The air was as cold as the center of a Hot Pocket in an underpowered microwave. The sky was as dark as the bunghole of a subterranean naked mole rat at 4:00 in the morning on a moonless night. The demeanor of the gathered men was as confused as a raccoon washing cotton candy in a warm bathtub.
The above similes are as vapid as an insurance actuary explaining the value of SQL in data analysis, but they nevertheless describe the beginning of our Brisk Golf™ journey on this the 58th anniversary of Your Humble Correspondent’s birth. It is true that I am now officially “old as f*ck” under even the most generous of assessments, but it is also true that I am not as old as I someday hope to be. So I have that going for me. This morning I tried to console my little boy by explaining that it's perfectly normal to accidentally poop your pants at this age, but he still makes fun of me.
Anyway, I’m tired of talking about me. Why don’t YOU talk about me for a while? (Editor’s note: at this point, the author realized that this bit only works in person, so he had to make the heart-wrenching determination about whether to include it anyway. SPOILER ALERT: He kept it in. Don’t be so judgmental. Who are you to question his artistic integrity?)
Waffle House, Gnarly Goat, and YHC poured out of our cars like day-old congealed gravy. We warmed up our joints and distributed the official random-ass discs as specified in Official Brisk Golf™ Rules and Regulations. Waffle House, being the true gentleman that he is, came bearing gifts (well, “gift”): a brand-new ultimate Frisbee for my Sunday night pickup game (wiping tear).
As the hour approached, Boar Hog and Hurley dog came in to make it a proper foursome. Launch time arrived, so we wound up our mosey-muscles and headed for the bushes. But Titan and Soprano decided that they would grace us with their belated presence, so we doubled back for more discs and resumed our journey.
Due to the fact that you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face, someone suggested that we avoid the forest death trap and play in the well-lit parking area with random targets. Despite the fact that this was an excellent suggestion, the Q decided to do it anyway. Another leadership contribution from the birthday Q was the choice of exercises: WWII’s before each tee-off and then alternating merkins, squats, dry docks, folding card tables, or tippy birds before each subsequent throw.
Six was too many for individual play, so we paired off: Gnarly Goat and Jersey Boy (team Wild Throw), Boar Hog and Waffle House (team Consistency), and Titan and Soprano (team Roller Disc). Despite living up to their name (primarily due to YHC’s over-confident drives) Wild Throw took an early lead. Consistency picked up a few holes and Roller Disc may have even earned a win or two despite their sketchy strategy of rolling the disc toward the hole.
When the light tiptoed in, we returned to our forest roots and the course proper, but not before all three teams struck a manmade obstacle while attempting to exit the basketball court. Waffle House served as our Sacajawea, guiding us through uncharted territory.
Yada, yada, yada. . .team W?ild Throw won by a long shot (get it?) even though by all rights we should have lost at least five Frisbees. Back to home base in the parking lot and Mr. Holland joined us after executing a non-standard standard. Goat led us through a mobility moment as Hurley dog picked a fight with an innocent canine bystander. (Boar Hog handled the situation with his usual aplomb by pretending he didn’t know whose dog it was and not intervening in any way. Fortunately we left before the authorities could arrive.) Gnarly Goat took us out with a passionate prayer.
Waffle House has no idea how to start his car if his key fob battery dies (who among us does?), so the Q took him home to recover the spare. All but Titan showed up at Starbucks where Mr. Holland had purchased doughnuts, presumably as a gift for the birthday boy, but there were inexplicably way less than a dozen left when the guest of honor finally arrived. They just counted themselves lucky that at least one chocolate cake doughnut remained or there would have been hell to pay.
Gnarly Goat and Boar Hog regaled us with Navy stories including one where Goat was running naked on the beach in Ft. Lauderdale as a police helicopter followed him with a spotlight. Another story involved 1,000+ cadets engaging in a massive food fight. (And these are the best and brightest we trust to protect us when the sh*t hits the fan. . .God help us.)
Thank you, gentlemen, for showing up today. I honor and respect all of you, despite your obvious shortcomings in the Sport of Kings (aka Brisk Golf™).