frisbee ... sucks
By JEFF BALTRUZAK
Scene Writer
Hey, I'm a red frisbee. And I've got something to say: I'm tired of being thrown around the quad, hitting people in the head. Every time I hit someone in the head, they always get mad and say it hurts. But what about me, the frisbee? I get scratched and dinged when I hit the ground. You just get a welt.
People are throwing me in trees. Then you throw up your shoe to get me out. That hurts you clown! What do you do when somebody throws your Birkenstock at you? You get pissed! Why don't you lay off the pipe and throw me correctly, hippie?
Oh, and then you throw me up on a roof, and just say "that sucks" and go inside. Then I sit up there all summer and warp because its so hot. Then when it rains in the fall, I slide off the roof and when you find me, you say, "hey, I was looking for this."
NO YOU WEREN'T, JACKASS. You just got another frisbee, one of those fancy ones.
Then there's the ever popular "throw the frisbee at a girl to get her attention because she's in a bikini." I'm not some matchmaker, I'm a flying disc. If you can't talk to girls yourself, that's your problem buddy. Don't kill my game with your sorry game. None of the lady frisbees will talk to me if they find out I've touched the butt of some sunbathing girl. Why don't you try not to be a loser, then throw me around.
And what about those people that throw frisbees? Hey, they make shirts that aren't tie-dyed. Why don't you take a shower and cut your hair? And getting the frisbee "ripped" is not as funny as you think it is. I'm associated with people that don't ever wear shoes and go to Phish concerts all the time. Maybe that's why Ultimate hasn't become a major sport. Football players all wear cleats, after all.
People try to be all fancy when they throw me. They try to throw me through their legs and bounce me off the sidewalk. Of course, it never works, and I end up rolling into a building. You've been on the quads lately. You know 90 percent of the people out there don't know what they're doing when they throw me. They go like ten throws and nobody catches me. They're too busy checking out the opposite sex. It's like a grassy Boat Club.
About catching me (this is my pet peeve): do not catch me by clamping your hands on the top and bottom of me. That's like somebody going up to you and karate chopping your head on both sides. That's assault, brother. But do you think the NDSP does anything about assaults on frisbees? Nope.
I don't want to whine, but frisbee abuse is a pressing social problem. I wrote to my congressman, but he says there's nothing he can do because I can't vote. Maybe the time has come for our society to stop treating frisbees as something you can get for 99 cents at Meijer and start treating us like legitimate purveyors of fun.
And I got nothing but love for those Ultimate players. They throw me crisply. They make me feel alive. They don't hit things with me.
So, next time you're out on the quad, recognize that frisbees have feelings too. And if we land up on the roof, at least try to get us down within six months.
The opinions expressed in this column are those of the author and not necessarily those of the Observer.
All Scene Stories for Monday, April 30, 2001
