Dogfishhead

That place was awesome.

Yes, both [1, 2] of them.

The tournament was fun too.

First Round Byes on Both Days made for Late Nights.

Which is good.

4-0 on the Day 1 over Drexel Spitfire, Wiretap, Old Sag and Above and Beyond. Wiretap was up at half. Everyone else was down at half.

3-0 on Day 2 over Red Hook, Wiretap and Swarthmore Alums(+).

Pike has won all odd-numbered Beth Coltman Memorials (03, 05, 07, 09)!!!

Good weekend with good players all: Returners, Not-yet-Pikes and Ghost of Pikes-Past.

This season is shaping up entirely differently than last season, thus far. Perhaps we won't lose 17 players? That would be sweet.

Anyway, every single player had good moments and bad. Most more of the former than the latter.

PikePikePike.

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While I Prefer a Dubbel...

Fools Fest was fun

much in the way Kaimana, Mars... and whatever other 3-day Ultimate tournaments with ample beer and competition I'm forgetting are fun.

Played mixed with Stimulus Package (Puppet Regime+Some PoNY+other). Two losses on the weekend. One avenged in quarters against Lefty Loosy (NC). The other handed out by eventual champs The Way of the Jackalope (Various) to the tune of 15-11. Jackalope was definitely the scariest of the tights teams on the weekend.

For everyone who looks at me funny when I drink beer while playing, I submit to you Spaten. (Optimator is great if you love dark beer. Go for the premium lager if you like lighter beer.)

Then again, I didn't need to hear it from someone else that beer is my drink.

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Kaimana 2

"Don't worry, only the finalists don't get poke. We're covered for lunch."

Game 1: Sanban
Sanban was far more warmed up than Pilthy. This, at 11:30, was our first game of the day so we countered their advantage by sleeping late. Some of us got there early enough to get our legs warmed up. Some of us went to the ocean and contemplated the infinitude of waves (water, sun and wind) crashing down upon Waimanalo over forever and infinity over again.

Sanban's sneakyquick IO looks combined with and their hucks of different angles/timings than we were prepared for gave them a bit of advantage mentally early, theough they did not capitalize consistently on our mental mistakes. Our key in this game was to keep the pace up on O AND D and maintain our controlled physicality. That is, we weren't all faster than them, but we play physically, and we weren't slower than them. We also, to a man, outweigh them. Eventually they have some lapses under our consistent pressure. As they slow down a little in the second half, we put the pedal to the metal and rely on Godzilla in a change-up defense. Win, Philthy.

"Come to Kaimana, get international caps."

I'm now 2-0 against Japan with at least one bewildering but friendly bilungual foul-call discussion in each. Sweet. My brother's Big In Japan. Speaking of which, we thought Thoughts was Philthy.

We were misinformed.

Game 2: Ono
We played terribly against Ono. They might say they caused it. I would say they caused about 40% of it, and we caused the balance. That game blew for everyone.

Either way, the Sanban win secured us a quarters spot against a team to be named later. The team to be named later (So called, though I imagine they picked the name a while ago): The Southern Dandys. Headed by Kid and reaching back into ultimate today and yesterday for players.

To be clear, it is unclear what happened that night aside from Philthy Survivor Flipcup. This was good or bad. I recall recalling, however, that Lonestar carried on the tradition of "underachieving team sitting around all day suckering unsuspecting folks into playing ace-to-the-face." Which everyone on Philthy would like to thank them for. It is a dirty game, but someone has to play it.

Game 1, Quarters v Southern Dandys.
Tim 'lost' the flip to The Count for shirt color with the Count looking very pleased with himself. Also, Luke can say now he D'ed me. I threw a blade right to him in their 1-3-X look ~3 points into the game. Well, at least we didn't waste energy on defense that point.

I was reminded early in this one how much of an advantage these monkey arms are. You can teach speed, but you can't teach length. (That's what she said.) Arms also don't get shorter over the course of the tournament, no matter how well you revel. One nice rip off in this one, but it came back on a travel on the guy who threw it to me. They called a lot of travels. I suspect were traveling a lot.

"2-0 vs jerks who made us go non-pinstripes."

Game 2, Semis v Voltron.
They don't, apparently, appreciate references to their team namesake as much as we'd hoped. Or perhaps we wielded encyclopaedic cartoon knowledge while they had the goddamn Sword of Voltron.

They also didn't let us score as much as we'd hoped. Nor did we, ourselves, let ourselves score as much as I'd hoped. Really, the funny thing about ultimate is that you're just playing catch/monkey-in-the-middle with the general intention of moving down the field. If you can't play catch, you can't win. We didn't, and we didn't.

"I'll form the Head."

Well, they didn't in Finals. Ono slapped Voltron around like a delicious fish-slapping dance do. While Toonsky watched (A joker, on the sidelines...), the crowd ate poke and paradise... paradised.

Some goodbyes sadly said, and another Kaimana in the books. Until next year, when you'll find us at the Kona Brewing Co. to start it off on Friday.
----
(Kaimana Preface)
(Kaimana 1)

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Kaimana 1

I see you rolled your way into the semis. Dios mio, man.

pic from Kaveh Kardan

(Back: Trey, Raja, A.Peters, Eug, TP)
(Front: Rob, dusty, Tim, Jamie, Butter, Furf, Jimmy)

Semis? That's not too shabby. We played some terrible games and lost, some medium games and won some, some good/great games and won.

10/12ths of our team smiled in the picture (see above).

2/12ths of our team+1 were in a fender bender due to "kids in a bike in a field across the road who later pointed and laughed at our dented bumper... And rightfully so." The American Dream was rumored, at the time, to've had a beverage here man. But not the driver. Who wasn't driving.

3/12ths+3 of our team spent the pre-KK22 week in Kaua'i. BeautifulGreen. I still prefer the Big Island's massive views, but this place was right in its own right. The glass sand beach is strange enough to have been compared to a marketing gimmick of the highest order (as a compliment) by Poppa Bear while not wearing his hair in JayBay-coined "L.A. Douche Bag style."

Kaua'i: Notes
Waimea Canyon: Virtual Infinitude of roosters.
Kalaheo Coffee Co. & Cafe: Breakfast.
Kalalau Trail (Na Pali Coast): Difficult at night.
Hanakapi'ai Falls: Worth the hike.
Koke'e Park: Hike-n-sleep w/ Full Moon.
Hanalei Bay: Nice, quiet little beach community replete w/ real reactionaries.
Ninini Point: Sweeeeet.
Po'ipu: Sunsets.
Princeville: Unreasonably inflated gas prices.
Any Fresh Fish Market: Buy poke. Drink White Wine. Repeat.

9/12ths+8 of our team went to a beachhouse on the North Shore post-KK22. Edward PairedPseudoSub-40hands, Caserace pilots, "Shu, shu-shu, shu-shu-shu-shu [BUTTER!]," beaches, cliff-jumping, sunrises, beers, hangover cures, kegs-n-eggs, drinking asshole, shooting the moon many times (and still-owed drinks), making ice-blended drinks out of whatever, too many hamburgs/hoddogs not enough poke/seafood, and so forth. Good times with folks from Philly I don't see often enough.

?/12ths +? of our team then went to Maui. Some Philthy/Phine/S.Dandys rumored to convene upon and/or win local hat tournament. Fun times, but I didn't make it this year. The expense-approval dept. doesn't appreciate the new $15 per bag convenience fees charged to the working press's line of credit to pad ledgers at failing airlines everywhere.

Anyway, snap back to reality.
We write about ultimate, right?

Game 1: the Stanford.
The college team. They had some runners and a couple clearly more experienced players. I'm assuming that this is not their full college team because we beat them pretty easily in the end. They could have beaten us-- we played very averagely in this game-- but they didn't. There were good individual plays on both sides. Good teamwork on the whole on the part of the Stanford.

Game 2: Skeletor.
Joined by one-time Philthy codefendant Toonsky, Skeletor remained skeletal. Toonsky, after passing on his chance to hitch his wagon to a PHILTHYstar, faded into obscurity by later joining a third team (Voltron) which didn't also win the tournament. This was after Skeletor and the Stanford later became one team after The Pulse got stung by a scorpion. Or sprained his ankle. What I'm trying to say is that the guy was a lopsided Hopalong Cassidy when we played the Stanford.
As Skeletor can confirm, Philthy did not play well in this game. Whether this lack of goodness was due to them or us is up for debate: I would say mostly us, they might say them. We lost by one.

"Kevin Der says hi."
"Nice! He should be here to tell me his own damn self."

Game 3: Bag-O-Wine
Game played during a box of rain (and wind). They ran some zones that we busted by mixing deep strikes and quick movement. Their man D, though very tight/aggressive, had consistent weaknesses. Their offense started out not turning it. Then their offense started and continued to turn it. And we kept scoring... eventually. We started to nail down the correct pace as a team (downfield and behind the disc) during this one. Timing works both ways in ultimate-- from handler to cutter and from cutter to handler.

(...much of the difference between positions is due to the importance of a player's throws on the run v. a player's throws on an established pivot...
...a better handler than a cutter, for example, reads the field before catching the disc and moves the disc before...
...primary cutters get in-cuts and then turn upfield to assess predetermined flight paths...
...[3rd?]...)

Game 4: Aloha Spirit Team.
The opposition included some more familiar faces. We got this win too, though there were some ridiculous(ly exciting?) deep throws on both sides.

Sweet. 3-1 is rarely a bad day.

Simultaneous to our Aloha Spirit game, as I learned later, the Stanford beat Skeletor (Which gave the Stanford sufficient confidence to bail on the power pool and combine with Skeletor to form "Some super loser team"* as Philthy Santa Cruz alums informed me) which made us #1 in the pool and the Stanford #2. On Day 2, after another first round bye, we would crossover with Ono and Sanban, the Japanese team.**

The night included much cross-cultural exchange.

That night, the Stanford was unable to sing American Pie. Unacceptable this tight to the anniversary of the day the music died. Will should cut each and every one of you.
----
* - Unlike Voltron, which combined to form some super loser team without the blazing sword of their namesake. Else they would have dispatched Team UPS in the finals circa 1/3rd of the way after the third commercial break.

**- Which, now that I think about it, might mean that we played one more game than everyone else in our power pool, and that everyone in our power pool made the semis which all sounds perfect to me.
----
(Kaimana Preface)
(Kaimana 2)

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Kaimana Preface

This year's Kaimana (#22, in standard linear time) left me with a tripartite memento numquam mori.

Once I've had the editorial board... editorially board it, we'll get it out there on the internet in a serial format. (Yes. You'll need to buy "a cereal for Matt", which will contain, as a prize, the story broken into three parts which, when read [though not when blue] in [any] order produce a particular journey for the reader.) Possibly with some pics here and there, once we get the photography department up and running. Er, sifting. (Er, photography departmenting.) If they were running, it would be difficult for them to attend to the task at hand. Which is the one for which they were conscripted. Er, hired. Up and running? What with the sweating and all? What with the...

Babbling and all.

I'll non-segue to this list of Artist – Album(s)/"Tune(s)"+(“Tune(s) of particular import”) which comprise the 2009 PhilthyKaua'i aural experience. Done with ado:

Aesop Rock – "The Harbor is Yours"
Allman Bros – from At Fillmore East, Brothers and Sisters, Eat a Peach and Idlewild South
Atmosphere – When Life Gives You Lemons, You Paint That Shit Gold ("Like the Rest of Us" and "Wild Wild Horses")
Blackalicious – "40oz for Breakfast" and "First in Flight"
Bob Marley – Live!
Boukman Eksperyans – Kalfou Danjere
Brian Eno & David Byrne – Everything that Happens Happens Today
Brian Wilson – from That Lucky Old Sun
Cage – "Shoot Frank"
Calexico – "Victor Jara's Hands"
Cee-Lo Green – from Cee-Lo Green... is the Soul Machine ("Die Trying")
Common Market – from Tobacco Road ("Nina Sing (feat Funklove)", "Gol'Dust" and "Certitude (feat Chev)")
Curtis Mayfield – from Roots and Superfly
Cut Copy – from In Ghost Colours ("Hearts on Fire")
Damian Marley – from Welcome to Jamrock
DANGERDOOM – from The Mouse and the Mask
Deltron 3030 – from Deltron 3030 ("Positive Contact")
Depeche Mode –"Only When I Lose Myself (Gus Gus Short Play Mix)"
Desmond Dekker – "Shanty Town"
Dire Straits – "Desperado"
Dizzy Gillespie – Afro-Cuban Jazz Moods
DJ Krush & Toshinori Kondo – "Sun is Shining"
DJ Shadow – "Intro" from High Noon single
Elmore James – from King of the Slide Guitar ("Done Somebody Wrong" & "One Way Out")
Erykah Badu – from Mama's Gun
Fleet Foxes – from Fleet Foxes and Sun Giant EP ("Mykanos" "Sun Giant")
Gang Gang Dance – "Blue Nile"
Grateful Dead – "Saturday Night" (Steppin' Out w/ the G.D.)
Grip Grand – from Brokelore
Heiruspecs – from A Tiger Dancing
Hercules and Love Affair – from Hercules and Love Affair ("True/false, fake/real")
Hi-Tek – from Hi-Teknology ("The Sun God feat Common & Vinia Mojica")
Iron and Wine – from The Shepherd's Dog
James Blunt – "1973" and "I'll Take Everything"
James Brown – from Soul Pride 1960-1969 and Star Time ("Grits" and "Tighten Up")
Jay-Z – "I Know"
Jaydiohead – "Dirt off Your Android"
Jean Grae – "Love Thirst"
Jerry Jeff Walker – "Gypsy Songman"
The Jimi Hendrix Experience – from Electric Ladyland
Jim O'Rourke – "Ghost Ship in a Storm"
Jimmy Cliff – from The Harder They Come
John Lee Hooker – from Live at the Café au Go-Go (and Soledad Prison)
John Legend – "Alright"
John Lennon – from Anthology (Disc 2: New York City)
Johnny Nash – "I Can See Clearly Now"
K-Os – from Atlantis - Hymns for Disco
Kings of Leon – from Because of the Times and Only by the Night
Krayzie Bone – "Rolling Up Some Mo'"
Lauryn Hill – from The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill
Madvillain – from Madvillainy
Marcelo D2 – from A Procura da Batida Perfeita and Meu Samba é Assim
Max Tundra – "Number Our Days"
Michael Jackson – "Billie Jean"
Mos Def – "Umi Says (Zero 7 Mix)"
Murs – Murs for President ("Everything" "The Science" and "Road is My Religion")
Neil Young – "Walk On"
The Neville Bros – from Live at Tipitina's (disc 1)
Okkervil River – from The Stage Names ("John Allyn Smith Sails")
Phish – from Rift and The Story of the Ghost
Prefuze 73 – from Vocal Studies + Uprock Narratives
The Raconteurs – from Consolers of the Lonely
RJD2 – from Loose Ends and Since We Last Spoke
Rolling Stones – from Exile on Main Street
Royksopp – from Melody AM+remixes
Santogold – from Santogold and Top Ranking
Seu Jorge – from The Life Aquatic Studio Sessions
Slickers – "Johnny Too Bad"
Soulive – "Bridge to Bama (Hi-Tek mix feat. Talib Kweli)"
Souls of Mischief – "'93 'Til Infinity"
Squarepusher – "My Sound"
Steely Dan– from Citizen
Tahiti 80 – "Heartbeat"
Talking Heads – "(Nothing but) Flowers" and "Burning Down the House"
The Tallest Man on Earth – from Shallow Grave
Tinariwen – from Aman Iman: Water is Life
Tito & Tarantula – "Back to the House that Love Built"
Tom Petty – from Wildflowers
Traffic – "Light Up or Leave Me Alone"
TV on the Radio – "Golden Age"
Vampire Weekend – "Walcott"
The Very Best (Esau Mwamwaya & Radioclit) – from 'The Very Best' Mixtape
Victor Wooten – from What Did He Say?
The White Stripes – from Icky Thump
The Who – from Quadrophenia
Tom Waits – "Big in Japan"
Zero 7 – from Destiny CD1

(Kaimana 1)
(Kaimana 2)

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Looking Ahead to

Kaimana22: The blogournament.

There are far too many players expected at the Waimanalo Polo Fields who are (self-)important enough to write blogs. From my own team (Philthy): Me, Mr. Thoughts and Mankind (Link withheld to protect the innocent T-Rex). From the Southern Dandys: Statler, Waldorf (the other way round?) and Warning, may contain frisbee-like substance. From those young Stanford punks: The Pulse and probably some more reputable journalists. What do I know about Stanford anyway? Likely some Ono talking about how great they are too. For the love of god, I hope I don't hear one more joke about LemonTree. You can cry a river, lead a dead horse there, toss him in, build a bridge and get over it, but you can't make frisbee players stop beating the poor bastard.

And I'm sure there are more. This is a blog, not an exhaustively researched (and still fallible) paper of record.

Anyway, the fact remains that this could be a total eclipse of [coverage]. An inundation. A saturation. A battle royal covered from all angles. Then again, we could decide that Hawaii is more fun than Vegas (I have already confirmed this independently, for those of you scoring at home and/or looking for expert opinions. To Wit: Kaimana>Tempe>Vegas) and still not talk about it.

For the record, I will not, under any circumstances, be bullied into boatracing against Kid and/or Count. I'm from NYU, we had kegs of Anchor Steam at parties. No need to drink fast. Put it on the backburner and slow your roll for the marathon. That is, "I see your challenge, accept defeat and challenge you to beers for breakfast and many rousing rounds of Ace-to-the-Face."

Anyway, the Philthy team this year has some newly signed roster surprises, and once again some fly-ass jerseys. Some of us will be tourin' Kaua'i the week before, some of us will be north-shoring the week after. The select unemployed pretend-writers amongst us will be doing both. To that end, I invite any+every one to drop by the Kona Brewing Co at the Koko Marina before you head to the polo fields and campsite on Friday. We'll be there circa 11am until our long liquidbreakfastlunch provides sufficient tent-erecting fuel. (Directions: Take H1 east until it turns into Route 72. Once it does, get into the left of the two lanes when it gets down to a 2-lane road. When it makes you turn left onto Lunalilo Home Rd, you're in the right complex. Yeah, only Chevron in the area.) Hope to see you there!

And then? I hear we have 3 days of games+beach in paradise to look forward to!

Hell yes-- Just livin' the dream
and hoping I don't wake up.

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Pike <05 Reunion

Club Vegas 2009

"Me First"

roster:

Crash
Paul Darling
wtk9
Regetz
Jaeger
JT
BLo
Heckman
Trey
Jude
Dono
Geoff
Mio
dusty
Straw
Ryan Todd
Eug Yum
Joel Wooten

This weekend should be Aces.

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Bird-Bowl

The game will be covered conventionally.

Many simple-sounding story-arcs like "The Eagles versus the Cardinals: Rematch of Thanksgiving day bird-massacreeeee" and "Quarterback battle between aged/re(juv)invented Kurt Warner versus retested/inexplicably reviled Donovan F. McNabb" &c.

Meanwhile, the bedrock story, the most pertinent and basic information, is swept under the rug. To wit: the Eagles' defense is specifically engineered to attack the Cardinals' offense.

Not in the solely conventional connotative sense of "That is what a defense does, dodo" but also in the specific *type* of defense. Multiple cover-corners (as many as FOUR, depending on the weekend that off-brand DBs like Lito decide to have) and various variable blitzes which disguise and fake-disguise varying coverages.

That is, the offense of the Cardinals relies on similar principles as the Greatest Show on Turf did. This is in no small part due to proclivities of Kurt Warner. His tenure in the NFL has been marked by an ability to read the downfield defense and make informed decisions about where the ball must go at the last possible instant. This lesson, learned at the feet of Offensive Genius Miek Martz, has served him well. Well, so long as he isn't gi(v/ft)ing the ball to the other team.

The read-react-adjusttoball routes of Zona rely on a strong QB-WR connection. They (WRs) read the defense and react in the same fashion as Warner, again and again, in an instant. This is the essence of the NFL. Repetitive pressure-filled (300lb+ lineman pus others are always pressure!) short-burst instense stress. Over and over again, both sides work to maintain full-focus and divest themselves of the affliction of pain. The price paid by body is determined by mind. No questions, no excuses, just act. Perfectly. Now. Now again. Now again. Again.

This QB/Receiver connection is precisely the sort of thing that Jim Johnson looks to disrupt. It is not the "everyone knows what is coming" pass that the Eagles defend well (please see continued inability to defend receivers like Plaxico on complicated routes like "I'm 6'6". Throw it high, motherfucker." Which, to be fair, leaves Larry Fitzgerald space to do something traditionally him-like. E.g., come down with a 50/50 pass or two in tight double-midget coverage.) but rather the timing routes and the concomitant adjustments to pressure that the QB-WR connection rely upon when the QB is under duress.

That is, the Iggles blitz the shit out of QBs so that they remember that it hurts to take a hit, even if the hit is delivered after the completion. (See Dawk's highlight reel) This is playoff football. QBs get hit in the playoffs. Which is good for all of us. except for them. Well, actually, the sport of football is about physical contact. QBs play the sport of football. This benefit is subordinate to the "decrease the amount of time the offense has to read the coverage."

IrRegardless of that batshit ranting, the pressure applied by the Eagles leads to the opponents relying upon their pressure-reads to get the QB out of trouble and get the ball to the WRs et al. When, over the course of the game, time-pressured adjustments are iterated, there are bound to be errors. There are a limited number of effective adjustments in any given route combo. By going to work on every down and every distance, the Eagles force the opponent to show their hand early and often. They take chances and rely on Dawkins to play the role of The Wolf, who'll be comin' directly.

The Cardinals need Boldin in this game. The defense of the Eagles can limit one receiver to acceptable levels. The addition of the second WR leaves a positive variable unaccounted for, which is where the mixing of schemes on the part of JJohnson and the ability of the Eagles D to make plays when it is time (not before or after) enter into it.

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and again...

i wish i didn't have to sort through

so much crap to unearth goldmines.

does that make it more or less worth it?

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The09Trip

Finally got my affairs in order.

Agenda:

Trouble in Vegas with Me First. (oldpike)
New Year's Fest with the Philly team. (I blame Ultimax.)
Kaimana with Philthy. (We're going to appear thin this year.)

Sweet. Now to get the details sor(di/te)d... and not miss flights.

One month, three tourneys, three teams.
Trouble in New Year's Paradise.

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art mirrors

life mirrors

'Am seeing sluggish drilling, by sluggards. Not meaning insults. This is the fact. Motions are gone through. Barely minimal efforts. Cold, yes? The cold hands and nose with mucus? Thoughts on getting through, going in, hot showers, water very hot. A meal. The thoughts are drifting toward the comfort of ending. Too cold to demand the total, yes? [Gwen], too cold for [] the high level, yes?'
[Gwen]: ' It does seem pretty cold out[].'
'Ah.' Pacing back and forth with about-faces at every tenth step, []his hands behind his back, nodding to himself, clearly wishing he had a third hand so he could stroke his [] chin, pretending to ruminate. Every [time]. Essentially the same. All the older [player]s' eyes are glazed with repetition. []
'Ah.' Turns crisply toward them, looking briefly skyward. 'And when is hot? Too pretty hot for the total self on the [pitch]? The other hand of the spectrum? Ach. Is always something that is too. Master [Big Weez] who cannot quickly get behind [disc]'s descent so weight can move forvart into [catch], please tell your thinking: it is always hot or cool, yes?'
A small smile. ''s been our general observation out there[].' 'So then then so, Master [Gwen], from [Florida]'s temperance regions?'
[Gwen]: 'I guess we have to learn to adjust to conditions[], I believe is what you're saying.'
A full half-turn to face the group. 'Is what I am not saying, young [Gwen], is why you seem to give total effort of self since you begin with the clipping pictures of great [players] for your adhesive tape and walls. No? Because, privileged gentleman and boys I am saying, is always something that is too. Cold. Hot. Wet and dry. Very bright sun and you see the purple dots. Very bright hot and you have too salt. Outside is wind, the insects which like the sweat. Inside is smell of heaters, echo, being jammed in together, tarp is overclose to []line, not enough of room, [noises] loudly to distract, clunk of machines vomiting sweet cola for coins. Inside roof too low for the [hammer]. Bad lighting, so. Or outside: the bad surface. Oh no look no: [] cracks along [goal]line. Who could give the total, with [cracks]. Look here is lo[ng pitch] [short pitch]. Opponent[]s [] heckle, opponent cheats, linesman in semifinal is impaired or cheats. You hurt. You have the injury. Bad knee and back. Hurt groin area from not stretching as asked. Aches of elbow. Eyelash is in eye. The throat is sore. A too pretty girl in audience, watching. Who could play like this? Big crowd overwhelming or too small to inspire. Always something.'
His turns as he paces are crisp and used to punctuate. 'Adjust. Adjust? Stay the same. No? Is not stay the same? It is cold? It is wind? Cold and wind is the world. Outside, yes? On the [pitch] the you the player: this is not where there is cold wind. I am saying. Different world inside. World built inside cold outside world of wind breaks the wind, shelters the player, you, if you stay the same, stay inside.' Pacing gradually faster, the turns becoming pirouettic. The older [player]s stare straight ahead; some of the younger follow every move of the [disc] with wide eyes. T[C] is bent at the waist and moving his head slightly, trying to get the sweat dripping off his face to spell something out on the surface. [] is silent for two fast about-faces, standing before them, tapping his knee with the [disc]. 'Not ever I think this adjusting. To what, this adjusting? This world inside is the same, always, if you stay there. This is what we are making, no? New type citizen. Not of cold and wind outside. Citizens of this sheltering second world we are working to show you ever end, no? To make your introduction.' The [older players] translate [] into accessible language for the [younger player]s, is a big part of their assignment.
'Borders of [pitch] Mr. [Finkbot] are what.'
'[70+25] by [40] sir,' sounding hoarse and thin.
'So. Second world without cold or purple dots of bright for you is [94].8 [yards], 40 I think .2 [yards]. Yes. In that world is joy because there is shelter of something else, of purpose past sluggardly self and complaints about uncomfort. I am speaking to not just [Gwen] of the temperance world. You have a chance to occur, playing. No? To make for you this second world that is always the same: there is in this world you, and in the had a tool, there is a [disc], there is opponent with his tool[s], and always only two[], you and the other, inside the lines, with always a purpose to keep this world alive, yes?' The [disc]-motions through all this become too orchestral and intricate to describe. 'This second world inside the lines. Yes? Is this adjusting? This is not adjusting. This is not adjusting to ignore cold and wind and tired. Not ignoring “as if.” Is no cold. Is no wind. No cold wind where you occur. No? Not “adjust to conditions.” Make this second world inside the world: here there are no conditions.'
Looks around.
'So put a lid on it about the fucking cold,' says [Mankind], with his [disc] under his arm and his strangler-sized hands in his pockets, hopping a little in place.
[] is looking around. Like most [] outside popular entertainment, he gets quieter when he wants to impress or menace. [] 'If it is hard,' he says softly, hard to hear because of the rising wind, 'difficult, for you to move between the two worlds, from cold hot wind and sun to this inside place inside the lines where is always the same.' he says, seeming now to study the [disc] he holds down and out with both hands, 'it can be arranged for you gentlemen not to leave, ever here, this world inside the lines of course. You know. Can stay here until there is citizenship. Right here.' The [disc] is pointed at the spot they're standing at breathing and blotting their faces and blowing their noses. 'Can today put up Te[n]t[], for the world's shelter. Sleep bags. Meals brought to you. Never across the lines. Never leave the [pitch]. Study here. A bucket for hygienic needs. At [home] where I am privileged boy who whining about cold wind, we live inside ten[]ts for months, to learn to live inside. Very lucky days when they bring us meals. Not possible to cross a line for months of living.'
Left-hander [Trash] picks a bad moment to break wind.
[] shrugs, half-turning away from them to look off somewhere. 'Or else leave here into large external world where is cold and pain without purpose or tool, eyelash in eye and pretty girls-- not worry anymore about how to occur.' Looks around. No one is prisoner here. Who would like to expave into large world? Master [Pulse]?'
[] Eyes down.
'Mr. [Gutter], with always too co-wold to give total?'
[Gutter] studies the vasculature of the inside of his elbow with deep interest as he shakes his head. [Val Kilmer] is joggling his head around like a Raggedy-Andy-head, stretching out the neck hardware. [Val Kilmer] is notoriously tight and can't touch anything below the knee with straight legs during stretches.
'Mr. P[hun C] with always the weeping to home on the telephone?'
The twe[enty-something]-year-old says Not Me Sir several times.
[]
'Simple,' [] shrugs, so that the upraised [disc] seems to stab at the sky. '[Cu]t,' he suggests, 'Move. Travel lightly. Occur. Be here. Not in bed or shower or over caconschteam, in the mind. Be here in total. Is nothing else. Learn. Try. Drink your green juice. Perform the [Heckman] exercises on all eight of these [pitches], please, to warm down. Mr. [Mankind], please to bring [discs]. [Throw] at your will. Use a head. You are not arms. Arm in the real [ultimate] is like wheels of vehicles. Not engine. Legs: not either. Where is where you apply for citizenship in second world Mr. Consciousness of ankle [Weez], our revenant?”
[]'Head, sir.'
'Excuse?'
'The human head, sir, if I got your thrust. Where I'm going to occur as a player. The game's two heads' one world. One world, sir.'
[] sweeps the [disc] in an ironic morrendo arc and laughs aloud:
'Play.'
----
(thanks, dfw)

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Ultimax08

On the Road again.

This time on the way to NC. G'Vegas, as the kids say. A team of people from the Philadelphia area. College and after. Young and old. Pike and not.

The brother will be meeting us there, and the ride down promises to be a good one as the driver's new Volvo s60 2.5 rides smoothly at rates of speed that would make a majority of the cars of the passengers shake into scrap. It is still smell-level new.

Bojangles is the topic of conversation at mouth. We start with the degenerative level of freedom for the weekend here in the US. Exceed excess by enough until the very edge of reason.

To quote hst quoting Samuel Johnson:

"He who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man."

Now chatter of dayjobs and what sort of team we have. Speculation and the associated aggravation. Talk of the lives in the doctor's hands, his speeding tickets and more. The ability to float above concerns for money is a boon in his life. Others slip below the considerations of money. Which is differently painful sort of freedom.

[The competition and the madness draw us together. We make this 6 hour trip (some folks fly in from locales in different directions as well) and the cast of characters changes, as it does with all ultimate tournaments. The core is similar at each, but there is still a relationship from one year to the next. A continuum to grasp and to help contextualize. Does it make more sense to think of my experience as a sequence of teams over 10 years? Or as a repetitive cycle of tournaments? First the 4-year cycle of college tournaments. Now the 6-year cycle of club tournaments. I've been playing with and against many of the same players over the last 10 years. I remember I remember. Ramblings of a semi-old-timer in this sport. I think the tournament-cycle model makes more sense. No matter what teams people move to at Nationals, for example, it is the same old show. Some people get better. Some people stay the same. Some people finally start to fall off...]

I've heard some of these stories before and the standard warnings concerning one of our teammates are given. All attendant stories are told to newcomers and affirmed by old hands.

Where will this road lead this year?

I'm here to win. Play Hard, Compete.
Have a Good Old Boy Time off the field.

Barfight Ultimate.

---

Morning, Saturday.

The lobby of Le Cafe... Best Western and waiting for it to be time to get started. This part of the appeal of ultimate for me. Be up in the morning and have an explanation. A raison d'être. To get up and feel that for a morning is vital in some way. Life-affirming. Fear grows from days lacking forward momentum.

The culture of ultimate is largely grown out of youth athletics. Like weekend soccer tournaments, or basketball tournaments, or volleyball tournaments, or field hockey tournaments, or whatever crazy sport they played in your area. People get up in their homes and drive forever to play a large group of other folks. Some people squish into hotel rooms. There are hijinks at night. There are those looking for trouble, those looking for a good laugh, Those all-encompassingly (thanks Mitch!) consumed by the competition of the thing. High Rollers. Rumors. Regional Rivalries and the like. Rituals at different stops over the year. Bojangles being the relevant example at Ultimax. Of course, the upshot of this is that I often become the adult in the group. On many levels.

Ah, the first straggling teammate arrives. I've gotten through a bit by dfw this morning called "the Asset." That's a strange brain he's got there. His short fiction is good, but thus far he's left me cold, a bit. It seems too easy and like rote rehearsal for him. Like he's playing a game far below his capabilities and with no real interest to him.

Novel length shows seem to be what I like best about him. As well as the comfortable shyly authoritative tone taken in his essays. Authoritative from an obvious master of the language. Curious. I've started Infinite Jest now. Excited about this one.

Anyway, back to the matter at hand. Ultimax. We've gotten a lot shorter as a team over the night. We've lost a handful of players already, including a bit of The Hired Height.

This will change the complexion of our team. Not drastically, but losing one or two tall guys always puts you at matchup disadvantages over the weekend. We have great over-all skill, but we're playing midget-ball this weekend.

I'm told we're in a pool with the X-Rates and the Irates. This is good because those teams are Fun to play. And they do the night-time showdown game or whatever, so we'll have familiarity with them for heckling purposes. Also good.

We've gotten two new Clay-Z-Stories (the over/under was set at 7, and the qualification for being classified as such is the our leader verifying it with "Oh my god.") which is promising. I'm told he doesn't sleep at this tournament and we've already been warned to lock our doors at night.

Why do I play this game again?

Oh yeah, the game itself. And the strangeness of the players. One of my teammates claims this morning "I have a very slow metabolism..." in the process of explaining why he's eating at the moment instead of later in the morning. The team is comprised of Philadelphia-area folks from club teams and college teams. Ages from unable to drink, to "legally drinking longer than unable to drink guy has been alive." The most tireless guy on our team is a Masters player, and the fat-lazy handlers are club players U~24. What a world what a world. I've been told I'm playing on the D line, but I'm doubtful to the concept of rigid lines. This is BARFIGHT ULTIMATE.

----

The things about going 4-0 is that it doesn't make you win the tournament, just that you've won all you can win thus far. Just like wearing gloves doesn't help you catch, it just makes it hurt less. Our day was solid, despite possibly having one player over 6 feet tall. Our two tallest guys were asian. Somehow I made it onto the "Asian line" ("but she's only half asian"). I did throw a couple turns today, but nothing to write home about. Every once in a while, I still make misreads. If I'm playing with great players, some of those are made up for (some were today) and some are not (same).

Barfight is a good team.
Philthy is a good team.
Pike is a good team.

I wonder which would win?

College football is up to the computers.
Club Ultimate is up to the Talent.

----

Morning on Sunday, nearly 8.

NFL Matchup on TV, down in the lobby. The Cafe... Hotel Best Western is almost jumping with people. The military folks are already gone, leaving me two southern women for company. I can't imagine what they're doing in the area or why they're here. Their accents sound fake.

Let me be clear about The Cafe... Hotel Best Western: The best free coffee I've had.

NFL Matchup still needs to show more game film and talk less. It is the best show of its type... except that NFC/AFC Playbook are starting to catchup. They're on the NFL Network and rather solid. Just as NBA Gametime or Gamenight or whatever is starting to overtake Inside the NBA.

Sundays are always a strange trip for me. I still get up early in the morning, and at some point, the prudence of this can be questioned, but when given the choice of inhabiting the lobby with free coffee or laying awake in the hotel room, I choose the lobby. I'd prefer a diner, but this is free. And I have no car.

"I haven't eaten nothing but a continental breakfast
Thanks to Motel 6 for throwin' a dog a bone"
(Heiruspecs, Something for Nothing)

----

Game one on Sunday was a victory over Moneyshot. Pure upwind/downwind game. We scored the last 3 points of this game to win 11-10 or 10-9 or something. Nice. Barfight did a good job of taking what we had instead of forcing it. Realizing that we are all able to throw in the wind was a huge part of this. We dropped a bunch of crap, which haunted us in the next game against some team that beat us pretty well. No drops on the weekend for me. A handful of throwaways.

Good times all around. We went to Bojangles five times in two days, and twice on the way out of town. This is why folks get fat. Fried Chicken is Good. If you're at a tournament wondering what to eat for breakfast on gameday, go with the Cajun Fillet Biscuit. Maybe put some honey on there if you're into that. Get some coffee. If you like really sweet stuff, get a Bo'Berry Biscuit. If you're a man, have Buds with your chicken throughout the day. Say what you will about Ludacris's co-opting of it, but Chicken-n-Beer is the American Dream.

Tournament went well, on the whole. Lots of the guys found out where they rank in the "able to throw in the wind" continuum.

Mosh was a quarterfinals loss, Ultimax was a Semis loss.
What next in the offseason? Hope to make this a good one.

Or, right The Journey. Tim's title. Whattadork. That is where my workout-related stuff will go. This is where the other ultimate-related-stuff will go.

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regionals.

some lessons

cannot be taught at practice.
---
I have been unable to get Andrew Fleming's article on anticipation off of my mind since I first read it. There's no better analogy. You have a limited amount of time in which the disc is in the same place. Limited number of expected throws. Limited number of open spaces. Where will the disc go? How will you get there first? That's defense. That's offense. That's 13 of the 14 players on the field at any given time. That's ultimate.

Then there's game-time-throwing. A completely different sport. I love throwing. I want to play "Throwing" all of the time. I mean, I like ultimate... but throwing? Reading 12 players downfield? Adjusting the mark to get what you want (when do we want it?)? Knowing that it is all in your hands? I love that.

Manny just CRUSHED a ball in the first inning. I remember playing baseball. I hated baseball. But I didn't play much "baseball." I played "Pitching." I loved pitching. Reading The Whole Game. Remembering all of the at-bats. Adjusting the batter to get what you want. Having the Whole Game in your hands. I loved that.

I want the weight on my shoulders.
I want the success and the failure.
I want the pleasure and the pain.

My grip on the disc crushes
Fear's grip on me.
---
I just reread Hector Valdiva's piece on Kill Mode again. And again. You either know what he means or you don't. Your teammates know it about you. Your opponents only know too late.
---
Sometimes before you win the game, you have to lose the game.
Someone typed once. Or twice. Or was so proud of it that he repeated it over and over.
Sometimes I remember who and which.
---
There's a game that is played at Regionals and Regionals alone: The early backdoor game. Where the loser goes home and the winner lives on. In my time on Pike, we've played a few of these (06 v Los, Potomac, Burgh. Though the game v Los was the last round of pool play.) but not many (possibly no others). We never lost them. The only bracketlosses we had were Semis, Finals and Games-to-Go.

Last weekend we played the depressing final round on Saturday against the Medicine Men. No one watches this game. We rolled. No game of consequence here, just first round Sunday Losers tiring themselves out.

Then we woke up to another game of no consequence. Now Forge. Too long to get to kill mode. As I said to someone before the Los-Forge game: "Forge will lose. We didn't prepare them for this game with the way we played last round. Los will be out for Blood." Lo and Behold...
---
I love Pike08. I was challenged in new ways as a player/teammate/captain. I have been imperfect at each, but I've improved each with every step. So has the team. *NO* Pike has ever improved as much over one season as Pike08.

Barring a military coup (I got my eye on you, Jake the Jake) I'll be back as co-captain of Pike2009. I'm already excited for the coming season as captain. That said, I'm also excited to NOT CAPTAIN ANYTHING and JUSTPLAY for now. (Mosh, Ultimax, Lei-Out, Vegas, Kaimana: You're on notice.)
---
Season End Early?
Start Next Season Early.
Your Team Needs More.

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crisp morning air

it took me back

to other falls.

which memories shall
we etch and preserve
?
no answer before end
only knowing that no
matter the substance
no matter the result
we will remember the
path we have already
chosen.

(have good qualifying!)

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there was a moment

when it came back to me

in a rush.
in the fall.

suddenly i didn't dread lacing them up.
i wouldn't be sore the next day and there would be nothing left on the field.

i lead the league in plays left on the field.
i can recall them all of them better than the few plays i've made.

in every game there's a moment where you push through the wall.
in warmups, you can't quite ever hit the wall. (you can, however, recast the wall in paper.)

in every season there's a moment where the inhibitor clicks off.
in non-series tournaments, i can't quite ever fully turn it off. (i can, however, recall the memory.)

no more de/re-construction.
adjustment, tweaks.

alterations, variations.
no more building or tearing down.

only attack.
only defend.

only win.
only loss.

only focus.
only focus.

only 1v1.
only allvall.

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another sectionals weekend

and i swear i've been here before.

Well, not these fields exactly. But here. This place.

All of the players are the same, they're just on different teams. Or have different faces. Some don't, of course. But I've been right here, in this game before. And this one too.

I've heard this speech before, only it wasn't coming out of my mouth and it had different words.

Only last time, my team didn't fight in either game.

Feeling really fresh, looking forward to practice this weekend.
Got a good strength workout in today.
Loosened up.
Took some short, hard sprints.
"Good Form."
Stretches.
Throws.

Last time, I was scared.

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Chasin' the Trane to Chicago

Well, I wish.

Headphones regretfully forgotten for the train rides (trip paid by the balance of something paid for previously by a now former employer). So, sadly, the music was talking solely in my head.

Got to eat at Lou Mitchell's and see Nighthawks at the Diner, The Shiniest Giant Jellybean, Sunshine and Snuggles. Those last two are people. Not full names of course-- you'd have to ask them for full disclosure.

(I thought ultimate nicknames were dead. Now I count amongst my teammates Snuggles, Freight, The Big Weez, Spanish, Frenchy, Cuatro, Ocho and Gutter aka Jake the Jake.)

A night of sleep, and another early rise. Something about a hurricane and Los. Spots switched, and now I'm up before 6. Well, in truth, I would have been anyway. I think I have farmer genes. Er, overalls.

Breakfast note: St Elmo's Fire is hot and not that good. Santa Fe is better. Coffee at Holiday Inn Select is surprisingly offensive which pleases Snuggles.

There is something about this tournament. Not since I've been with Pike have we had a good return on investment on these fields. It all started with the hideous “Helmet Guy” jersey debacle of 03. We always seem to play bad ultimate, regardless of our W-L and hate ourselves by the end of the weekend. And then there is the transit hell that is “OR...D!”

This occurred to me Saturday morning as I walked to our first round warmup from the tourney tent. For some reason this thought stuck a they so often don't. Accordingly, I blame myself for the rest of Pike's weekend. Bad hoodoo, real or imagined, can go a long way.

---

There are many lessons to learn from opponents and teammates in ultimate(/life). This weekend reminded me of how many I have yet to learn while reminding me how far I've come. As a younger player, it was difficult for me to discern who had learned these lessons and who hadn't. Now I can spot those who have learned quickly and with precision. “There's Blood in the Water!!!”

The lessons aren't always skill, fitness or strategic... Emotional and mental lessons too.

(insert favored analogy about relationships here)

Little telltale signs betray everyone around the edges. We all have our weaknesses. Our foibles. Our pet throws. Our go-to cuts and fakes. Our scars.

---

Each style of play its own art.
From throwing style to marking technique.
From cutting angles to defensive footwork.

Team-level styles encompassing unique player styles.
Regional styles.
And on up.

The understanding comes when you begin to fully understand your own style and what it means in relation to other styles. Those of your opponents and your teammates. Both team-level and game-level. Weekend and Season.

You must first understand your purpose before you can excel.
You must first walk before you can run.

A learned, critical eye will yet pick out the weakness and attack, so you must be ever evolving. Unlike the Death Star.

Test.
Learn.
Improve.

“And on and on and on and on”

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the thing about evel

is that you know what's coming.

not that it makes it any counter successful, of course.

but at least you know. just ask luke77 (very unlike luke 42).

(but you know, and it is always out there in the open. that's just the game. not cheating exactly. as much is allowed to be taken as is expected to be endured.

"it's all in the game, you know..." i told a guy last year. this was well after we were toe-to-toe on the field. i had done something aggressive in response to something reckless.

"i don't want to see this type of game either you know..." i explained this year. this was well after the professional foul administered. i had done nothing and wasn't in the play.

"if you go in there, i have to go in there..." i explained as the pseudo-fight broke out and gravity pulled us closer. we both knew nothing serious would happen, but that if it did... well... we'd not be conversing with words.

those moments unfolded so slowly in my mind, so quickly in reality
strange i don't relive the ones that seemed too fast to comprehend

"well, i cut upfield and i saw where he was, and i knew that if i put my hand on the ground and changed the angle of my hips that he would bite and then i knew that he'd recover hard so i had to take one more half-step to shake him and then accelerate. i then knew where he was, so i threw the low IO to whomever our guy was in that lane."

"i had made a dumb cut, on purpose, because i knew he would attack on my bad position in the lane aggressively. he took two steps and i attacked the space he left and made eye contact with the thrower who knew where to put the disc to that i'd get the OI huck i was watching develop with whomever on our team was cutting so quickly downfield to the big green space"

"i faked that throw with my eyes because i figured out what he thought he was seeing me watching. that girl was distracting me.")

dhu (not dho) once told me that "there is a velocity at which you can throw through any open space"
monkeyboy showed me (and bones told me) that "there is releasepoint+pathway from your current position to the receiver you want that is unblocked"

if you watch where the skinny kid with the visor or the old man with the sneakers jump from, you'll learn something. not that you'll be able to do it.
if you ask wtk9 or #5, the mordecai brown grip is the way to go. "the fastest man in ultimate" uses 2 fewer. not that you'll want to keep doing it.
if you watch the angles the degenerate non-mexico road-tripper takes on the field or the angles that jtf7 throws the disc at, you'll understand something new about the game. not that it'll make the game easier for you-- it might do the opposite.
if you ever got skied by either the hockey-fighting former soccer star or "the guy no one wants to play 500 with at fools fest" you'd know what the phrase "man ultimate" means.

from the people who brought you
"sliming mark, crouching t-rex"

and
"mamma lo and '"the fuck"' hate the world"

and
"crabfed thugs"

comes...

"club vegas 09: gfy, marvin."
or "the linden cogens and the field as seen through the eyes of a straw looking for sharks"
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
"Wow... Look at the size of that bird!"
"Wait... Where's Spojies?"
"Wait... Who's Spojies?"
"Well... A dead horse, mostly."

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workout thoughts

passion

spurts, fits, starts. pushes through to the close, finish, end.

carries you on against the nothing when it comes to envelop the nothing your mind makes something. courses through your you, spills out to infect others. just another communicable disease.

this version, like some others i imagine, has both positive and negative attributes. a dedication to something gives life the feeling of purpose. simultaneously it narrows the focus from the wider view of beauty in life. consumed by something, we lose sight of other somethings made out of other nothings.
---
a lost no one in a battle against nothing but those who we cast as villains, cheaters, louts. hooligans. but who and how are we cast through their minds/eyes? different, better(hell...)worse?

passion pushes me through doubt in headheartmindsoul. each danger differs in intensity and inevitable invocation. each precipice provides panic at delta-ed depths.

i see my path my way in front of me, to the side of me all around me. my goals that if reached would satisfy my soul. but the path on all sides by the iniquities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men.

dramatic? de rigeur.

but our lives are all at once comedy, tragedy, morality play, drama and all else. that is the mark of art in some sense. the echo of grand reaction to the tiny reactions we have in our every last day. and so the epics of sport and war and their broken/faulty/whichever isomorphism echo in my head when i start, fight and finish my training and battles. i cast myself in the light of a hero of old. etched in stone, remembered in memories long after he passes.

a champion
a hero
a path to
immortality.

sisyphusian as all goals of mortal flesh.
only arrived after end in death
and only then through luck
and a memory in the moment
mindful of the weight lifted
through the debt paid.

a hero.
a nothing.
a hero needs nothing.
a nothing needs a hero.

aggrandizement.
self-creation.
hope, in a fashion.

stretched beyond belief
fruit beyond grasp
yet in the trying
lies the meaning.

give everything for nothing
all i ask is all you have
all you have is all you give
give everything for nothing
give nothing for everything
the meaning of each is yours
and yours alone.

it's your game the rules
are your own win or lose

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can you?

i can feel it starting.

even sitting here waiting for a plane to take me to the great midwest, i can feel it.

i can smell the august coming.
the long days of practice.
the interminable tournaments.

the rush.
the pressure.
amp it up amp it up,
we're gonna be rolling now, boys.

one last trip through the fun in the sand,
case of pbr in hand (i'm told) before the grass is all i know.
the grass and the pavement and the track and the stairs.
(these are the spaces that make other spaces possible
(these are the moments i give to get the moments i take
(this is where i am and where i'll still be for a while i see)

changes gotta change
and
shooters gotta shoot

i can feel it coming
a rumble brewing
in the distance

more than it was last time
more like it was once upon
challenge challenge
steel yourself for this
or let another grain of sand
slip slip slip
on on on
down down down
the drain.

the moments come faster now
the thoughts and the visions
waking early
pushing through the morning workout
powering through the afternoon workout
throwing throwing throwing
summer league
throwing throwing throwing

i will never miss my moment
i can feel it coming
i know what happens next
the end is not the journey
the path taken shows you more.

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