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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Lisa and I played a round of frisbee-disc golf today—let’s reminisce. I love the ‘live performance’ of sports, how you must physicalise discipline. You get this instant feedback that you have to own and lean hard into. The being present to adjust, the internalised mechanisms of performance—the ‘liveness’—is the most exciting thing about sports. And, of course, the one who does it best wins—there’s a simplicity to it. Being Sunday, the course was crowded with guys. Most of the groups were college teams of five or six guys. Since there were only two of us, we were playing faster. I don’t like going up to a group of guys and asking to play through. They always let us but we get these appraising looks—not strictly golf related—that you can feel. So we skipped around the guys and played open holes—still playing 18—they just weren't contiguous and it took a bit longer. It was great to get out in the sun. The course was all rolling fairways, there’s no grass greener and no sky bluer. I came in 14-under (straight brag). I’m a little competitive, my ego loves to be placed in a hierarchy, and winning seems to give form to me, it’s such a pleasant and coherent narrative. As we were leaving our escort Charles stepped away for a minute and a couple of Yale looking guys offered us a ride back to campus—which was all very innocent and chivalrous—to save us waiting for an Uber or something—I'm sure (we were all sweaty and looked like drowned rats). ‘Sure,’ I thought, ‘let’s run off into the sunset.. not.’ But I said, “No, thanks, anyway.” . . Songs for this: Golden Boys by Res Fruitcake by Subsonic Eye
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