I called up some of my homies to chill, but they were all like “yeah right!” So I went over to Burke Lake for some disc golf practice. If you don’t know what disc golf is, it’s the most phattiest sport in the neighborhood. You take these round, flat objects, called “discs,” and throw them in the air, trying to get them into a basket. Kind of like regular golf, only it doesn’t totally blow.

Back to my story though. I was on the third hole, sucking worse than a decapitated baby without arms or legs, when out of the mists appeared this old guy. I started thinking about how a baby with no arms or legs would make a really great disc, but then the old dude spoke to me. He leaned over, gave me the single furrowed brow stare, and said, “are you playing alone?”

I was sort of worried until I realized I could probably snap the guy’s legs in two if he tried anything devious. Besides, there were people all over the place.

“Yeah, I am. You can join me if you want,” I replied, flexing my mighty Muscles of Power just in case he knew the Karate.

It was then that I noticed his bag, filled to the brim with dozens of multi-colored discs. Discs of different weights, stabilities, thicknesses, and designs almost appeared to overflow from the bag. This guy was a pro like whoa.

Before long, I found out that he’d been playing disc golf for 13 years, visiting over 150 courses throughout the country and competing in several high-stakes tournaments. We proceeded to play each hole, one by one, and as he evaluated my stroke he began to give me pointers and tips on getting more distance and accuracy out of my throw. It seemed like no time at all before I was acing every hole on the course. It was magnificent; almost magical, as I let loose with one long drive after another, closing my eyes to the successful jangling of disc meeting chain.

But this hot disc on chain action couldn’t last forever. We finished the 18th hole and said our goodbyes, and the old man floated back into the mists of time and never returned. I didn’t even find out his name, or whether he even had one. Perhaps it was the Arch Angel Innova, or Discus Maximus. Who knows. But one thing I do know is this:

Think outside the bun.