Another Day, Another Gig

My name is Mack Farmer.  I am a chain smoker, a basket case, a huckster.  You can often find me walking the woods of neighborhood parks in my over-priced water-stained shoes, carrying around a bunch of over-priced Frisbees in my over-priced Howler monkey -proof bag.   My body bears the scars from unfortunate encounters with thorns, briers, insects and assorted critters.  I have calluses on my right index fingers from the beveled edges of polymer discs that rip from my out-stretch hands. I am a disc golf player.

I wanted to say that I am a disc-golf fanatic, but that seemed too extreme.  I don’t sleep with my discs under my pillow, or have any posters of four-time Grand Master Winner Dr. Rick Voakes hanging on the wall, and I certainly DO NOT HAVE ANY “FRISBEETARIAN” COTTON AND WOOL BLEND PAJAMAS.  (Available in sizes 28-44 on my website, please allow 4-6 weeks for delivery)  But I wouldn’t classify myself as mere a fan either.  I play.  A lot.  I have a basket at home that I use to practice approaches and putting.  I keep my bag in my car, just in case.  I have excellent disc-golf related websites like Acerunners.com and The Church of the Grand Hyser bookmarked.  Got it?  I’m a serious play-yah.

So, when Acerunners.com contacted my agent about me writing for them, I was intrigued. But something was nagging at me.  It didn’t quit all through the flight, (even with first class accommodations) it still bothered me during the limo ride from the airport, and even while taking the elevator to their posh penthouse office suite I kept feeling something wasn’t right.  I managed to push it to the back of my head during the mind-numbingly dull interview.  I can’t help but be bored by the endless recitations of my personal literary achievements, look, guys, we all know why you sought me out, there is no need to recount the reasons out loud, is there?  Still, I smiled and nodded through each and every stupid question and talked slowly and remembered not to use too many big words when I answered them.  They of course giggled and fawned the whole time, then put up no resistance to my unreasonable demands.  “Whatever it takes to make you happy, Mr. Farmer” was seemingly on a loop.

It wasn’t until after I left that it hit me.  This is a boring damn sport to write about!   There are no “runner on third, two outs, one run lead” scenarios to be re-told.  I mean, how would someone write interesting articles about, say, hunting?  “He approached, unnoticed by the slow-witted deer.  He took careful aim, squeezed the trigger, and rejoiced as the leaded projectile slammed into the animal’s ribcage, creating a rainbow of colors as the flesh, fur and blood flew into the air”.  That about sums up every hunting encounter.  Ever.  Anyway, I began to feel that I had been had.  I actually agreed to write interesting articles about people who fling plastic at metal targets.  It cannot be done.

Fortunately, I am a cagey old bastard.  See, I can divide this past-time into two separate categories…sport, and game.  As a sport, I suppose I can write some stuff about tournaments, equipment, and perhaps review a course or two.  (Though, just about every course has the same elements: trees, hills, thickets and fairways, right?)  Now, as a game, I figure the sky is the limit!  Because I happen to think that disc-golf hasn’t really turned into a mainstream sport, not yet.  It has advantages over other “fringe” sports, like snowboarding, because, well, first of all you don’t need snow, and also because you don’t have to look like a juiced up ginger kid to be good at it:

Wait, not him.

Him.

But in fairness, I have to admit that at least snowboarding belongs in the Olympics, unlike this sport:

Seriously, people watch this?  I guess, if you live in a place where winter is 13 months long, and everyone around you is as bland as unflavored yogurt, this might just qualify as excitement.

And I don’t think disc-golf will ever get there.  I hope I’m wrong.  But as I was saying, as a game disc-golf has more appeal to me, and I’m wagering that there are many others who share this view.  I’ll be exploring that in posts to come, so check us out early and often.  Oh, they asked me to include a pic of yours truly, and, well, I took their money, so I guess I kinda have to.  Here:

This is all you sickos get.

About Mr. Mack

At 6'4", 225, I am an imposing physical presence. Thankfully, my time spent with the Dalai Lama taught me to not rely on my extreme physical prowess, the better to let my pure and enlightened soul be the thing that draws people near. And so it is. Please do not let my Mensa membership intimidate you to the point that you do not leave a comment, I accept all viewpoints here, regardless of how poorly thought-out. Lastly, please do not hold me accountable for my Adonis-like looks, especially my piercing eyes, (done up in blueprint blue) as these attributes are an accident of birth, quite possibly a virgin birth. So, welcome, dear visitor, your presence is celebrated!
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One Response to Another Day, Another Gig

  1. GingerSnaps says:

    Very nice! That photo at the bottom of your post is very nice!

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