Turkey Bowl

I guess I should write something about Turkey Bowl…

But I’m not sure I’m up to the task. My memory of that tournament is hazy.

We got up pretty early to get picked up just over the border in NY. No real problems there. Bought some coffee and some beer. The woman behind the counter expressed some degree of alarm about the beer, but we worked through it together. Upon arrival, it was pretty cold and windy. But once you get your hands used to it, you’re fine.

First game was against someone with yellow jerseys who were grousing about getting the game started on time. We scored the first three points. I don’t think it was close. I did have what turned out to be a pretty gratuitous bid on this one. I, for some reason, thought that my defender was going to make a play on a disc that was thrown to me, but actually closer to him, so I bid to cut it off as early as possible, but he didn’t even react to the pass. I looked foolish.

Second game was against assman’s team. I think I had met him before. During the 25 minute point we argued about a couple of calls, drank some rum and stood around. I had to sit out for about 40 minutes after that one. Forget it. Marathon points are done for me until Pike starts back up. That was a terrible experience. We ended up winning this one after a comeback of sorts.

Third game was against the Smartwhores, which is a bunch of coed Swarthmore alums and some other people from NYC. And Alex de Frondeville for some reason. There was a dizzy-bat shotgun for pull involving Alex “The Count” de Frondeville, John “The Uncertainty Principle” Patterson, Julie “clap, clap” Sussman “clap, clap,” and a fourth party whom I cannot remember. As expected, The Count defeated The Uncertainty Principle handily in the shotgun, though he did give back a little ground in the dizzy-bat section. Unknown Person did her best to give the lead back to a rallying clap clap, but managed to just cross the finish line in time.

The other team beat us by a bit. Not sure why. Could have been any number of factors including, but not limited to, resorting to “catching more passes in the endzone than us” as a dominant strategy. Intriguing, to say the least. Effective to, to say more.

We then had a game against someone else in the battle for a tie for 4th or 5th or something. We won that one. And then we had some Turkey Dinner and sat in the cold. For some reason. I think there was a final going on at some point, but I was not interested because it was far away from the food and I got the feeling that some of them were taking it seriously. On the other hand, that is prime heckling territory…

Eventually we went home.

Thanks to the one and only Rick Kahn for bringing that team together. Let’s do it again.

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Imperfect Grip

I think one of my greatest strengths as a thrower is to be able to throw with an imperfect grip.

Not that I have a bad grip on my flick or backhand or anything, but when are situations during play for whatever reason (weather, quick grip switch, greatest attempt, whatever) and I am left with an imperfect grip, I can still complete my passes.

A great example of this was at Chesapeake this year when I picked up the disc from the ground after a stoppage and prepared to throw to someone (dono?) cutting deep, as was the play call. It was an incredibly humid, sweaty day and everyone had expressed the difficulties they were having. As I went to throw this flick, between cocking the disc back and changing the momentum to go forward, the disc began to slip out of my hand. By the time I hit the release point, it was just on the tip of my index finger. I knew it was in the wrong place, but I managed to snap my finder around a little further than I wanted to and get it to the right place. Completion.

This sort of thing happens when I get fouled on the mark and when I sometimes trip over myself while playing. Or on greatest attempts. for which I seem to have a disproportionate share of. In any case, I find this ability very useful, and I have no idea where it came from or if it is the same for everyone else.

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Throwing/300 Posts

If you live in the metropolitan NY area and would like to throw...

Get in touch. Email's best. Any time. Most anywhere in Manhattan with enough space. Downtown preferred. Jersey City Parking Lots are also available. Weather is not an issue save for absurd extremes.

I also posted 300 times over the year (this is 301). That's a lot. And I have, in theory, another month to increase that. Yow.

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Back to the Future for IV

So... now what?

Well, in terms of what?

ultimatejournal:
I'll be writing, but not as frequently. I still need to compile the hours I spent on the season for kicks. I'll talk about the future of Pike (yes, we have a future, contrary to some particularly poorly informed or purposefully vicious rumors that have been passed my way). I'll talk about some things that I learned this season and what I hope to work on for the next season. Offseason workouts started today. Short, but intense. 2-3 times per week. Still throwing whenever possible. I've got some new things planned for next season as a thrower already. I can still be so much better at this game! I love it. All of those ultimate thoughts (and more!) when I get to them will be put here at this spot. I'd bet that there is still a minimum of one post per week, but that could vary.

my writing in general:
Well, I recently started a non-ultimate blog because I like writing and don't yet have a clear long-term project to work on. For now, I just like picking random topics and writing about them. Or putting down some of the more interesting thoughts I've had over the day. If you want to visit it, visit it. If you don't, whatever. If you can think of someone else who would like to read it, point them at it. It'll be off-the-beaten-path at very least. It might be off-the-beaten-path CRAP, to be fair, but you know. I'll be doing it no matter how good or bad it is because I enjoy it.

other stuff:
What other stuff? This is a blog about ultimate. I talked about that. Tthis blog has writing. I talked about that. Not much else to cover. Well, I could write about PADA Mosh, but why bother? It was ridiculously fun. I was very intoxicated. I think I may have offended a nice young lady from Fordham. I'm sure I offended my teammates. But we all had a good time. I'll be at Turkey Bowl this weekend. That should be fun. Probably be at Ultimax in December. Thinking about Lei-Out. Definitely Kaimana (already bought the tickets). That'll be epic/awesome. Again.

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Nationals, Day 4

That's odd.

I could've sworn that when I went to sleep I was fully clothed. I mean, I'm not just wearin' what I came into the world with, but I remember having a shirt. A warm one. This shivering might not be going on if I had a damn shirt on.

What's more, there's no sign of the shirt around. Not near the bed. Speaking of which, where the hell are the covers? They too could fill the vacant position of "thing keeping me warm." I wouldn't ask for a resume or a CV or nuthin. I'd hire 'em on the spot. The interview would be easy too:

"Alright, object, one question. Are you something that could keep me warm?"

Armed with this handy question, I got up in search of an object that could give me an affirmative answer. My first thought was to find the sheets and blanket. My second was to go to the hot tub and chill out there for a while. Then, as I looked around the condo asking various objects this question (or more accurately, I was asking my conceptions of the objects that question and answering for them in my head), a familiar object answered with a firm affirmative.

Oh coffee machine, thank you for always being there for me.

Got a pot going and sat down for a moment. Running some things over in my head about the previous night, I knew that there would be tales told today. Many of them. Some might even involve me. Then again, I haven't yet pulled back the alcoholic haze to make the memories from the previous night clear. And that's a task that requires good, strong coffee. And the Total Hangover Cure.

As I drank the first glorious cup of the thick black stuff, I realized that I most certainly needed nourishment after whatever happened last night. And hell yes, we bought enough eggs. We also still had some cheese and some peppers and veggies about the house. Time for a favorite drunken beach-vacation morning favorite: Scrambled eggs with whatever other shit you've got lying around in them.

Butter up the pan, drop it all in (some cut into smaller bits) including the eggs and just keep scramblin' and adding spices/salt/pepper until it seems done. As I completed this process and downed the coffee, the rest of the condo started getting up. This is, in part, because those bitches went to sleep and never rallied. I, on the other hand, am just a morning person. Some people like sunsets. I'm one of them. But I love sunrises in a whole other way. The morning always holds so much promise. So many paths the day could take. Every morning is, for me, infinity. Just a phenomenal feeling when I stop and accept it.

As the others in the condo arose, we exchanged the usual morning things. Jamie's hand really hurt. He was wrestling Eddie Peters at some point. My feet hurt from many long dumb walks. Jamie's teenaged girlfriend had hung out with some Masters players because Jamie isn't old enough for her. Dan Yi was just a mess. Jamie had broken a bottle to get the party started in at least one room. Mio's face hurt. He had been sleeping on the cold tiles near the hot tub.

Jamie: Oh yeah, I remember you going out there.
Mio: Yeah, I was looking for something cold because I was fucked up on that Khaos.
J: We came looking for you because we didn't know what had happened.
M: Did you?
J: Yeah.
M: ...
J: ...
M: Wait a second.
J: Yeah?
M: You punched me in the face!
J: Oh shit! I did!
M: That was crazy.
J: You needed it.
M: That's true. I did.

So, apparently late in the evening after the wrestling and broken bottles, Mio had become overwhelmed by the Khaos. He wandered away from the group to find a cold place to lay down. He pressed his face against the cold tiles near the pool and stayed there. Jamie found him later. This was the exchange:

J: Mio, what're you doing?
[Mio rolls over and looks up at Jamie]
M: I'm laying here on the cold tiles because I feel like I'm gonna puke.
J: No you're not.
[Jamie punches Mio in the face and slaps him]
M: OW, DOG!!! You punched me in the fucking face!!
J: But you're not going to puke, right?
M: No... I don't feel like puking now. Thanks!

Unbelievable. Jamie has been involved in many face-punching incidents with the ultimate crowd. Actually, the other 2 or 3 all involved Paul, a fellow Santa Cruz alum. They didn't know each other in college (not there at the same time) but looking back, I wish that they had. Those would've been some stories to tell! Now, they just see each other, have good times and punch each other in the face. As people do.

The eggs were pretty solid, the coffee was excellent. We cleaned up the place and chatted about the evening. Then we headed to the fields to watch some ultimate. The women's final was about over when we got there. We see Fury close it out. Dan Yi establishes a strong early presence in the beer garden. They announce a bunch of stuff about the women's champion and Worlds and all of that. There was some cheering during this.

Eventually, I sat down at the pavilion or whatever that thing is called. Shade. Nice. At some point Geoff Buhl pulled up some pine as well. Another Condors fella as well. I think it might have been the tall guy (Ryan?) who used to play at Princeton. Then again, that guy may not actually be on the Condors. I'm not sure.

I settled in to watch the men's final. I won't bother with a bit by bit recap, you should just watch it for yourself on UVTV. What I will say is that the team strategies are interesting to compare, especially in the wind. That's the one thing that isn't really captured on the video. (How could it be???) The wind was gusty. It definitely affected throws, catches, decisions and large-level strategy. I was pretty sure that Sockeye would take this one despite Bravo keeping it close. Experience is a big factor, and the strategic choices that Sockeye makes seem to give them consistency from game to game. Bravo's strategic game seems to lend itself more to runs for both teams. I was definitely doubting my prediction when Bravo took half. I knew that neither team would run away with it or anything, but I thought for a moment that Boulder might win a tight one. Not to be.

It was a pretty fun game to watch, probably because it was a little messy due to the wind. Brutally efficient offense isn't near as much fun for spectators and calm conditions tend to result in that type of game.

And then there was the spirit award. Got up with all of the other individual nominees and got a little medal, some beads, a beer, a fuzzy 5ultimate spirit hat, a disc and a pin. Pretty cool. Had to smile for pictures and all as well. Karl Doege? Also a spirit winner. And Hinkle. And some others. We all looked good, of course, because, well, we're us.

Now I've got a fuzzy spirit hat.

Pawned Jamie's early-flight-takin-ass off on someone else. Then Mio disappeared. So too did Dan Yi. All of the sudden, I was on the way to the airport by myself...

"This is the way the [season] ends."

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Nationals, Day 3 (Pt 3)

And there we were. In the Publix. Contemplating our options for the evening.

No need to purchase food, we’ve got some leftovers since we were always waking up late. Some lamb (now marinated!) for me and some beans or some other shit for whomever bought that. Eggs for the next morning.

Beer.

Of course we need beer. Lots of it. Take no chances running out. Bought a bunch of beer. Modelo Especial and Tecate I think. Maybe some other really cheap stuff to give a base. Unclear. There was still a bunch of PBR left. And then Dan Yi strikes a stroke for genius.

“Hey guys, we need hard alcohol.”

Of course we do, Dan. Of course we do. As he sets off to purchase this, Mio and Jamie share an intense realization as we are loitering near the wall of beer.

“We need something to mix this with.”
“Yeah. I don’t want OJ or anything like that either.”
“Nah. Too healthy.”
“Yup.”
…
…
…
“Do you see what I see?”
“Yup. It’s perfect.”
“And TWO flavors!”
“I know. It’s like, which crime do you want to be arrested for tonight, Assault or Khaos?”
“Clearly Khaos.”
“Clearly.”

At which point a bunch of Monster “Khaos” (That’s the flavor, mind you) was purchased. This was phenomenal. There are few things that will make you make terribly entertaining decisions like a bunch of alcohol plus energy drink. This is why Sparks is such a phenomenon. They capitalized on the “Gambler’s Delight” crazy for Red Bull and Vodka by making an energy drink that is already chock full of alcohol. That’s a story about PADA Mosh though. I’ll save it.

So we walked out with a bunch of vodka, beer, energy drinks and random shit to head home and cook up some food. Done.

At some point, there was meat-juice on the floor while I was cooking. No fault of mine. Jamie’s teenage girlfriend, a vegetarian, then stepped in said meat juice. That was awesome. For the record. Even though you weren’t there and I can’t tell this story in an entertaining way, I thought you should know that this is the sort of thing I find funny. “You might be an asshole if…”

There may have been some napping and the like, but not from me. It was beer o’clock and someone had already done the buyin’.

Eventually we decided to wander around and the like. I went to the hot tub for a minute. Ran into some Pikes. Stayed there. Then I went back to the room and decided that I must go directly to the beach without collecting $200 or passing Go. I took the rest of the room with me. They had their Khaos, I had my beersling.

Beersling, you say? Well, I’m not sure what exactly it is called, but imagine a cooler shaped like a snake. The length of 6 cans of beer put end to end. Slightly larger in circumference than a beer can. With a strap that goes over your shoulder. Openings on both ends. And a really effective insulator. In the colors of the Sydney Swans. Best part? It was a gift from my sister from her trip to Australia. This thing is phenomenal. Perfect for ultimate and the beach. And it just so happens that I’m at an ultimate tournament on the beach. Nice.

So we went down tot eh beach. No one was there. So we “walked around and drank some more.” Eventually we headed back to the condo. Jamie, Dan Yi, Mio and Jamie’s Teenage Girlfriend all went pool-hopping. I went back to get more beer. At this point the details get fuzzy. Things I remember specifically (In no particular order):

• Long walk to see someone.
• Incorrect spacetime.
• Back again.
• On the beach.
• 5am Free Beer on the beach.
• Rosham. The Karl Doege. A Jim Parinella.
  
• Some twisted game of “Guess who I am” with the boys from 5ultimate and someone who is married to someone on Bravo. There were no winners.
• Finding assholes asleep in the condo. Weaksauce.
• Waking up somewhere on the beach at some point.
• Nightswimming.
• “BEERSLING, BITCH!”
• The lonely letdown.
• Boys and Girls in America.
• The beginning of Pike 2008.

The rest of the details are either not remembered or not fit for this space (I know! Even I’m censoring myself! To what has the world come?) The most important one was the beginning of Pike 2008. I tuned the page early this season. Even earlier than last season. I was ready to start planning next year. Scratch that. Not just ready, EXCITED. It was a great internal and individual moment to experience.

One more part to retell… and it involves things other people remembered from the night before and some recollections/thoughts from the finals.

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Nationals, Day 3 (Pt 2)

So, we got ready to heckle semis and all of that.

This meant, first and foremost, getting in comfortable clothes, checking some fire safety around the complex, running into people you know in the ultimate world and getting to the beer garden. There’s some time before it all really gets started in terms of games, but it isn’t an eternity.

All of those tasks were accomplished, and our things were in our car. As was the teapot that we had used to transport coffee to the fields as well as the coffee mugs from The Palm Bay Club that we had borrowed. This is better than everyone drinking out of the teapot. Trust me. That was on option.

It was at this point that the ridiculousness of the year struck me. Aside from the general absurdity of sports, I also play a sport that no one watches and that no one outside of the immediate community cares about. Above that, I’m pretty fucking good (not the best just yet, that’s coming as I keep working!) at it, I spend a ton of time, energy and money on it, and I travel all over the place to play. Past that, you look around at the teams and players here and you know that there is still something completely and utterly non-standard about it. Frisbees? Really? Goofy names like “Johnny Bravo” are among the best at the sport? You’re just as likely to hear a discussion about the merits of various high-level theories in [insert discipline here] as you are a discussion about the nerdiest way to heckle your teammates as you are a discussion of the disgusting workout regimen that so-and-so put together or the nuances of various dump setups on the field.

All the while, there’s this ridiculously beautiful expanse of grass on which some of the absolute best teams/players in the game have been doing battle on for the last couple of days. A battle which will only intensify over the next 1.5 days as the weaker teams are weeded out over the final two rounds of every division (And then the Pickup division is doing something else with fewer rounds). The guys you see at this level are dedicated players. In at least some sense. Physically or mentally or emotionally or tactically they are dedicated to the game. They work their asses of in some way to get there. To get to this spot in a completely absurd game that no one takes seriously.

And I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be.

Sure, those pangs of “I need to be playing here instead of watching” come and go, but you still need to celebrate your life, not mourn your past. So I did. And most other former-competitors did too. At some point, you think about yours season and it all makes sense now. The mistakes you made in February or March are played out in the way you and your team progressed. The strange gut feelings you had about your team have come to pass (or not) and you can understand the season with as complete a data-set as you can ever have. While having beer. While watching some high-level players. In the Florida Sun, in November, withouta real care in the world…

As we sat down to watch the semis, we were again irritated by the lack of proximity of the beer garden to the games we were going to watch. Sorry, Amp, I wished you luck, but as I told Furf before, I’m not gonna watch y’all unless you make the finals. I don’t have to play against y’all. I can learn more by watching my division. Mental notes, real notes and an idea of what other teams are doing to be as good as they are. What works? What doesn’t? What styles of play? How would my team compare? What strategies would I use to counter theirs? Is that similar to what the other teams are doing? Who are the palyers I need to know about? Who I need to prepare for when I face them?

There is no offseason, truly. Just a change in focus.

Went over to the Goat/Bravo game first. Because, well, it started first. My statement before this one was that this was a batch matchup for Goat because the two teams played a similar enough style (get the disc going downfield to your dominant players and have them make plays) that the determining factor would be athleticism. I felt that Bravo beat them in that category and said that it would be a 15-10 Bravo win. I was wrong. I twas 15-11. Shoot. The game itself was fun to watch as there was an opening salvo from Bravo to jump ahead, followed by Goat battling back into the game. Then Bravo took it after half, extending an 8-7 lead to a 15-11 victory. The soft kind, as they won on O, not D, but it still counts as a 15-11 victory. Popiel was a huge in this game. That guy ain’t bad.

The next game we were excited for as it had an ex-Pike element with Jaeger as well as an Idris element with, well Idris. Little did we know that Jegor would be covering Idris. Delightful. This left myself, J, Hollander, Walt, Buhl and Jamie to discuss on the sideline. First order of business was how much we hated Jaeger. Second order was what Jamie thought of Idris. Third order was watching the game and drinking beer. 3 for 3. That means I accomplished something today. I remember we asked for predictions, but I can’t remember them. I cast my vote clearly behind Sockeye as I felt that despite Jam’s history as a team, the advantage of being together in a system for multiple tuitle-winning years made Seattle the favorite. Recent finishes ahead of Sockeye and the victory at ECC (or Laborday?) over them did little to sway me of this thought. I was sure that it would be closer than the other semi. If only because this was the big show. The late men’s semi. The one that everyone watches. I don’t recall a blowout in this one since I’ve watched nationals, but I could be making that up. Facts just get in the way of my story.

IT was fun to watch the Idris/Jaeger matchup as you could see Jaeger working to push Idris away from the disc. It was pretty effective as Idris seemed reluctant to force the disc into his hands near the disc and content to make pretty solid deep cuts that were not thrown to. Probably because he trusts his teammates. At some point Idris got a come-from no-where block on a dump after an O-team turnover (maybe even his throw) which was quite the piece of playing defense in the style of “Identify where the other team will throw the disc and just meet it there.” Which is always fun to see.

As Sockeye pulled away, someone in the area said that it was time for Jam to make their run. And they obliged. Closing from being down 13-10 to tie the game at 15s, Jam brought the crowd back into it, just as they were getting ready to leave or just go to the beer garden full-time. Sockeye scores on O with a Kubalanza flick to a short-yardage conversion. On Jam’s O-point, there are at least 3 turnovers. One by Jam, one by Sockeye and another by Jam. Then Sockeye finishes it off with some Wiggins action and one of those tall Nordic-Carleton types catching a goal. 17-15, Sockeye. Good game.

Time to go drink more.

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Nationals, Day 3 (Pt 1)

This day definitely started better than the last.

The Palm Bay Club early in the am is a nice place to be. Start the coffee up and take a little stroll around the way. The area is just secluded enough that you don't see many people. And of those you do, approximately 97.46% play ultimate. Then you have the opportunity to detrmine how social you are.

As you catch eyes with all of the ultimate players in the morning, how do you acknowledge them? Stare them down? Give a little nod? Smile? Say "Good morning" softly? Start a conversation? Shout something silly? I, of course, am too busy thinking these things to pick an option ("And time yet for a hundred indecisions,/And for a hundred visions and revisions,/Before the taking of a toast and tea.") and end up doing parts of every option I've considered. This ends with something like a half-wave/half-smile combined with a knowing grunt/cough that varies in volume. Not so slick, slick.

Get back into the condo and get to makin' breakfast. Omelet it is! Coffee is ready to go (I can tell by the heavenly smell!) and I've got the ipod on. I'd rather have speakers, but this'll do. Actually it better tunes out the awesome snoring power of the teammate sleeping on the fold-out couch. I think he's sleeping there in part because I refused to sleep in the same room on the grounds the only two outcomes over the first night is that I would get no sleep at all or he would wake up in a pool of his own blood. It really is a sound to be-hear.

Everyone gets up well in time today and since there will be no traffic (Hooray Saturday!) there is no real rush to get to the fields. Oh yeah, and we're playing in the shitbox. Not that I'm not still excited to be here, but it always take a bit of wind from your sails. Just a bit. In my mind, the important game today is the first one. Win that and you're 13/14. Lose that and you're 15/16. I mean... One guarantees that you finish ahead of two teams while the other guarantees you finish ahead of one team. Once you start falling down the ladder, I find that this is a good motivator for me. Or at least, the best motivator I've got to tell myself that these are big games. I get up more for big games. Maybe that's a virtue, maybe that's a fault, but that's who I am and I don't think I want to change it.

Get to the fields and take ultimate's version of "The walk of shame" to the furthest fields from anything. I mean, you can drive over and park closer to these fields, but then in your haste to get to the beer garden later, you might leave the car there. And still... the drive makes you feel even more isolated from the ultimate world. At least with the walk, you can run into some people you know and remember what it feels like to be warming up for the quarters on the big stage instead of shitbox games on the off-off-off-off-off-off-off-off-off-off Broadway stage.

My body is killing me today. My feet are aching and covered in blisters (this is what happens when you can't really run around in cleats for 3 weeks before the biggest 3-day tourney of the year), my throwing shoulder is feeling a little fatigued, and there's still the quad thing that never fully went away. And of course the usual mystery bruises and scrapes. Oh, but there's a really interesting injury too. My hands. My hands are swollen and bruised from clapping too much and too aggressively. That's odd. I don't think that has happened before, but it, uh, really hurts to catch, clap or slap fives. Not good times. This is what happens when you move to the D team from the O team. You become dumb enough to hurt yourself clapping. Damn.

Game time.

vs Doublewide, 9-13
We had some little tiffs with them when we were in Austin for Livelogic, but nothing crazy. I got to talk to Max a bit in those games which was cool. I've definitely played against a bunch of these guys outside of club ultimate (Goofball tourneys, somewhere else? I don't know.) and was a little surprised to see them down here. At some point, the frustration of both teams for being in this spot got the better of Max and Schmucker who had a little tussle. This led to the wonderful moment when your captains pull you apart, have little team meetings and tell everyone to stop being dicks. I'm never really sure if that is the right time to say something goofy or not. It might be. Regardless, we got over it and finished the game out. I think we took the lead early in this game and then managed to let it slip away late in the first half or early in the second half. I got my first actual D of the tourney at some point in this one. I mean, I had other teams throw the disc to me, or my guy threw it away with some help from the mark, but this was an actual block, which I don't remember happening before this. Handlers are irritating to cover. They played better than us and won it as our team kinda fell apart as the game went on.

I think the weekend had really begun to wear on people at this point. Losing 6 in a row can do that to you. Near the end of this one, I was playing a point and we eventually got scored on. I just kinda deflated when it happened. I was suddenly acutely aware that every step I took hurt like hell-- running and changing direction, doubly so. Up to that point, I had been able to put it out of my mind and power through. But the ball of negativity that our team had become combined with the ball of pain that my body had become to take it all out of me. I felt like the only thing that could make me play another point at this point was if my life actually depended on it. I then made a decision that I began to regret in the afternoon. I decided that I wouldn't play in the next game. I rationalized it in all kinds of ways in my head at the time, but in the end, it was quite likely the wrong decision.

Hindsight, as always, is 20/20.

In the parlance of our times, "Mistakes were made." Oh wait, that's just a copout. Mistakes weren't made. Mistakes were made by ME. Step up and own your fucking mistakes at very least.

Anyway, the tourney went on...

vs The Van Buren Boys, 11-10
Not sure how this game started or went really. I watched it, and I felt like we were winning the whole way, but then when the game ended it was much closer than the 15-10 victory I was expecting. I don't know what that means, but that's how it felt.

After the game, we had a little huddle and talked for a quick minute about what else was going on, where the quarters were and all of that. Talked about the season a little bit and that sort of thing. And then something completely unexpected happened. I found out that I was nominated for the Farricker Spirit Award. Huh? I mean, I think that I play a clean, principled and fair game but if someone asked me if I would ever win a spirit award, I would say that they're nuts. I mean... I'm kind of a jerk. As this went through my head and processed a bit, I actually started to think of myself as a pretty spirited player. Even when I get a little hot under the collar, I don't cheat and act in a respectful manner. I have made mistakes, but those mistakes all involved what I feel are completely reckless and dangerous plays that put players in harm's way with no actual reward in sight. No matter how nice a person you are, if you don't let people/players know that it is not appropriate to endanger you, your teammates or friends I feel you are no longer being nice, now you're being timid. They are different.

Anyway, forget that strange, tangential rumination on spirit and what it means to me, but the fact of it is that our team decided that I should have this award. I was really honored and touched. There was something about this, for Pike, actually being the "Team First" award and that made it mean a little more to me. "Thanks, guys. Sorry I let you down in that last game there. [Insert something that would make that excusable here]." is what I wanted to say. Instead I said nothing. I'm a weird dude.

After this, we headed to the beer tent for some, uh, beer. Or did we go grab some food first? I don't know. But eventually, we found out that the open semis would not, in fact, be held near the beer garden. This was upsetting. I know that the UPA is trying to be fair and to promote all of the division and all... but really? How many people watch the open semis vs the women's and mixed semis? (I think there's another "pickup" division at Nationals, but I saw no evidence of it) I tried to look for photo evidence of this, but I got bored. A great illustration would be a picture from the top of the pavilion or grandstand or whatever that is. It isn't even close. And the only reason it is even in the same ballpark is because the beer is closer to the other divisions. Got no problem with the other divisions, all joking aside, but let's acknowledge which division draws the bigger crowd, put them on the main fields and serve the beer there. Damn!

Anyway, some parts of the tale of the semis and the night will come later.

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Nationals, Day 2

Got up, made coffee, realized that we were running late again.

I had managed, yet again, to sleep through my alarm. That's so strange. I rarely sleep late. Oh well, no omelet this morning. Back to Dunkin Donuts. Only this time we'll go to the other DD. That way the employees won't recognize us. Or something.

On one of these mornings, we found out that Mio would "eat anything with a pumpkin in it" and on the other, I hit a parked car with the pointy grill of the Charger (not that we had a police car, just that it illustrates the pointy nature of said grill) and was greeted by a reader from Zero. I didn't tell him that I was born in the Twin Cities because I wasn't sure if that was a good conversation piece or not. I mean... where does the conversation go from there? Does he just say "Cool?" Does he then tell me where he was born? Do I care where he was born? Would he have cared where I was born? This is why conversations with me are always strange. I'm rarely thinking about what I'm saying, but often thinking instead about why I would say it while forgetting what I actually said. I think it ended with mutual good lucks (seriously because we have no shot at playing Zero save for if we make it out of the loser-pools with one loss).

Speaking of which, I don't think that my team fully grasped how awful it is to go down to the bottom pools with one loss. It's devastating. So much has to go right for you to make it back out to the pre-Q's that your team needs the stars to align behind a full moon in order to pull it off. That is, I don't think we fought nearly hard enough in that Rhino game yesterday and I was still pissed about it this morning. That was the game. That shit counts *double.* Or, in our case, the last round on Thursday was actually just the first round of Friday, since Sockeye and Boston had already assured themselves Power-Pool berths. Ah well.

Leg felt terrible this morning. Warmups were prolonged and I had to get everything just right before I could really get any acceleration or explosion (not that I have that much of either) and that sucked. Get your painkillers going, boy, this is The Show! I got in a ton of throws though, as I knew that in order to have a shot at all, I would need to be on point as a thrower today. Live play kinda sucked, but that will happen from time to time. You just need to focus on getting your body/mind awake in those drills. Blood flowing, desire to win boiling and the like...

vs Truck Stop, 10-15
This game started off perfectly. We were going downwind on D, I got a huge pull off, and they turned the disc over in the endzone. I picked it up, walked to the line, and threw a goal. Sweeeeeeet! I don't remember exactly what happened for the rest of this game (although I did fucking get stalled in my own endzone because my brain locked the hell up like something that really gets locked up and THAT killed us) abut I think we took our first half, 8-6 or 8-7. And then Truck Stop pulled away. They capped the win with a HUGE grab from Stout over our two tallest dudes. By the way, our tallest dudes are like 6'1" or 6'2" which is far smaller than the size of that fucking Stout, who made a huge difference for that team over the season. I never thought I'd write the sentence "Truck Stop pulled away" but even more surprising is the fact that after they beat us, I wanted them to win. Call it regional pride, call it knowing when your run is over, or whatever, but that's the way it works for me.

Well, now we get to sit around and wait to play Furious. Of the teams at Nationals, they're one of the few that I haven't yet beaten. Bravo is on that list, and depending how you slice "Boston" they might be on the list as well. I was excited for this chance for two reasons. The first was listed above, and the second was that if we beat Furious, we could push them down below us in the standings. This could be extremely painful for the NW is terms of strength bids.

vs Furious, 11-15
I know I got off some more big pulls in this game, and I think it stayed close for most of the game. We moved the disc well, and capitalized, but their D team eventually overpowered our O. Constant pressure eventually made us wilt. I love matching up on Mauro, and our little tilt here was fun as always. At some point after we got a block on D and then turned it over somehow, I got matched up on Mike and he just straight up took me to the house. That still sucks. I guess he, unlike many tall dudes who can throw, just took advantage of his5 inch height advantage and basically dared his teammates *not* to throw it. I mean hell... if I saw some midget handler covering one of my best deep receivers, I'd put it up without a question too! This game ended poorly.

On the day, I was very pleased with my play, even though I could have done better. Pulls were good upwind and down (though upwind could have been deeper and could have hung longer). Throws were good. Cutting downfield and as a handler was good. Positive energy was present. Not much else to do. I believed through both games that we would win. Sadly, either not enough of my team believed with me, or I didn't believe strongly enough. If you don't believe you'll win, no matter the score, you'll never fight as hard as you can for every inch because you'll think "What's the point?" Believe that you will win gives your actions weight. It gives you a reason to push on forward in the face of almost certain defeat. Almost certain. You must latch on to that sliver of hope and use it to push yourself ahead. You must believe. I always believe.

Well, after two days, we've gotten into tussles with Rhino and Furious (though not, surprisingly, Truck Stop), lost all of our games, and generally started to fold. Nationals is a true test of your belief in yourself and your teammates. Even after you lose, you will have more games to play and those teams will still be teams that you would regularly travel to face. It isn't the boys from down the road, or the 5th place team from your region, every one of these teams fought to get to THIS tournament. They have proven themselves to be worthy competitors. I love this environment. I suppose if it is new for you, you could get a little overwhelmed, but I mean... you gotta love it, right? You've just got to, or you should retire now. This is why you play the game!!!!!

We went to watch some Pre-Q action and I started drinking pretty heavily with Jamie. Fuck this. I'll be ready to play tomorrow, but if I don't get some beer in me, the world will not be an okay place to be. Eventually, the rains came and we didn't have the patience to stay. Sorry, MA teams. My heart just wasn't in rooting for you any more. It likely would have degenerated into terribly mean-spirited heckling before long. To recap, Boston took it to Ring and Truck Stop (somewhat surprisingly) outlasted the Condors through the lightning delay. Well, instead of the top 2 MA teams making quarters, we had one MA team in quarters. At least that isn't totally embarrassing.

That night, we went to Brandon's family's place in Sarasota (or was it Bradenton?) and had a nice team time, although there were apparently more teamamtes there than I realized as the house was big enough that I didn't ever find all of them. More beer was had, and I think I passed out. I had nothing left at this point in the evening. Exhausted, beaten down and drunk. Someone, thankfully, peeled me from the spot at which I had passed out and got me into the car for a fun ride back to the Palm Bay Club... Shitbox tomorrow, boys! Maybe we'll eke out a win against someone else who is as hungover as I'll be!!!

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Nationals, Day 1

Woke up late.

About 30min late. Slept straight through the alarm. That sucked.

No real matter, it just means I won't be able to take an early AM drive to get groceries so that I can cook breakfast. Instead, we'll just hop by one of the Dunkin' Donuts on the way. Yes, this means that in the space of 2 meals over ~5 hours, we had both Waffle House and Dunkin Donuts, but hey, we're just livin' the 'Merican Dream down these parts.

I remembered all of the drive from the previous trips I had made. No need for directions, I've been here before. I even visualized this drive when I visualized this day. Of course, the car I pictured had no top. And the weather was perfect, but you can't get hung up on the little stuff. We were at The Show.

Rolled up to the fields and made sure to park right next to our fields. Gotta know stuff like which field you're on before you arrive. Key in effective first-day parking. We then moseyed over to the fields while drinking in the morning. The Calm before The Storm.

Got ready and tossed a little before getting our jog on. Dynamic warmups into drills into live play. More throwing. I can feel the excitement rushing up my spine.... Game Time.

vs Boston Ultimate, 8-15
Well... We started off with them. Our D team definitely had a dumb turnover or something after generating a turn early in the first half. Not sure if I ever got the disc in my hands in the first half. Dunno. This game had little of note for me, personally. The first half was close enough (5-8, 6-8?) and then Boston turned on our O team. Or, our O Team turned on Pike. Or something. All I know is that instead of the D team feeling like we were right in it, suddenly it felt like we hadn't played at all yet. You know, D Team players need short memories because you've got to shrug off the first 6 times you get scored on so that you can fight NOT to get scored on the 7th time. The problem is, having short memories means we also forget how were playing defense after being off of the field for more than 2 points or so. We can't remember what worked and we can't quite get that focus back. Too many shiny objects. Soon we become spectators instead of players. When the D team forgets they're playing ultimate and starts watching ultimate, the game is over.

Unless you can somehow fire that engine back up. This is what veterans are for. Those guys who never lose hope and never stop fighting. Not only do they force themselves to fight, but they force their teammates to fight. Sadly, Pike doesn't have quite enough veterans in terms of The Show. I mean... of the 7 guys who were at Nationals with Pike, only 3 actually played similar on-field roles then to now, 3 played smaller (and different) roles and 1 (me) had never played a meaningful point at Nationals. Yow. Welcome to it. Good luck going forward Boston. Especially you ex-Pike boys. Glad we could give Danny a rest this round.

vs Sockeye, 4-15
Well, I thought the previous game was bad. I also thought that we got a lot of the "deer in headlights" looks out in the previous game. This was a different story. our young players were stone-cold intimidated and you could see it. This is the video effect. That, and the younger guys on our team were in High School, playing and watching ultimate when Sockeye started their rise. That didn't stop the Sockeye O team from giving us the disc the first two times they were on the field. The Pike D did not convert. the worst example of this was the first turn that we got 10-15 yards out of the endzone we were attacking and proceeded to throw away on a dump pass that, even if completed, would likely not have helped our cause. Then I don't think we got on the field again until late in the first half or early in the second half. I did like their aggressive handler motion from Gehret and O'Brien. It was pretty clear that these guys had a gameplan that they executed consistently. Generally, within the first couple of points watching a team you can tell if they are all on the same page or not. Sockeye most certainly was. Good luck for the rest of the tourney, Jaeger.

vs Rhino, 9-15
This game was much more fun. In part because Rhino plays a game where they give the other D team the disc. This meant I got to go to work throwin goals in this one. As I told the team, once we get the turn, put the disc in my hands, I'm just throwing goals. We got our first break in this game on, I threw the goal. We got our next break right afterward, and I threw another goal. We got a turn on the next point, and, dumb as I am, tried to catch a goal instead of throwing for one, and the throw was turfed. Damn. Rhino then scored. Then they broke our O back (somewhere in here) and our D got scored on. Then I don't recall exactly what happened, but they fought back to take half. In the second half, our O team got broken here and there while our D team may have gotten one break back. The fact remains that Rhino fought through *both halves* whereas Pike only fought through the first half. The second half was.... All Rhino. I finally met one of the Other Dusty's in this one. It was very odd that at some point we were both on the field, near the disc (stupid handlers) and both sidelines were shouting "Dusty this" and "dusty that" while neither of us could tell which people to listen to. We conferred later and determined that it made both of us play harder, though not necessarily smarter.

There were some big plays on the day (Big Art!!) and I thought that even though I had a couple of dumb turnovers, I played well overall. No Ds, but I threw some goals. My pulls were pretty solid, and I seem to remember ripping a good one or two against Rhino specifically. My attitude stayed positive for the whole day, in spite of our lackluster effort because I just attributed it to not being ready for the enhanced speed at Nationals vs, say Chesapeake or even Regionals. And being a little starstruck in the face of players that they had heard about for so long. Endurox up, get back home, cook up some food and get ready to see Truck Stop and Furious tomorrow morning!

Oh yeah, Truck Stop/Furious/Chain were definitely the talk of the first day. Definitely.

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Nationals (Prelude)

First, there was a mixup.

At the rental place, the night before (This was after the flights got delayed like crazy and we didn't land until about 1:30am. I hate JFK airport. Hardcore.) I walked up and said "Here is my ID and my Credit Card. I have a reservation." I then expected to presented with the keys to the car that I had reserved. The one without a top. The fast one. You know. The one on my reservation.

Instead, we had a classic Seinfeld reenactment, as so often happens in the time I spend not playing ultimate, about taking and keeping reservations. Instead of the fast car with no top that I reserved, she offered me a 2 seater convertible of some kind. Thinking of my brother's teenage girlfriend and Dan Yi, I said "No." Like an idiot. She then offered me a Dodge Charger. I asked if that was a convertible, knowing full well that it wasn't. She said no. She did say that it went fast though. That was better, but I was not pleased and told her so. She offered to take a day off of the lower rental fee. I said "Thanks, but how does that take the top off of my car, exactly?" She said that I must hate her. DAMN! That really puts it to me doesn't it? Quite the argumentative victory. Either I hate her and am a terrible person for pursuing this further, or I stand there and tell her I don't hate *HER* but that I hate the company and get into that conversation. Fuck You, Rental Car Woman. Just let me get my aggression out by being a little sarcastic and goofy. I was smiling until this point. At this point, I glared for a second and caught myself before I launched into full-on jerk-face mode. I then just took the keys, declined the sucker-coverage and went back to sit with my brother and wait for the even later flights.

Ah well. At least the car goes fast and is cheaper. Fast is good.

The classic Florida Night Drive was perfect. We even stopped at Waffle House at 2am because we hadn't eaten since before we got on the plane so that we could sit on the runway for 2 more hours strapped into uncomfortable seats and told that "unless our eyes were yellow" getting up out of our seats to go to the bathroom or stretch "could very well cause us to miss a chance to take off." WHAT???? I'm twitching with anticipation to get to the damn tournament, I have to go to the bathroom somewhat regularly because I always drink a lot of fluids, I wanted to stretch for the whole flight while drinking a bunch of water, and now I also have a delay "Of unknown time but likely between 1 and 2 hours" in which I can do none of that? On top of it you keep telling us to put our electronic devices away? WHAT THE FUCK DID I SIGN UP FOR????

Oh yeah, at the Waffle House. first, it was the coldest Waffle House or any other dining establishment that I have ever been in. I was looking for Rocky's famous slabs of beef. I was prepared for this with extra clothes (Florida's cold when you're drunk, exhausted and thrown in the ocean at all hours of the morning!) but my carmates were not as ready. I'm a regular fucking boy scout. We sat next to some late 20 somethings who were talking about how one of them had taken gone topless and pressed her breasts against the window the last time they were here. Not that odd. Later on they start "bitchin about [their] fuckin' kids." Kids? You have kids? You're my age and smoking, drunk off your ass in a Waffle House at 2am!! And then they unanimously decided that their parents probably did the same damn thing when they were younger. I think I agree with them.

Immediately following this, the same group got into a yelling match with a "semi-homeless" dude who was buying some coffee and an egg. I don't know exactly what about but I think someone was threatened while being restrained. They may have then bailed on the check. The sem-homeless guy then turns to Dan Yi and Dan Yi looks at him and says "No no, thanks for chasing them away. We didn't like them either." (Which was completely true) Semi-homeless guy takes exception to this in some fashion and then stares at us sourly for the rest of the time he's there. This was not even the most entertaining thing that Dan Yi (who is always referred to in two names) did that evening. When we ordered, we all ordered pretty lightly. Just something to get the hunger under control without adding to much into the system. Maybe a waffle. A couple of eggs and some grits. Some hashbrowns. A Coffee (no, not for me). And that was the rest of the table. Dan Yi, of course, goes big, 'cause he sure as shit ain't goin' home, and orders the Grilled Texas Bacon Double Patty Melt Plate.

Now, when someone orders something like that, you don't know exactly what it is going to look like, but you're pretty sure that it is a serious meal commitment, not a fling. The word Texas alone should give you a hint, but to add in words like Double? Bacon? Are you shitting me? This is going to be crazy. It could be the atomic bacon-grease bomb. With hash browns. Not regular hash browns, but smothered covered and chopped (or something). And make it a double. WHAT? Wow. Dan Yi wins this round of ordering. Easily. Wayta Cowboy Up, you Sox Fanboy!

Even at this point, we don't know what this is going to look like when it comes out. I mean, we saw the picture, but you never know what the real thing is going to be like. I mean, our socially timid waitress who apologized for giving us ice in our water told us that the chef who was working tonight was "the best Waffle House has," which of course led us to a discussion about what sort of person becomes the best damn Waffle House chef anyway. It was decided that he was an honorable person. He did work with excellent style and my food was pretty good... And then Dan Yi's food came out. It was a massive grease attack. Cut in two, with a massive pile of hash browns and other stuff in between the perfectly cut halves.

Wow.

Just wow.

Dan Yi, to his credit, ate every part of it.

You might think the story is done, but it isn't. It couldn't possibly end there. Somewhere around the point at which we were all mocking Dan Yi (whilst in complete awe of the bang with which he started his journey), some shiny cars with rims rolled up. Of course. These are exactly the kind of cars that roll up at this time of night. I grew up spending late nights at Denny's in Northeastern PA. I know the drill. What I was unprepared for was who stepped out of the car. In the words of Dan Yi "It's a fucking ho train." To which Jamie responded "I have to call Tom Pribicko." The train continued to engulf and then fill the Waffle House as we waited in line to pay for our food. The line consisting of, uh, us. Waiting for Dan Yi to pick up the whole bill so that we could pay him back. And it took forever. All the while, the look of complete shock on Dan Yi's face was worth the uncomfortable tension in the air. I think the pimps were responsible for that air, but one can't be sure.

We then walked out, got in the Dodge Charger and flew like warp-speed banshees through the night to get to our waiting beds and get at least those first 4 hours of blissful sleep before the mayhem I planned to bring to the fields with me tomorrow...

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Post Nationals Post

Well... That's over.

Recaps should come later.

Then I'll follow up with a year in summation post and then I'll figure out the future of this webspace.

Oh, I almost forgot, by some rampant voting error I was my team's Farricker Award Nominee. How do I know there was a voting error? I swore I saw Hinkle out there. But that could've been the hangover talking.

Seriously though? I'm honored to be nominated. Thanks, Pike.

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Not much Left to Do...

But play the damn games!

I've prepared all season, I've checked everything off on my list and barring the quad thing, I've prepared just about perfectly for this season. There are things I can do better still, but I'm not at a point yet where I've accomplished them. That will wait until next season starts.

I'm not satisfied with my progress, but I'm happy about it.

Tough Games All Weekend.

I love nothing better than great competition. I can't wait to put everything I have on the line. I just can't wait.

THE SHOW THE SHOW THE SHOW
Finally, I'm going back to The Show.

The Rhodes brothers with teammate and hanger-on will be traveling and staying in style, weather be damned.

If Jamie remembers his laptop, I'll try to get some updates here between days, but that could be tough. It is certainly ancillary to my team's success as well as my enjoyment of the weekend, but we'll see. Game-specifics will be limited as there's only so much I can remember in a given day. And besides, Jamie could forget anything.

Veteran Move: Bringing the EZPass.

I can't wait to be there.
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Workout Total:
over a year of training leading up to this.

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Predictions?

Maybe before I leave.

Likely not. I have a hard time predicting things I'll be a part of.

By the way, I love how rsd has more posts about Coffee Cup predictions than Nationals predictions.

I'm betting that this is because most people who have any knowledge on which to base their picks are actually playing. Not all, just most. Or that everyone is too concerned about BB material. Whatever that means.

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Pumped

Ungodly Pumped.

The Show is Coming!

1000 moments to be savored in competition. 1000 moments to be remembered away from the field. Just a few days away. Just a few days. If I can make it...

The Rhodes Bros will be following the advice of our attorney, Dr. Gonzo, and "renting a very fast car with no top."

I can't wait.

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rsd is one long fat joke

Here is the evidence.

At least I found that really funny.

I'll go back and enter the posts from the last couple days at some point. Not now. Football to watch.

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Headspace

You've got to get the team in the right headspace before a big tournament.

For each team, this is a different thing. Some need to be angry and ready to snap, some need to be overly positive, some need to feel tight and nervous, some are better relaxed. You've got to learn about your team over the season and then use the weeks leading up to a tourney to get it right.

After our quick practice today, I'm sure that we're in the right place. The practice left me with nothing but confidence about my team. We're ready to go.

Also, we learned about the creepily high SAT scores on this team. Nerd Ultimate at it's finest. The lowest is some sucker (not counting the new Writing section for comparison's sake) in the mid 1200s. And there are something like 6 or 8 in the 1500+ range. We also learned that despite this being my 5th year with Pike that I'm on the Young team if we split by age. Odd.
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workout total:
3.5 Hours practice
stretching/icing/etc

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Rodrigo y Gabriela

Saw Rodrigo y Gabriela this evening at The Roseland.

Good show. Happy to have gone.

They can definitely rip it up on guitar. They brought some third person out at one point. He was overmatched.

Not sure I'd see them again even though they put on a great show. Just a lot of a guitar after a while. They did mention that a new album is coming in the nearish future. I'll definitely get that.
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Workout Total:
Same as usual

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Hidden Skill-work at PT

So there I was, doing my sets 10 seconds on/10 seconds off of some exercise for 10 minutes...

My mind was all over the place. I was doing my best to focus in on what I was doing, but it was tough as hell. Then it struck me. I'm going for 10 seconds over and over again. That's the same as the stall count. Suddenly, I had something to focus on.

As someone who is rarely called for a fast count, I wanted to know if I was slow when stalling. As it turns out? Nope. Max variance for the 8 minutes I counted stalls was between 1-2 seconds. Never as high as 2, usually less than one.

Good use of an otherwise pointless time for my head while my body was working. It helped me focus in as well as I always thought "Keep it up! This is just like putting on a great mark! It takes energy" while counting instead of just wondering what kind of food I would eat after I left the PT place.

Back to work. I'd rather spend all day doing rehab. Hands down.

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New Favorite Breakfast

A little odd, but not that strange, when you consider that I'm the source.

Simply, a three egg omelet containing Parrano Gouda and apples.

Cortland apples have been the best match so far, although most apples are unlikely to disappoint. Just a good combination of flavors/textures. If you'd like to make it a bit sweeter, a tiny bit of maple syrup makes it breakfasty-yet-not-overpoweringly-sweet. If you want more grease/protein, or another texture/more salt include some bacon. Either on the side or in the omelet. Works pretty well. Some might prefer sausage. Some people say that cucumbers taste better pickled.

Goes well with coffee, of course. Haven't tested different varieties with different apples yet, but I'm sure there's a real winner in there somewhere.

Damn. Now I wish I was eating breakfast again.

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