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”
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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