It’s league season again!
That is, it’s league season for those of us whose local leagues took a winter break. Now it’s time to catch up with league friends and to find out what they’ve been doing during this cold, bleak winter.
When bag tags are involved, it’s a perfect time to remind each other what numbers are floating around and on whose bag.
I feel like a pretty lucky girl in that I have three or more leagues I attend in any given week. I’ve gotten to know the crowds that go to them fairly well and, for the most part, I find myself surrounded by good groups of people.
Plenty of leagues are run by local clubs, which push for good causes, hold member-only events and are, generally, a good support system for players. I am personally not a member of any club in Illinois or any other state. The only tag I have hooked to my bag is one from Rattling Chains. It’s nothing personal. It’s just, way too often, politics can get involved.
I’ve only seen two examples of this locally to me. Often times when there’s a club involved with running the league, there’s a sense of “course ownership,” which can trigger unwanted attitudes.
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By Aaron Minton — For Rattling Chains
“Eight of Spades!” I called out.
“Who has the Eight?” As I searched around for the guy with the eight card, (my 5-foot, 7-inch stature was not helping at all) I hoped that my new partner, and single-serving friend, would be just below my ability level.
This last summer has been one ruled by disc golf.
As a teacher, this is a good thing. Keeping me busy between Breaking Bad episodes on Netflix and reading super nerdy history books, disc golf kept me busy and in shape. This day was different as I finally got the gumption to attend leagues this summer. I spent 100 dollars on a membership back in December at my favorite course and was ready to test my skills with my non-regular disc golf friends.
The cost is $6 for members — the usual greens fee (or, should I say, tree fee?) for non-members. Five goes to the payout and one goes to the ace pot.
Back to the cards.
“Hi, I am Aaron.”
Mike was a tall fellow, young and unassuming. I had never seen Mike around before and was continuing in my hope that that he would be right around my level, you know, shooting about 5-over-par on average.
Mike and I were the black eights. We drew the cards at random, and were paired with the red eights. And yes we started at the eighth hole. The logic followed as the 50 or so disc golfers meandered their way to their card-directed tees. It was me and Mike, best disc, against the world.
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