go traipsing through the forests and creeks two or three times to retrieve wayward discs. Yay! We're getting better!
Tommy has become quite a good putter. We were both playing reasonably well...hitting pars on most of the holes. On the last hole, Tommy did about the most amazing thing I've ever seen.
Thomas M. Falgout, on July 19, 2002, sank an eighty-five foot putt.
It was a thing of beauty. I saw him throw, and then looked down at something in my bag, thinking he'd just made a good approach shot. Then I heard the distinctive "CHING!" of a disc golf pin, and looked over to see Tommy's disc in the basket. He was flabbergasted. I was astounded.
I shouted "DO NOT MOVE!" and ran over to him. I wanted to pace off the length of that putt. In high school, I was in the marching band for four years, and I still know how to do an eight-to-five step. (Eight steps in five yards.) Forty-five steps is 28.125 yards, or 84.375 feet. Yowza. Tommy is the putt-master.
Posted by Lee at 01:33 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack