An asymmetrical, biased, inexperienced recount of the 2011 Croydon Cyclone as seen by BDGA newcomer David Ethier:

Friday:

Having just moved to the UK twenty five days prior to this event, I sat in my newly-rented south London flat, homesick, and wishing I could play in the Croydon Cyclone. I knew it was coming up from checking the CDGC website, and had sent for my discs to be shipped post haste in order to have a chance at playing in the tourney. But it was Friday afternoon, the tourney was tomorrow, and I had yet to receive my plastic.

"Why don't you just see if they have extra discs for you to use," my wife asked, subtly encouraging me to get off my pity pot.

Scoffing at the mere suggestion, I spat, "Nobody's gonna loan me discs - it's a tournament. They want to keep hold of what they've got."

Years of playing with impolite, too-competitive golfers had conditioned me to expect that no one was going to extend a welcoming hand to the new guy in town. The comment from my wife reminded me of showing up about three minutes late for my first Wednesday night doubles in a central North Carolina town; there were seven of them - I would've evened out the field, but they simply responded, "Flip's at 6:30, bro. Come on time next week." As you can imagine, I didn't return the next week.

But hope springs eternal; I flipped through the various tabs of the CDGC website, and found Richard Wood's phone number.

Dude put his phone number on the internet? Screw it - at least I can call.

I had seen that no "day of" registrations would be taken for the tournament, and it was already 1pm on Friday afternoon. Even if someone was willing to loan me plastic, surely I was too late to register…I know how these TD's can get - all persnickety about rules, being on time, players meetings. I braced myself for what I expected to be one of the most awkward phone calls of my post-adolescent life.

It was one of those times where I was happy to be wrong - wrong about the phone call, the discs, the registration - all of it. Richard insisted that there would be loads of extra discs for me to use, that it wasn't too late to register, and that everyone was down at the course right now if I wanted to come walk it.

I hadn't gotten that far - hell, I had no idea how to get to Lloyd Park! I scrambled for pen and paper as Richard rattled off a list of directions, bus routes, tram stops, street names, etc. It was all I could do just to write it all down - I had no idea what he was talking about (as it turns out, I've spent a lot of time in this new country just nodding my head and smiling, acting like I know what people are talking about). I took his directions to the computer, deciphered them with the aid of Google, and got ready to head out the door. I was anxious like a kid on the way to his first day of school. The bus couldn't have been slower.

I got on the tram without realizing that I should've "touched in" with my travel card beforehand. I spent the next seven minutes terrified that I was going to be "found out" before the Lloyd Park stop; the move to London had been a rough one (we arrived in the middle of the riots with a hotel room in Peckham) - all I needed was to get some sort of ticket when I was on my way to finally get to play some disc golf. It was a genuine beginners mistake, so when I got off, I didn't think about it again - I was too busy calling Richard and walking across the practice fields towards hole 18. Richard greeted me with handfuls of plastic and a big grin. Too excited to remember anyone's name, I was introduced to everyone that had been at the course, setting up. Sure - it's social convention to introduce yourself to everyone right off the bat, but I estimate about a 5% name retention rate after that type of name-bombardment. Then this strange thing happened: everyone sat around, enjoying each others' company. I'd not seen anything like this the day before a tournament. I'm used to showing up, seeing the one or two guys I know, hanging with them, and watching as all the other guys posture. There's a lot of "all hat, no cattle" where I come from - dudes with tons of gear, plastic, accessories, and way too much attitude…and lack the most important ingredient - skill. Of course, there are exceptions to the rule, but I think there's a strong correlation between the amount of gear someone has and how big of an a**hole he is.

So we just...hung out. And I got my first dose of what the BDGA scene is all about: making friends, having fun, and enjoying disc golf.

Not long after, John Tweed and Phil Blount showed up. They were welcomed in such a fashion that I assumed they were from Croydon, too. Nope. Does everyone that plays disc golf on this island know each other? James Bates hooked up with Tweed, Phil, and myself to walk the front nine. Playing a brand new course with seven discs you've never thrown before in a country you've never been to before with a group of people you've never met before is an experience I recommend to anyone still reading this recap. We happened to run into Richard and Phil as they were setting up the very last basket for the tournament - hole 7 (that should've been a par 3 - let's be honest, that was a short 4. And don't tell me that the wind was a factor, because I know you're just clawing for excuses - that was a 3) - we got to see them break the weld on the basket. Well, "got" to isn't really the word - more like "we suffered with them." It was the end of the day and this seemed to be near the end of their list of chores - the heartbreak was almost audible as we all tried to figure out what could be done to make the basket stay still for the entire weekend. They kidnapped James and went off to figure out what to do. Tweed, Phil B, and I finished up through hole 9, and I was on my way home. Turns out, I didn't "touch in" on the tram home, got caught, but played on the stereotype that all Americans are dumb and got away without a ticket (but vowed to myself never to risk it again).  I'm finding that talking like a redneck sometimes turns out in my favor over here.

Saturday:

6:30 came early, but I refused to have a bad attitude - I was about to get to play in a proper English Disc Golf tournament! I arrived bright eyed and bushy tailed to the course for a warm-up round with Phil Blount and John Tweed only to find out they had slept in past their alarms. Of course. So, off to the players meeting I went. As I walked over the bridge, I could already hear the laughter coming over the fence from the scout hut. I walked into the yard to find an atmosphere analogous to that of a family reunion. My earlier inclination seemed to have been right: everyone who plays disc golf on this island knows each other. Taken aback and somewhat nervous that it was obvious I was new around here (if everyone knows each other, then everyone must know that I know no one, right?), I sat back and enjoyed watching everyone reunite and talk smack. The players meeting was as unavoidably boring as every other players meeting has ever been. Picking up a DGA disc somewhat made up for it.

I still hadn't played the back 9 when we started round one (first excuse), but I had been provided a bag by some Essex folk, who's names escape me at the moment (referencing the fact that I am playing with borrowed plastic again, excuse number two). I was partnered up with "Hippie" Dan Hawkins and Charlie Mead. We three had a great round, un-rushed, with moments of brilliance for each of us. Charlie ripped a stellar drive on hole 14 as a man was jogging beside him. "That was straight, you should play real golf," the jogger uttered as he passed. I bit my lip till it bled, frustrated, and realized that we have some work to do here to raise the prestige of this sport. Dan told us about growing up in Croydon and talked a bit about the history of the course, and the playing fields that we passed through to get to Croydon's "amen corner" of holes 6, 7, and 8. I ate about 137 Blackberries during the round, astounded that there were so many and that nobody else was picking them off the bushes.

Lunch was awesome. I'm not used to lunch being provided at a tournament. It was cool to sit around, eat a hoagie the size of a tree trunk, and have my first "squash" drink.

In the second round, I was grouped with Alie Findlay, Rich Hatton, and Jessie Denny. Everyone showed up in good spirits and was excited for another round of disc golf. Jessie claimed he was from America as well, but he's spent so much time over here that his vowels are all messed up; he sounds like a linguistic mutt - it's pretty interesting to hear him code-switch from British jargon to American jargon in a moment's notice without even realizing it. The four of us play pretty well, but get along better than we play. Rich had a pretty awesome round save the no circle 8 he took on hole 9 (which, with the OB, is one of my favorite holes on the course). Jesse, on a somewhat scary tee off hole 5, taught me what the phrase "5p, 50p" meant - real cultural exchange. Alie explained the Hyzer Cup to me, as the two others bragged about winning the past two years. After we finished our round, Jessie drummed up a "one disc challenge" between the two Brits and two Americans. I immediately became obnoxious, forgot the decorum that comes with a tournament, and began hollering obscenities left and right, surely messing up someone's final putt of the day. In other words, I began confirming stereotypes. But we won those four holes! That's gotta count for something! I ate another 146 or so blackberries.

The longest drive contest was equal parts fun, satisfying, and hilarious. At first, I thought is was about the worst idea to let everyone throw, split up by divisions, and to have three separate categories of discs thrown. "This is going to take two hours," I said to myself, reluctant to stay. But, and this may sound cheesy, the positive energy of the group of people still hanging around for the fun kept me there - this was a group of guys here for a good time, not a bunch of blowhards trying to come in, make their score, then go home. That was attractive to me, so I stayed. The longest drive competition also has an element of youthful awe to it - everyone loves to watch a disc fly - doesn't matter who threw it or that it was longer than someone else's throw, and it was never more apparent than on Saturday night. It didn't matter whether or not someone was throwing minis, putters, or drivers - the sounds the group made were the same as you'd hear on a playground. The collective "ooooh's" and "aaaah's" were symptomatic of tangible fun being had on this small patch of grass, some 3,000 miles away from the last place I saw a disc fly. It was the first time I felt like I was home again - the first time I forgot myself, forgot that I sounded different, and that everything around me was different. Just watching the plastic fly in that predictable hyzer pattern allowed me a moment of respite from all the stress of assimilating to this environment.

I didn't stay for the BBQ, and am regretting it as I write this. I heard it was awesome.
   
Sunday:

The morning round had me grouped with Rich O'Connell (who would later win the Union Jack disc bag in the raffle) and Johnny Morris. We all commented that it was one of the most pleasant, relaxed rounds of disc golf any of us had played. We were a group of three, but took our time and never got held up by the group ahead of us. Some of that could have been due to the fact that I had a hard time finding the fairway all morning; I wound up with the classic Sunday morning blow up score. Johnny and I both had found that the DGA Hurricane was going to maintain heavy rotation in our bag - we each threw it several times during the round. Rich made sure to tell me not to eat any Blackberries below the waist on account of all the…dogs…having to "make water" out on the course. I appreciated him looking out for me - another 127 Blackberries consumed before the round was over. I was still astonished that no one else was even thinking about eating them. Your loss.

Lunch was awesome again. More massive tree trunk sandwiches served to a hungry group. This time, however, we finished on hole three and got to be first in line. In keeping with the spirit of trying new things, I went for the purple drank rather than the yellow from the day before.

The rain started the fourth and final round off a bit slippery. I was grouped with John Tweed, Tom Lowes, and Steve Kornmuller (who would've thought that playing four rounds in a BDGA tourney would have me grouped with two Americans?). The four of us get off to a great start, cracking jokes and hitting birdies. I knew I was out of the hunt for top spot, so I decided that I would be out to go big. In doing so, I managed to do some maintenance work for the CDGC, trimming tree branches and mowing some grass. Tom, on the other hand, played lights out. As everyone knows, he hit the second of the weekend's aces. It was so cool to see his reaction to hitting the hole in one - he was speechless, even breathless. He had to sit down for a moment to regain his composure! How awesome is that? I watched him tee off, went and grabbed a Blackberry, turned around to eat it and saw the disc go in the basket. CHAIIIINS! Tweed had a good round, but managed to get his Banshee deeper in the briars in between hole two and the Tram tracks than I could've ever imagined. He came out of the mess looking like he got in a fight with a pack of angry cats. Steve had a good round, getting to "cheat" as he is ambidextrous - can you imagine having a choice to throw with either your right or left hand? How enviable! We had as fun a finish as we did a start, and headed back to hole 18 to watch the big boys chain out.

The awards ceremony was fun. Phil Wood did a great job keeping everything moving along at a good pace, and it was cool to see so many people get to pick up some plastic. The shield Dell got for winning the Open division was hilariously big - he can ride into Nationals brandishing that thing for an awesome intimidation effect; I'd like to see him throw it.

I overheard someone on my way to start the final round, "Yea, this tournament's been great - I've been grouped with different people each round, and everything's been really smooth." That about sums it up for me too, both literally and thematically. The CDGC and BDGA are dominated by guys that are out to have fun, make friends, and enjoy disc golf. That's a group I'm more than happy to be a part of. Jessie Denny, in the middle of our round Saturday afternoon said, "When I moved here, I met a lot of people, but it's the disc golfers that really welcomed me and are my true friends today." Everyone involved put on a fantastic tournament - no hitches, and everyone that took part in it was classy, nice, and fun to be around.

I arrived at the house cured of my homesickness and happy to be here all over again. I looked forward to being part of the BDGA family, being someone who thinks it’s normal to know everyone who plays disc golf on this island, and - most of all - being around good people who are having fun and enjoying the game.

My thanks to everyone for making the Croydon Cyclone such a fantastic tournament. See you at the next tour event!