My Spring, Summer, Fall, and 1/2 Winter Pastime
Today marked the beginning of a wonderful season of the year. It’s the time of year when nature beckons, the indoors are odious to the senses, and competitive juices begin to flow. It was the first day of lunch-time frisbee golf at work.
When I first arrived at my office seven years ago, I noticed an amazing amount of green space that surrounded the building and a park across the street. So one day Roger, a colleague, and I decided to map out a frisbee golf course using roots, parking spaces, and tree shadows as tee boxes and picked railings, stumps, and trash cans for targets. Through the years the course, discs, people, injuries, and amount paid for damages has varied, but the tradition continues.
It’s great for morale. Work frustrations fade when you get outside on a warm day with your friends and channel all your energies into throwing a small disc as hard as you can at an impossible to hit target.
Trouble on the Links
This round was to be the first of the year, and I started off the season with a drive that miraculously zipped through the Y-shaped branch of an oak. I followed up with a cautious second shot and was about to finish up my par.
“Ouch,” I exclaimed.
Quite unexpectedly I felt my leg hit a thorn, but strangely, there was not an offender in sight. As the pain lingered, it happened again.
“What’s going on?”
As I pulled up my pants leg, something had bitten or stung me. I looked all around my leg several times, rolled up my pants further, and finally concluded that the whatever had attacked me had flown or crawled away.
Finishing up my par shot, I gingerly walked to the next tee box, whined about being stung by something, and with one pant leg up and one down, thug style, sent I beautiful tee shot below a low hanging branch, up the hill, and onto the sports field beyond. It was the perfect shot. I confidently strode forward and although happy my mind wandered back to the throb in my leg. The following conversation began to play out.
Self 1: What could have stung me? I didn’t see anything.
Self 2: It could have flown away.
Self 1: No, I lifted my pants leg really quick.
Self 2: Well, that only leaves 2 options. Either you didn’t see it fly away or it’s still…
Self 1: What’s that buzzing soun…
“Holy, merciful, sweet-lovin caretaker of Martha Stewart!” I’m pretty sure I expounded.
Somewhere on the first hole I had picked up a passenger. He was happy enough to ride around the flower-filled field for about fifty yards, but then grew tired and wanted to get off the train. I must admit he did give me ample warning. Politely tapping on my leg twice should have won him his freedom, however he only sealed his prison when I tight-rolled my pants leg.
What’s a yellow jacket to do. One can’t fly down. One can only go up and upon arriving at the top floor he finds his alternate exit sealed. The only option left in this predicament is to ring the exit bell.
Until this day I had never known the true meaning of “dancing like your pants are on fire.” With my friends looking in wonder and with my last shred a modesty disappearing, I turned to the woods and freed the angry prisoner in my pants. Oddly enough the pain in my leg was no longer even remotely an issue.
After buckling my pants and with my friends laughing hysterically, I hobbled to my disc and took the most painful frisbee golf shot I am likely ever to have in my entire life. Par.
Counting the Cost
I was stung 3 times. I’ve never been allergic to stings and today I was holding on to that blessing. I birdied 2 holes after that then flubbed the last hole and forced a play off. I lost the game in the end, however I gained one of the most memorable rounds in office frisbee golf history.
Welcome back frisbee golf!