I was on Minor Field today, which, for those of you who I have not previously informed, is my favorite location on campus. I was with a small circle of friends and we were leisurely passing a green Frisbee around.
We were getting along great and everything was laughs and good times. I felt like a champion disc thrower from ancient Greece. I became Zeus, hurling lightening bolts from Olympus. My arms were made of marble and my body of bronze; my throws were all straight and reaching the target. I was feeling confident and then foolishly boasted to one in my company that I could outshine him. He asked if I meant to challenge him to a distance throw. I concurred.
That was the beginning of the end. My friend threw towards the end of the field where the bushes and the trees emerged going in the direction of Peter’s Lane, which is south of College Hill Road. Next, it was my turn. I chose the sharp blades of green grass and the trees as a target for distance, strategically aiming for a distance further than that of my amigo. I wound up; I threw; I overshot the Frisbee. It sailed far above my comrade’s head and past him (he had been in the distance, having retrieved the Frisbee after his throw and was now walking back towards me). He applauded my Herculean efforts with sarcasm; then he pointed in the direction of the tall green grass, bushes, and trees.
I could not locate the disc for the life of me. The green Frisbee had been swallowed by the hungry hands of the grass. It was a tragedy. We never found it.
It has been a mere two hours without our green friend—our “ultimate” disc—yet, it has felt like two lifetimes. Perhaps I will one day find the green Frisbee; perhaps not. Either way this day will go down in Hamilton recreational athletic history.