Some people enjoy packing up their clubs, carrying around a ziploc full of small white balls and hitting the links for a round of “golf.” What follows is an inevitable tapestry of chafing polos, ankle-high grounder drives and seven putts around one hole on the way to a sextuple bogey. As we all know, this is a categorical experience and definitely not exclusive to me. And so I often wonder, “why golf, when you can……………….frolf??????”
Frolfing, or disc-golfing for you politically correct dorkuses, is kind of like golf except frisbee instead of ball. Yes, the balls are taken away and thrown in a creek and all you have to work with is a slick, aerodynamic plastic disc the size of a small dinner plate. Sometimes that too is thrown into a creek but we will not discuss The Bad Times in this blog post. (Ed note: We will.) For truly, frolf is the only sport I still play in my old age and I love it even more each time I hit the course.
The key to frolfing is hucking those slim discs distances 200 to 400 feet, an impossible feat you might imagine, if not for the disc’s slick and compact form factor. Even I, a doughy pale son, can throw one of these discs more than 200 feet thanks to an almost complete lack of wind resistance and a practiced wind-up that generates more torque than I see in a year. Honestly, being able to perform this somewhat herculean feat is a huge part of frolf’s appeal to me–LOOKIT HOW STRONG I AM!!!!–and even if a drive goes off-course (which is frequently does,) I’ve at least demonstrated my considerable strength to all nearby onlookers.
And yet, despite the lovely time spent in nature and the towering, satisfying tee-offs, frolf retains the “golf” challenges that draw millions to buy expensive metal clubs and curse gophers. Putting pulls no punches when replaced with close encounters with your disc and that chainlink hole. Sometimes, it feels like those failed tosses from ten feet out feel even worse than missing a ball putt. Because how could you possibly miss a two foot by two foot target with a dinner plate from a car-length’s distance?? It doesn’t make any sense!!
Why are you floating it, numbskull, just fire it at the target! Oh god now you missed completely and your disc is rolling down the hill and you’ll never finish this hole.
And on and on. You could also lose your disc in a tree or a pond or a copse or a ditch or a forest or just in some tragically tall grass. You’ll look and look for ten, twenty, thirty minutes because goddamnit, that’s your disc! You’ve got memories with that disc! But you’ll rarely ever find it. Just yesterday I climbed fifteen feet up in a tree to help find a friend’s disc. I was up there for more than ten minutes and we never found that son of a bitch. Probably because it was lime green. Never buy a green disc, you might as well sautee, season and eat that 15 bucks. Not exactly a replaceable golf ball!
But despite these few flaws, frolf is still the perfect everyman sport. You can wear t-shirts, cargo shorts or even skip the shirt! and you’ll be fine. Grab a few beers for the course, a couple smokes if that’s your thing and just enjoy the walk. Because even if you lose your favorite driver and miss two putts from close range and trip on a rock, you’ve still got that rush of wind as you whip out of your wind-up and launch that blue plastic toward the horizon.
Frolfing, or disc-golfing for you politically correct dorkuses, is kind of like golf except frisbee instead of ball. Yes, the balls are taken away and thrown in a creek and all you have to work with is a slick, aerodynamic plastic disc the size of a small dinner plate. Sometimes that too is thrown into a creek but we will not discuss The Bad Times in this blog post. (Ed note: We will.) For truly, frolf is the only sport I still play in my old age and I love it even more each time I hit the course.
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The key to frolfing is hucking those slim discs distances 200 to 400 feet, an impossible feat you might imagine, if not for the disc’s slick and compact form factor. Even I, a doughy pale son, can throw one of these discs more than 200 feet thanks to an almost complete lack of wind resistance and a practiced wind-up that generates more torque than I see in a year. Honestly, being able to perform this somewhat herculean feat is a huge part of frolf’s appeal to me–LOOKIT HOW STRONG I AM!!!!–and even if a drive goes off-course (which is frequently does,) I’ve at least demonstrated my considerable strength to all nearby onlookers.
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Why are you floating it, numbskull, just fire it at the target! Oh god now you missed completely and your disc is rolling down the hill and you’ll never finish this hole.
 |
And on and on. You could also lose your disc in a tree or a pond or a copse or a ditch or a forest or just in some tragically tall grass. You’ll look and look for ten, twenty, thirty minutes because goddamnit, that’s your disc! You’ve got memories with that disc! But you’ll rarely ever find it. Just yesterday I climbed fifteen feet up in a tree to help find a friend’s disc. I was up there for more than ten minutes and we never found that son of a bitch. Probably because it was lime green. Never buy a green disc, you might as well sautee, season and eat that 15 bucks. Not exactly a replaceable golf ball!
But despite these few flaws, frolf is still the perfect everyman sport. You can wear t-shirts, cargo shorts or even skip the shirt! and you’ll be fine. Grab a few beers for the course, a couple smokes if that’s your thing and just enjoy the walk. Because even if you lose your favorite driver and miss two putts from close range and trip on a rock, you’ve still got that rush of wind as you whip out of your wind-up and launch that blue plastic toward the horizon.
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