want to write about workouts.
I don't want to detail what differentiates the individual games I play in.
I don't want to write on this every day.
I did though. I used this blog as a tool to fuel me as a writer and a player. I forced myself to write every day on one topic, and had to come up with something to say on that topic. It was easier when workouts spurred the narrative.
The impressions I have of the game are so different now. The things I think are important have changed so much w/r/t ultimate. The things I think are fascinating are very out there. They need to be nurtered and thought through in order to be coherent. Thus, they are not exactly blog material. This waste of space has been relatively edit-free. That form no longer fits my function.
I don't have the mental desire to focus on writing about every workout/game/practice and also do well at every one of them. I'd rather write about so many other things. I'd rather shut off the ultimate part of my brain for parts of the days and try to succeed as a human.
As it turns out, this last bit about succeeding as a human is difficult. If you've always assumed that you would succeed, and everyone around you assumed the same, who was doing the work to ensure your success?
Tools don't mean thing
If they ain't ever tasked
They say a man's reach
Must exceed his hand's grasp.
Curiouser and curiouser.
That is to say, I've no idea what will be written here. Something will probably show up eventually, but I don't know what or when. When the ultimate moves me directly to words, they will be here. If there is a filter, the words may wander here anyway, but in a different guise.
Tuesday, April 13
want to write about workouts.
Monday, April 5
I think I just played at Fools Fest.
I can't remember how to make the right notes come out of a trumpet.
Bound to happen, but irritating nonetheless.
Chuck Norris is invulnerable to the money hammer when he chooses to roundhouse kick it in the face, but Pizza Boy and Mr Grimm trump a too unsleeveless-jersey team of Norrisisises.
The time before that, I remember being near a non-plastic beach.
The beach camping rocked w/ Mankind's stakes making the trip w/o him.
That Swiss guy and I each had a macadamia nut beer that was really quite tasty.
That Littauer was in a boot failing as drinking captain.
That didn't prevent him from earning the annual "I smoked my brakes on the way down Kauai" title.
But he didn't make a hitchiker get out of the car for fear of vomiting.
The new club season has started now.
Even without Evel Kevbofrisbee at Fools Fest.
First round of tryouts were last weekend at Edgely ballfields.
One day, ~60-70 players, circuits of drills, fitness tests and short scrimmages.
There are so many changes for this upcoming season that I don't rightly know where to start.
Delta Force had strong and weak forces. A lot of players I've notplayed with before from the Philly+general area. Good to show well enough (3-4, lost in quarters to Twisted Metal by one. 4 losses by a total of 6 points) not to embarrass the folks who have been to many Foolseses.
I was definitely hot and cold. My focus was not where it needed to be to consistently perform well. The body: Reluctantly capable. The mind: Foggy yet wired properly.
Waffle House, Perkins, Cracker Barrel. Despite my love for Waffle House and that eating at Cracker Barrel makes me feel like xenophobia might be contagious, I choose Cracker Barrel. Perkins is like an off-brand Denny's with real bits of panth... baked goods. So it finishes last. Waffle House is Waffle House: The measuring stick of chain breakfast places. Tasty, but you know it isn't right. I can eat at the House before Fools Fest. Not before real ultimate. It is also an annual stop on the way to the Eagles@Skins game (This year should be thick with valid plot and rife with solid play), and a favorite post-Regionals quick stop post-los loss/win non-truck stop
The mix of folks at the tryout was impressive. Definitely some ballers I've not met before (though some I met the week before). Some young guns hot to make names for themselves. And, of course, the same old faces from the area club scene's open&mixed teams. And there are more waiting in the wings. Some folks were caught off-guard by hemispheres of intensity some merely by degrees. All know that 2010 ain't no joke. That probably means it is only a matter of time before I get cut. I don't do well without jokes.
Back to the beach, we lost in quarters to the team that lost in finals. We lost in pool play to the other team in finals. We lost in the power pool play to the team that won last year. We also couldn't find our green jerseys or our teammates for the team photos. For at least one of those I can vouch that the looking wasn't very intense. We did, however, win a consolation game on the beach against Freaks.
This year is about internal focus and the calm of my soul. I've got to get back to my basics and focus on what I enjoy about this experience. My understanding of my self on the ultimate field is currently impoverished. The reasons for this vary widely enough as to be utterly irrelevant and uninteresting. To me. If not to you.
That is: I miss this.
Time to reprogram. Summon Finkbot. Instruct him that model number 200 (previous model numbers: 63, 79, 3.) needs to be set to "End of Season" mode ahead of schedule. Nuclear stress-testing must commence prior to new assignment.
Oh wait. That was me back in the day when I loved NWA. That music has a great thing, but that thing ain't me. I mean, the emotion is the thing that attracted me. That and the insane rhythms that bump the shit out of your world.
I was angry. So was the music.
Try this on for a better current impression of what I always wanted the music to be.
Tell me this doesn't fuel your fire.
Vinny Cult Hollander and I have been over this. You like the music you like. Just because I should like Rush doesn't mean I do like Rush. On the other hand, Rush kicks some ass.
I wish that my ex-girlfriend's biggest rock-star crush wrote about music more.
Work turns wishes and dreams to reality.
Easy truths are easily forgotten.
Lessons learned twice hurt.
Except in my head
*- You say it's hell I say it's bullshit we gettin' through.
Just think about it:
Every man has his own heaven
But shit, you gotta go through hell to be a man first.
And understand first:
Hell is what you choose to call the present.
That's why you're going through what I just choose to call it stressin'.
To tell you fools the truth I don't feel it's where I'm destined
So you can call it hell but brah... I just say I'm below the heavens.