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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"to take the body seriously

"is to admit one can suffer."

From the Tao Te Ching.

Seems relevant to training for ultimate somehow to me.

Then again, that has always been the beauty of reading this particular book. Almost a way to gain insight by using a different lens to view the same things you've thought about every day. This time around, it is ultimate.
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In other news, the pike season is starting to take shape. A lot of new faces and old faces in new places. I am really excited about the way it is shaping up, but it is not at all what i would have predicted even as recently as a week ago, let alone when accepted the role of "captain" with Tim (who has since injured his knee and is fully expected to miss the entirety of the 08 campaign).

We've got vets, we've got youth, we've got serious untapped potential in both. We've got parts that fit together already, and we've got parts that should fit together once they get together on the field often enough. We've got decisions yet to make, and the team is not yet completely defined, but we're on the right path.

I can't wait for practice this weekend and the Boston Invite next weekend.

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for the record

i'm not against physical play in ultimate...

but the rules are pretty squarely against it.

From there, we make our choices, not the other way round.

I'm no angel on the field. Just ask the teams I've been on that have split up good versus evil at practice... or tournaments.

Also, fine but important line between physical and intentional fouling. This is where *most* sports lie *most* of the time. Just like ours.

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what is ultimate?

More and less than you think,

comes the reply.

Everything and nothing all at once. Neither the end-all nor the be-all though at times it is either and both.

"If one chooses to look upon Go as valueless, then absolutely valueless it is; and if one chooses to look upon it as a thing of value, then a thing of absolute value it is."

But what kind of value?

Today it is the game, the practice, the preparation. The culture, the people, the self-expression.

The self-expression. There is something here. Must investigate further.

An urge to self-expression defines the way each of us plays the games and plays the games within the game as well as the game containing the games. Each decision we make has consequences in ultimate. On and off the field, we craft our "ultimate" selves. We create ourselves in this sport. We build on our workouts, our relationships, our experiences to become who we want to be as athletes, as teammates and as people.

Eventually, what we build grows into our daily lives. Often becoming more like the "ultimate" version of our selves in the regular part of our lives, sometimes the other way 'round. But for a short time in our lives, we push up to the spaces, the freedom of self-definition. Press toward a fuller knowledge of self before the door closes. Before the body gives in and the mind seeks new challenges.

We express ourselves through ultimate. Not just with throws and cuts and d and effort, but in the way we comport ourselves. The way we deal with our teammates and opponents and all others.

To (over?)simplify:

Ultimate is a paint by numbers challenge. Given 70x40+25x40 and an infinite number of options, what will you show us of yourself?

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some posts

Are really simple and still get the point across.

I hope that this is one of them.

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Austin

hmmm... barbecue...

The weekend had ups and downs in Austin. It was hot, we folded in some games, and yet fought through bad ultimate in other games to keep it close.

This early season has been quite the experience for me as a captain. I'm learning more about what I need to work on to be a great captain, but I'm not there yet. I'm learning more and more about my teammates, which is awesome, but now it is time to start putting some things together instead of just getting experiences together.

It will be quite the interesting season, and the reminders of seeing Goat, Bravo and Doublewide's varying styles of ultimate, it left me with a lot of thinking to do about what Pike's style will be this season and in the future. So many different paths to success to consider and reconsider. Once we figure out which blocks we have, we'll determine what kind of castle to build.

Nothing is set yet, but I'm starting to fill in the blanks with this team, and I'm loving what I'm seeing.

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would the game change

if the nba instituted a monetary fine

for every player over a number X of fouls over the regular season(based on a percentage of season played and increasing in size of fine as he number of fouls increases)/a post season series?

What would happen if the rate was variable based on the threshold established the year before? If you always tried to fine 50% of the players what would happen? If you always tried to fine 1%? 75%? 99%?

These are the strange sports questions that keep me up at night.
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Pikes x and y when to the Beth Coltman Memorial. One of us got to the finals, the other didn't. Got to see lots of guys and how they've progressed since last year (both new players and players who were on Pike in the past).

It'll be a fun fun season, I think.
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How are the Hawks doing this? Or rather the Celtics not doing it? OR both? Josh Smith scares me (as a small man). KG in a different way... KG shames your manhood. Josh shames your athleticism.
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There is a way to play ultimate that while you don't create contact, you don't allow contact. You apply force, but not outside the balance of your body. If you play this way, you're always ready. Balanced. Aggressive. Reading the field.
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KG does these things on a different level. He just dunked all over someone from about 11 feet up off of the ground with a guy banging into him. And now they're showing old clips of The Human Highlight Reel. Oh man. Just... I remember watching him when I was a little kid from time to time and he was just destroying everyone in his path. And I've watched tapes since then... He's *A Terrifying Athlete.*
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I got skied the other day by Joe Smash. This is not a surprise. Nor has it been a surprise when the other various 6'3"-6'6" range guys who are just tall and fast have skied me.
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Some guys like me still play ultimate at the top levels. Some of them are really good. If Josh Smith or Kevin Garnett wandered onto any ultimate field that I've ever seen, He would be "Sir" to every single player there. At least until one of the little guys like me stood up to him and got thrown ten feet away with a light shove at practice and everyone would understand that that guy's The Man here.
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I mean they're not scary as people, or walking down the street because there's no reason for him to be. But competing with one of these guys for a basketball? For a disc that we're running around after?
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Hell Luke Walton Really Scares Me as an opponent. He's got a Grateful Dead Tattoo and you could picture him hanging out all of his life either stoned or in an environment in which acting like you are stoned is normal behavior. He could have ended up playing ultimate if his dad wasn't Bill Walton. You know? He's 6'10" and Unbelievably Faster and Stronger than me.

Paul Shirley might scare me as an opponent. I haven't actually seen him play, but I can't imagine that he's doing so much that someone couldn't recruit him for an ultimate team. He could write about it. I think I may have sent him an email about this. I wonder if I did or just wrote a draft and deleted it?
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How can I be aggressive and read the field? What can I see when I look at the field, what can I see develop before it happens? How can I get to where I'll need to be? How can I anticipate the fouls so that I'm balanced and strong enough to push through? That's How I try to Protect myself when I play. Know What Will Happen and make your decision first. Games at Regionals and Nationals are different games than Others. There Are Risks.
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If I were on the field or court or athletic arena with any of the NBA players you think of when you think of Dominant NBA players who are not Iverson Freaks but the truly "Out of one of the classic NBA Molds" great players or athletes, I would longer be able to compete. Most in ultimate would no longer be able to compete. The only ones of us who would have a chance are the people who already make me irrelevant on the ultimate field. The guys where, if I cared about my image, I would run away from as soon as the disc was thrown (but they're always a chance something will happen... Like when I skied Steve O'Lare and Danny Clark at the same time!) to get out of the picture. In the care of those Dominant Professional Athletes, if I tried to jump in there, I would be Damaged. Because as soon as I really tried to push through and be aggressive, I would run into a True Athlete.
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What a silly game.

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got my metrocard...

from my colombian coworker who got it from some mexican tourists...

and my ultimate bag with sleeping bag/pad (so it is a little large).

I must be going to Live Logic.

Have plane tickets, rental car info and directions to relevant places.

Have a small team, but that's great for the guys looking for experience. Both in new roles and with new teammates and all of that. Opportunities to play against Nationals-levels teams are worth it for players trying to expand their club games or just learn what the club game really is. Everyone knows Bravo, Goat and DW bring it, and I think we may have had a tight one with Grit last year taboot. Should be a blast.

Hope we rise to our team and individual challenges this weekend!

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Fools Fest

This pretty much captures the feel of the thing.

From the Prom Zombie perspective.

aka: My team jumped higher, looked better and won (or tied) when we played you.

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pike pike pike

pike has begun.

2hr Open practice last weekend. Worked on really basic stuff, tired everyone out with some intensity. Got some basics for the season down. That we'll repeat.

It was a good showing. got the legs moving, didn't suck it up entirely as captain. Oh, and the hairy team beat the non-hairy team in the scrimmage. YAY HAIR! Samson rules, apparently.

This weekend, Pikes X and Y will attend the Beth Coltman Memorial this weekend. Apparently, this is a coed tournament with some open and women's teams thrown in.

I'm already getting excited in a whole new way for the season. Moving from ideas to actions to reactions to (and on and on). There is so much to work on and do... I'm very happy with being in this position. I will work to do it well. This team deserves it.

In the larger picture, there is so much to do with captaining pike that this blog is getting lazy. Stupid blog. Anyway, the blog is slow for now. Captaining is ever-so-much-more important. Workouts are still going strong, but there is far less time to type about it all.

I think dunkin donuts coffee tastes like burning. Open in case of emergency.

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or maybe dar's blog is not dead

because the fan

carries on

I don't even know what they're arguing about, but that is some fine slicing and dicing.

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