"Kids, your Aunt Robin (who is really your Aunt Maria) had just introduced us to Captain America, the world's very first super soldier. I admit, we may have taken advantage of our new friend..."
"Are you sure this isn't cheating?" Steve whispered as we handed him the small plastic disk that came with his entry form.
"Cheating? Of course not!" Ted said as he patted the septuagenerian super man on the back.
"But these guys are just regular and I'm...well...I just want to make sure I'm doing the right thing."
Actually, it was cheating but since telling everyone at the 4th Annual Central Park Frisbee Golf Championship that Steve Rogers was really Captain America was a Federal Offense, I was pretty sure that doing "the right thing" in this case was lying through our teeth.
Of course if something stupid happened, I could probably blame this entire debacle Ted Mosby. He was the one who managed to sneak into my "Maria" cell phone and pull out Steve's phone number and he was the one who talked poor gullible Steve into competing as a ringer so that Ted could get an all inclusive stay at the Windmark Hotel ("It's an architectural wonder, Robin!").
"Just go out there and have fun." Ted said as he clapped his new friend/ringer on the back and held out the small plastic discs Steve would be using the wipe the floor with half of New York's frisbee throwing population.
I could tell Steve was still conflicted, on the one hand the poor guy needed a friend who wasn't a superhero really badly, on the other he was still Steve Rogers, the world's most honest sucker. In the end I guess Steve's need to please someone seemed to win the day and he grabbed the little discs with a nervous smile.
"Golfers to your tees!" Said the man at the loud speaker and Steve walked up to the starting line alongside...well, hippies. Lots of hippies. He looked ridiculously bland standing next the more interesting weirdos that New York City had to offer. I'm a little ashamed to say this but I considered telling Ted to make the reservations now because Steve Rogers was going to wipe the floor with these stringy vegans.
But really the other guys didn't do too badly. Most of them were practiced frisbee golfers who made excellent strategic shots towards the first hole and a couple landed practically within a few feet of the "green".
Finally it was Steve's turn. He looked over nervously at Ted, who flashed a supportive thumbs up, then tossed his frisbee as hard as he could. It bounced off a tree, off a light pole, and then hit the basket.
Then it kept going. It sliced through the metal chains around the basket and buried itself in the ground.
"Whoops." Steve said, as if he'd knocked over a table or spilled some milk.
I groaned.