General Scales
Double Eagle Member
So I remember last year when I was working I was asked why I play disc golf so much. I remember writing up this semi-coherent rant/essay for this person to read but I never let them read it. So I figure it's time to post it here and see if any of my sentiments ring true for you guys. It's a little bit of a read.
So you all know why you play this game. We all play it for some of the same reasons. Some of our reasons will vary from person to person. The important ones, however, stay universal throughout this wonderful community.
I started playing to escape the confines of a terrible relationship. I started playing because the thought of being home more than I had to was a terrifying and horrible idea. It was a way to escape out into the real world, hang out with my friends and drink some beers. It was a way for me to rekindle some lost friendships with people that I lost touch with during my 3 year trek of patience and futility. As it turned out, I was pretty good at it.
I still remember to this day the first discs that I was ever given to throw. A max weight DX Viper and a max weight Pro-D Challenger (Cam Todd edition and I wish I still had it). These two discs started a trend that I had to work very hard to break later in my disc golf life. These discs taught me what I thought was proper technique. Reality was, they were only flying the way they did because I didn't know you didn't have to throw as hard as possible. This resulted in constant disappointment and shoulder injury. Yet still I played like I was possessed by these objects.
I kept playing that summer even though I didn't always have a good time (sometimes it wasn't even a mediocre time). I kept playing because the sound that disc makes when it finally accomplishes it's final goal. I kept playing because for some reason, all that frustration I was having at home melted away as soon as my feet hit the hollowed grounds of Downriver or Highbridge.
Into my first 3 months, I broke up with the women who given a different set of circumstances, would of proudly been my wife. As soon as our relationship ended, I had nothing. I didn't want to see anybody or go anywhere. Anywhere except the disc golf course that is. I would immediately remember that all pain and agony were subjective and really didn't matter when there was a disc in the air. All of that would come back to me as soon as I was in the car on the way back to my house. I was miserable and the only cure I had for it was hucking plastic with my friends at metal objects in the middle of a forest.
After about 6 months of playing (3 months after the breakup) I started to develop what I call the itch. All of us diehard disc golfers know what that itch is. I would be at work, walking down countless rows of boxes and sheet metal. I would look over and see a perfect hyzer line between the racks and hundreds of thousands of dollars of sheet metal. I would be driving down the road and look at a small strip of land and think "that would be a perfect tunnel shot". I'd find every excuse possible to get out of work early to fight the waning hours of daylight, praying I'd get a full round in. I'd spend countless hours watching video's, reading articles and trying to replicate those pieces of advice in a field. I was hooked like a heroin junkie. Instead of a needle, I had discs. Instead of heroin, I had the sweet clanging of chains.
A year in, I wanted to improve and be better than all of my friends. I'd been beating them consistently and was starting to think I was invincible. I was under the illusion that every disc I threw was the best shot in the whole damn world. That every 15 footer sank was really like a 60 footer in a 30 mile an hour headwind with a raging river right behind the basket. I finally decided to get into tournaments. My first tournament was an absolute disaster. I went out and faulted my way to D.F.L. I lost discs, I lost my temper, I lost my delusions about my skill. I realized that no matter how much I thought my game was bulletproof, it wasn't.
This fueled my passion for the sport in a way that I had never thought possible. Every single waking free moment was spent in disc golf mode. I took my bag to work, I threw hundreds of drives a day. I'd putt in any condition just to get accustomed to it. Tournaments don't stop unless there's lightning so neither did I. I'd spend hours snapping a towel while all my friends were spending hours playing Call of Duty. I'd purposely get up three hours before a casual round was scheduled, get to the course and drill myself on shots that were troublesome. Now I'd become not just addicted but obsessed. I couldn't let it go. I saw chains everywhere. I'd hear them in my sleep. I'd sketch baskets on my documents at work. It was bad.
After three years, many awesome rounds and terrible tournament results, I was starting to become disenchanted. I would beat most people I played in a casual round but couldn't pull together two or three good tournament rounds. I'd self destruct. I'd let everyone affect my abilities. I was in a funk. I'd contemplate potentially flushing away the greatest sport I'd ever played. I decided that if I couldn't get something productive out of myself in a tournament, I was useless. I was dangerously close to giving up and taking up something like Beer Pong or Texas Hold 'Em.
I finally just stopped caring about all of it entering the Corbin Park Ice Bowl. I was so done with this stupid sport that the only reason I even played the Ice Bowl was for the charity. This was going to be my last event. I was not even expecting to finish well. Hell, I wasn't even expecting to finish. I figured a bird would come down and swoop my bag away. All that would be left would a dent in the ground where I dropped my bag for the final time. Once again, I would be proven wrong.
With nothing to lose, I played that tournament like I was possessed by a disc throwing demon. Every shot I made was on line. Every kick I had was a good one. Every ugly putt stuck. I shot 5 under that first round. I was ecstatic! All those feelings about quitting, all those days I spent moping around because my game wasn't going well faded into obscurity. I was sitting 3rd in my division (intermediate). I was dumbfounded. Where the hell had this been my whole disc golf career? Where did I find my game? Where had it been hiding? Why hadn't it revealed itself to me earlier? Who cared? I sure as hell didn't! I was ready for my second round.
Second round come and gone and I was sitting at 4 over for the two rounds. I was fifth in my division and walked out with some nice scrip (thanks Rapid Fire Plastics). People I had never meet before, never even seen on a course were congratulating me. Beers were plentiful, the women were not (different rant, different time). I had just rejuvenated my entire outlook on the sport. Once again, I was addicted. Once again, I was in disc golf mode.
Now almost 5 years into me playing and still having tournament issues (I will win some this year, I promise), I've realized why I play. Why I'll keep playing till I'm old and fuddy duddy. Why there is no sport in the entire world, no activity that I'd rather be doing. It's simple. I play because I love it. No beating around the bush. If I could, I'd marry my favorite driver. My offspring would be Fairway drivers and Midranges. My grandkids would be Putters. I love it because regardless of how well or how terrible my round might be, there is nothing I'd rather be doing. There isn't one day that goes by where I don't at least hold a disc in my hands. As I'm typing this now, I have my feet resting on top of a Simian, watching the clouds outside roll by, praying for a break to the rain and snow that is plaguing Spokane right now. I play because the only person who can be held accountable, either good or bad, is myself. I can't blame the discs (doesn't stop me from trying). I can't blame those around me (doesn't stop me from wanting to). I can only look at myself and know that I either did that correct or need to do it again to get it right. I know that if I continue to play and keep my head up, D.F.L. won't be so bad. So long as I have fun earning my last spot, I won't care that I'm there. I would only care if I didn't or couldn't play anymore. After all these years (and hopefully many, many more), all my fellow addicts are like family. Even if I haven't met you yet, your still my brethren. After all, we are all one nation, hopefully under par.
Phew, rant over, rain stopping. Time to play some golf. See you on the course (hopefully on the fairway).
Peace and Hukkin
Stuart A.
So you all know why you play this game. We all play it for some of the same reasons. Some of our reasons will vary from person to person. The important ones, however, stay universal throughout this wonderful community.
I started playing to escape the confines of a terrible relationship. I started playing because the thought of being home more than I had to was a terrifying and horrible idea. It was a way to escape out into the real world, hang out with my friends and drink some beers. It was a way for me to rekindle some lost friendships with people that I lost touch with during my 3 year trek of patience and futility. As it turned out, I was pretty good at it.
I still remember to this day the first discs that I was ever given to throw. A max weight DX Viper and a max weight Pro-D Challenger (Cam Todd edition and I wish I still had it). These two discs started a trend that I had to work very hard to break later in my disc golf life. These discs taught me what I thought was proper technique. Reality was, they were only flying the way they did because I didn't know you didn't have to throw as hard as possible. This resulted in constant disappointment and shoulder injury. Yet still I played like I was possessed by these objects.
I kept playing that summer even though I didn't always have a good time (sometimes it wasn't even a mediocre time). I kept playing because the sound that disc makes when it finally accomplishes it's final goal. I kept playing because for some reason, all that frustration I was having at home melted away as soon as my feet hit the hollowed grounds of Downriver or Highbridge.
Into my first 3 months, I broke up with the women who given a different set of circumstances, would of proudly been my wife. As soon as our relationship ended, I had nothing. I didn't want to see anybody or go anywhere. Anywhere except the disc golf course that is. I would immediately remember that all pain and agony were subjective and really didn't matter when there was a disc in the air. All of that would come back to me as soon as I was in the car on the way back to my house. I was miserable and the only cure I had for it was hucking plastic with my friends at metal objects in the middle of a forest.
After about 6 months of playing (3 months after the breakup) I started to develop what I call the itch. All of us diehard disc golfers know what that itch is. I would be at work, walking down countless rows of boxes and sheet metal. I would look over and see a perfect hyzer line between the racks and hundreds of thousands of dollars of sheet metal. I would be driving down the road and look at a small strip of land and think "that would be a perfect tunnel shot". I'd find every excuse possible to get out of work early to fight the waning hours of daylight, praying I'd get a full round in. I'd spend countless hours watching video's, reading articles and trying to replicate those pieces of advice in a field. I was hooked like a heroin junkie. Instead of a needle, I had discs. Instead of heroin, I had the sweet clanging of chains.
A year in, I wanted to improve and be better than all of my friends. I'd been beating them consistently and was starting to think I was invincible. I was under the illusion that every disc I threw was the best shot in the whole damn world. That every 15 footer sank was really like a 60 footer in a 30 mile an hour headwind with a raging river right behind the basket. I finally decided to get into tournaments. My first tournament was an absolute disaster. I went out and faulted my way to D.F.L. I lost discs, I lost my temper, I lost my delusions about my skill. I realized that no matter how much I thought my game was bulletproof, it wasn't.
This fueled my passion for the sport in a way that I had never thought possible. Every single waking free moment was spent in disc golf mode. I took my bag to work, I threw hundreds of drives a day. I'd putt in any condition just to get accustomed to it. Tournaments don't stop unless there's lightning so neither did I. I'd spend hours snapping a towel while all my friends were spending hours playing Call of Duty. I'd purposely get up three hours before a casual round was scheduled, get to the course and drill myself on shots that were troublesome. Now I'd become not just addicted but obsessed. I couldn't let it go. I saw chains everywhere. I'd hear them in my sleep. I'd sketch baskets on my documents at work. It was bad.
After three years, many awesome rounds and terrible tournament results, I was starting to become disenchanted. I would beat most people I played in a casual round but couldn't pull together two or three good tournament rounds. I'd self destruct. I'd let everyone affect my abilities. I was in a funk. I'd contemplate potentially flushing away the greatest sport I'd ever played. I decided that if I couldn't get something productive out of myself in a tournament, I was useless. I was dangerously close to giving up and taking up something like Beer Pong or Texas Hold 'Em.
I finally just stopped caring about all of it entering the Corbin Park Ice Bowl. I was so done with this stupid sport that the only reason I even played the Ice Bowl was for the charity. This was going to be my last event. I was not even expecting to finish well. Hell, I wasn't even expecting to finish. I figured a bird would come down and swoop my bag away. All that would be left would a dent in the ground where I dropped my bag for the final time. Once again, I would be proven wrong.
With nothing to lose, I played that tournament like I was possessed by a disc throwing demon. Every shot I made was on line. Every kick I had was a good one. Every ugly putt stuck. I shot 5 under that first round. I was ecstatic! All those feelings about quitting, all those days I spent moping around because my game wasn't going well faded into obscurity. I was sitting 3rd in my division (intermediate). I was dumbfounded. Where the hell had this been my whole disc golf career? Where did I find my game? Where had it been hiding? Why hadn't it revealed itself to me earlier? Who cared? I sure as hell didn't! I was ready for my second round.
Second round come and gone and I was sitting at 4 over for the two rounds. I was fifth in my division and walked out with some nice scrip (thanks Rapid Fire Plastics). People I had never meet before, never even seen on a course were congratulating me. Beers were plentiful, the women were not (different rant, different time). I had just rejuvenated my entire outlook on the sport. Once again, I was addicted. Once again, I was in disc golf mode.
Now almost 5 years into me playing and still having tournament issues (I will win some this year, I promise), I've realized why I play. Why I'll keep playing till I'm old and fuddy duddy. Why there is no sport in the entire world, no activity that I'd rather be doing. It's simple. I play because I love it. No beating around the bush. If I could, I'd marry my favorite driver. My offspring would be Fairway drivers and Midranges. My grandkids would be Putters. I love it because regardless of how well or how terrible my round might be, there is nothing I'd rather be doing. There isn't one day that goes by where I don't at least hold a disc in my hands. As I'm typing this now, I have my feet resting on top of a Simian, watching the clouds outside roll by, praying for a break to the rain and snow that is plaguing Spokane right now. I play because the only person who can be held accountable, either good or bad, is myself. I can't blame the discs (doesn't stop me from trying). I can't blame those around me (doesn't stop me from wanting to). I can only look at myself and know that I either did that correct or need to do it again to get it right. I know that if I continue to play and keep my head up, D.F.L. won't be so bad. So long as I have fun earning my last spot, I won't care that I'm there. I would only care if I didn't or couldn't play anymore. After all these years (and hopefully many, many more), all my fellow addicts are like family. Even if I haven't met you yet, your still my brethren. After all, we are all one nation, hopefully under par.
Phew, rant over, rain stopping. Time to play some golf. See you on the course (hopefully on the fairway).
Peace and Hukkin
Stuart A.
