And when I say “any” teepad with a drop-off, I mean it.
Depending on the teepad, drop-offs are an issue for one of two reasons:
- Reason No. 1 – Though beautiful, intentional drop-offs scare the cr*p out of me.
- Reason No. 2 – Though small, accidental drop-offs are mud pits and ankle-rollers.
For example, check out the below teepad:
This is the tee on the 17th hole at The Fort in Ogden, Utah. If that doesn’t ring any bells, it’s the par-four that was played right before this took place at Worlds back in the summer of 2021 …
That should help.
As an amateur, I don’t encounter too many of these. And though this is a “gripe” post, I wish I did, because they’re an aesthetic slam-dunk for disc golfers. Most of the time, professionally installed teepads like this front a body of water, hillside or the edge of a mammoth cliff.
Again, I like my courses beautiful …
I’m a fan.
The problem with them comes from inside my own brain. When it’s time to drive, I’m terrified of unintentionally summoning my inner James Conrad. In other words, without trying, using the teepad as a runway, going far too fast and breaking a limb or falling to an untimely death.
All in the name of disc golf.
Fortunately, to date, that’s never happened.
Unfortunately, my drives are always trash.
And now for the second type of drop-off teepad – the WAY more common type. I know it’s persnickety, but I’m talking about flat-ground teepads with a four- or five-inch drop-off. Rarely is this the installation team’s fault. With water, wind and use as constant forces, erosion happens.
My severe displeasure with the understated, curb-like drop-off comes from the post-storm or sprinkler-induced puddles that accumulate – and quickly turn into mud-pies when the sun comes out to play. For those with a lack of talent, teeing off becomes more like an episode of “Wipeout” than a round of disc golf. You’ve stepped in those puddles; you’ve played with pruney toes.
You know the pain.
Both drop-offs have unpleasant consequences: The legitimate prospect of bodily harm, as well as soggy socks – maybe a rolled ankle or two. Nothing can (or should) be done to account for the first, as course designers needn’t have their creativity stifled to appease a horrid, gosh-awful golfer. And as for the second, it’s a mere matter of footwork – or basic course maintenance.
We don’t live in a perfect world …
But if we did, there’d be no macro (or micro) drop-offs on teepads.
Maybe in the next life.
Have anything to add? Take to Twitter to let us know – we’ll actually (for real) get back to you.
Editor’s Suggestions:
- Review: The Discology Icon
- Disc golf: The best (practice) putting advice I’ve ever received
- The DGPT Championship announces record-shattering pro purse
Real quick, if you happen to buy something through a link in this article, there’s a chance we’ll get a small share of the sale. It’s how we keep the lights on. To learn more, click here.
It is frustrating to see tee shots that should be called foot faults as your photo of Benjamin demonstrates. I also find many forehand throwers using the front of the tee to their advantage, like a runner uses a starting block on a track. The rule is that you must tee from the pad and when there’s a drop-off or ditch and the thrower’s foot extends beyond the pad, and does not touch ground beyond the pad, it is a legal throw. With a properly constructed pad, these would never be issues. Additionally, it would be safer.
The problem could be resolved by painting a front boundary line, adding brick, stone, pavers, etc. to the front or something like the #17 pad at The Fort from the article.
Maybe we can also ask why so many golfers seem to feel they have to use the very last inch of the pad to throw their stuff. I have little sympathy for those players that tumble off the end of the pad because they seem unable to plant entirely within the teeing surface.