At the foot of the big oak with the day glow spray paint on it, he scoops up his putter disc, cursing under his breath.
He found himself stuck behind the mando tree, a mandatory obstacle, that he could only go around on one side.
Originally, he intended to curve around it, but the wind kicked up and slammed his disc right into it.
This was the final hole of the disc golf course, and he’d have to hook around the tree into the hole, if he had any hope of winning. It was an impossible shot.
He coils his arm around his chest like a snake ready to strike. All at once, he spins around, pivoting his hips, his chest, then flinging his arm out, and finally snapping his wrist at the last moment to give the disc that extra bit of spin.
Closing his eyes, he lets the disc fly. He’s done all he can, it’s up to fate now.
He hears the disc whistle though the trees, and for a moment, there is no sound at all.
Then, from off in the distance, comes the jangling of chains as the disc finds the hole.
“Groovy,” he says.
Hidden amongst the slow, rolling hills in north Memphis, is the Bud Hill disc golf course. A private disc golf club, run by the couple that owns the land and a small army of devoted players and volunteers. The grounds are gorgeous, the holes are challenging, but, if you go, keep in mind that the water hazards are real, and vicious.