The first tee calls, excitement swells,
Radiating joy through our cells,
Each throw full of hope and might,
As discs spin forth, in graceful flights,
And players rejoice of all skill types.
The fairway stretches long and true,
Sometimes short and crooked too,
Over, under, around, and through,
Courses known and some brand new.
Flick your wrist and let it glide,
The disc sails on, with fate to guide,
Amidst the whispers of the breeze,
Some sink putts with practiced ease,
Others clank metal or skip out-of-bounds,
A joyful chorus, when chains resound,
Victorious spirits, they have found,
Or despair, disgust, and hate abound,
When your putting form breaks down.
But disc golf’s more than scores alone,
It’s fellowship that’s deeply grown,
In parks and meadows, hearts connect,
In nature’s embrace, they intersect.
In moments of glory,
Winners are crowned,
Other times, trees are the story,
And no smiles are to be found.
Day by day, shot by shot,
We give the disc all we got,
In hopes to find that magical spot,
The bottom of the bucket, not those rocks,
Not the tree, nor the lake where plastic sinks,
No, the middle-right, the splash of chinks,
The birdie, the eagle, not the bogey,
The shot that is nice and floaty,
The shot that settles into rest,
Into it’s cold, hard, steely nest.
The main motivation all disc golfers seek,
That pure moment of joy and ecstasy,
When plastic flies from tee to chink,
A score of 1… the fate of destiny!
Jump with joy and fully embrace,
Your friends and family, and card that ACE!
And that’s why we play the game,
And curse and shout and lose our tame,
Over, and over, and over, despite our losses,
Because of that rare glimpse,
Of majestic eagles and albatrosses,
Oh yeah… and just because we love the flight of the disc!