I’d consider myself a fairly opinionated person.
That’s why I’m drawn to writing. My word processor can’t tune me out. It can’t walk away. It can’t hit me with any kind of rebuttal. Instead, literally, its sole purpose is to take what I input and spit it back out on a laptop screen so I can admire just how “right” I am about everything.
It’s these opinions of mine which lead me to the topic of today’s article – pet peeves.
In life, here are three that irk me beyond measure:
- After you grab a slice of pizza, please close the box. Otherwise, you’ll let in cold air.
- If a group of men hang out in public, they can’t be dressed too much alike. It’s weird.
- If you say, “I could care less,” you imply the opposite of what you want – that you care.
And now for disc golf …
There are a host of ‘em here, too. To each his own, but I can’t stand any kind of smoking (that includes vaping) or drinking in public parks. Also, I golf to get out in nature and connect with the world around me. Sorry, but your bluetooth speaker blaring System of a Down isn’t helping.
There’s one pet peeve that takes the cake, though …
Allow me to set the scene:
I’m out on the course with a buddy who’s never played there before. This can be a newbie or a seasoned pro. We step up to a hole. For this, let’s call it a short par 3. We take a look at the tee sign for a map of the layout. Regardless, I carefully do the following to help out my compadre:
- I point out the basket. It’s visible, so might as well.
- I describe the best kind of disc to get there for a birdie look.
- I talk about the shot I’m going to throw to make it happen, too.
I then address the box, fully intending to put into practice what I’ve preached …
You already see where this is going: I griplock my disk, launching it in the opposite direction.
This ISN’T the pet peeve, though …
No, as luck would have it, in line with where my wayward drive has gone, there just so happens to be another basket for another hole that’ll be targeted at another time later on in the round.
Brace yourselves for brutality, folks – the following dialogue is where things get ugly:
- My Buddy: “Wait, so which basket are we throwing to?”
- Me: “Yeah, that was bad. Just the one I pointed out earlier.”
- My Buddy: “Okay, could you show me again? That one, right?”
Screw #GrowTheSport …
When this happens, I become the physical embodiment of “terd.”
My cardmate knows me. He knows my ability out on the course. He knows full well I’m not the second coming of Ricky Wysocki. Before any of this ever happened, I clearly identified the basket we were going after. And the guy who’s suddenly confused confirmed he saw it …
Spoiler alert: I can’t throw exactly where I want every single time I huck a freaking disc.
Making matters worse, it’s been my experience that some variation of the above conversation can occur two, even three times in a single round, depending on how well I’m playing off the tee.
If this response was a joke or a good-natured ribbing, I’d smile and get on with things. Heck, I’d even take full-fledged bullying at this point. It’s the naiveté of it all that drives me bananas …
Clearly, the solution is to get better. For now, I’ll stick with complaining – it’s what I do best.
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