Process of Illumination

Club Nationals

2009-10-28T23:05:00.013-06:00

The UPA Club Championships begin in 9 hours.
I couldn't be more excited. Tons of coverage, live scores.

Thursday
Round 1 - Sockeye
Madison breaks to begin the game. The sun is scorching in clear skies. Sockeye quickly breaks back, trading to 4-4. The Fish play very poachy, taking chances for D's and along with the breakdowns. Nate Bosscher rips a huge flick to Skittles as Murder Club led 7-6. Sockeye was clutch, holding on offense and breaking to take half 7-8. Equally as tough was losing a break out of half, now down 7-9. Club revamped the energy and matched Sockeye's newfound intensity pushing the game 9-9. Ben & Seth Wiggins both played well as Seattle led 11-13. To the very last points, there were multiple turns and marathon points in the heat, both teams exchanging blows. Taking the full two hour round, Sockeye closed 12-15 as Bravo watched on, having already taken down Machine 15-9.

Round 2 - Bravo
Club breaks to begin the game in a slow warm-up jog. The heat is significant - near 90 and easily 75% humidity. Bravo plays with fire and energy, breaking to lead 2-4 with quick strikes. Bravo increases the pressure and Madison misses 3 clear up-wind strikes on risky looks as Colorado storms to half 4-8. The sideline is beaten, Madison's spirit shocked. Only when Club relaxed, did the energy reappear and the score close to 10-13. Bravo finished strong 11-15, as Sockeye did the same to Machine.

Round 3 - Machine
Club owned Chicago all season, but Nationals was a different story as Machine broke to lead 0-2. Murder Club fought disc movement against zone defenders to make it 3-4. The sun was melting players, as both teams suffered from cramps. Probably 20 substitutions were made down the stretch. Machine took a 12-9 lead in the stiff wind on Tim Holt's rocket upwind flick. Murder Club had a goosebumps moment in the huddle and decided to win. The universe line appeared as Club overpowered to 13-13. With a chance to win after a ruled D, a non-in hand-off was called shenanigans as Machine tied it 15-15. Seth Meyer makes two straight baller plays and skies for the winning goal off a Feldman Floater giving Madison the 17-15 win.

Madison Club plays Madcow and Jam in the first two rounds tomorrow morning...

Friday
Round 1 - Madcow
Ohio breaks first and steals the early energy, leading 2-4. Madison responds to make it 6-6 before yielding half. Both teams find a rhythm on offense going upwind, trading to 13-13 without a turnover. Madcow receives on universe point 16-16 and manages another cutter flick bomb for the win 16-17.

Round 2 - Jam
Despite the letdown, Madison can still makes prequarters in a win over Jam and a Machine win over Madcow. Jam looks exhausted, but plays efficient offense -- taking a quick 1-4 lead and stretching to a 2-6 advantage. Madison digs deep and puts on a break train to make it 7-7, before dropping a disc for half. Idris gets angry with Jake Meyer's excessive contact down field and begins jawing at Jake half an inch from his face. Veteran Jadon sees it going down and bombs into the situation, side-checking Idris and earning the team's first PMF. The excitement only fired up Murder Club. Jam played better in the second half, taking a slight lead 10-12 and pulling away late 12-15. The outcome of the day depended on Machine's finish with Madcow as it was universe point, Machine receiving. Tyson Park ripped a big backhand and Machine shoved in a stuff-and-score to win, sending Madison into second place in the pool and into the bracket for ninals and 11th.

Saturday
Round 1 - GOAT
Canada took an early lead 1-4, looking solid. Madison broke back to 6-6, then lost half 6-8. With more motivation to battle in the heat, GOAT was still upset about going down to Bravo in prequarters after being up 12-8. With efficient deep shots the Defense made plays down the stretch, winning 12-11.

Ninals - Truckstop
The fourth game against Truckstop started like all the rest as Truck hit big shots and went up 2-4. Madison used gritty D to make it 6-6, before losing half 6-8. The score evened at 9-9, game to 2. Hector Valdivia subbed himself into the game and then made a ridiculous leaping layout D on a high swing pass. Madison couldn't convert losing 9-11 and settling for 10th in a World's qualifying year.

The women's final was an exposition of Fury's dominance. Cree Howard was catching Georgia Bosscher hucks constantly. Alex Synder was moving the disc fast and their team speed was overpowering, winning 15-3.

Belladonna Title Chances in 2010?

2009-09-14T12:42:00.020-06:00

Muffadonna? Yeah, that's happening.

The Wisconsin ladies are going to win so many games this year; but will they win the last one? That is the big question heading into the 2010 season.

In some regard, Belladonna is the new girl on the block. Since the 2004 season, Wisconsin held serious Nationals aspirations and loads of talented players to match. But Bella hadn't quite turned the page and faced a tough Regionals tournament -- as a Miranda Roth Carleton and a Saucy Nancy Iowa team took both bids in the Central. Wisconsin's lack of total commitment to the season added to their late season demise, despite strong players in Jill Hutchinson, Corrine Wade, Dana Gerrits, and Anna Schott.

Bella restocked the roster in 2005 and allowed former Hodag Captain Matt Ley to try coaching. Wisconsin was searching for an edge and wanted any added help to qualify for the big dance. The task was met with mixed results and imploded into a hot mess as Carleton and Iowa once again edged out Wisconsin come Regionals. One thing was for sure, Wisconsin had big time star power in dominators like Holly Gruenke, Chelsea Witte, Betsy Calkins, Anne Bosscher, and Courtney Kiesow -- all new faces in 2005. The disappointment was clear and the team responded positively in 2006, playing the club season with 10 dedicated Bella returners. The core veterans had their goals on lock down and increased their conditioning, preparing to ride the legs of 12 studs all season.

Finally to the point, the 2006 Belladonna team was a dominant force in every aspect of the word. Wisconsin was something like 42-3 going in the final weekend of the season, having tied or beaten the Hodags finish at every tournament both teams attended. It was a rivalry, as alumni joked that Belladonna would finish better than the Hodags that season. It wasn't a laughing matter as far as the boys were concerned. Holly Gruenke and Dana Gerrits captained well, guiding Belladonna as they crushed Carleton in finals of Regionals 13-8, taking the #4 seed into Nationals. It was in Columbus, Ohio that Bella finally outlasted their quarterfinals curse, barely. In pool play, UC-Davis had built a 13-8 advantage, but forgot how to score in the closing moments, as Belladonna stormed back to win 14-13. It was the golden year -- nothing could go wrong. Wisconsin faced Florida in quarters in an exciting game. Bella struck last on the hard cap 16-14, as Schott ripped a blade flick to Courtney on the break side for the win, shortly after Holly Gruenke went down with a high ankle sprain. Wisconsin had pushed into semifinals and met a high-flying Stanford team. Bella was effectively crushed 15-5, and that was the closest they've been to finals since.

The 2007 season was captained by Holly and Courtney and was destined for glory. With high hopes, solid performances, and practically a phenomenal season - Belladonna was once again very good with the likes of Georgia, Schott, Claire Mowbray, Laura Bitterman, Frances Tsukano, Shira Klane, and Megan Vingers. The season was going to plan as Bella rocked Carleton in Regional finals 14-5 in a windy mess. Wisconsin rolled into Nationals with the #2 seed, in perfect position.

However, after two easy wins in pool play; Bella met a hot UBC team, in which the momentum swings were too much too overcome, losing late 15-13. That meant a pre-quarters game against San Diego and worse yet, a match-up with #1 seeded UCLA in quarters. Wisconsin lost in a close-tough battle, something 14-12, but were obviously crushed internally! One small miscue of focus in a single game was the eventual downfall of their season.

The 2008 team was re-loaded with young talent and hungry for a title. I watched the indoor running practices, saw girls lifting in the weight room, and soon recognized their desire to win. Bella was mimicking the Hodags efforts and in several cases, surpassing their efforts over the winter months. On several occasions I turned to Bucket and said, "They want it bad." His jerk-grin kidding smile replied, "Too bad they won't get it." I didn't have a response for that..
Courtney Kiesow and Georgia Bosscher captained as Emelie McKain and Jenny Gaynor joined the team. Wisconsin won the Central for a third straight year and was awarded the 5th seed at Nationals. Bella escaped a nail-biter against Texas before taking in a huge loss to Washington in pool play! That outcome left most of Belladonna scratching their heads, wishful thoughts of full field hucks and the over-the-top fun intensity Washington exhibited. Madison was blindsided and had to overcome a tough Oregon in pre-quarters 15-12, just to play Santa Barbara in quarterfinals -- losing again 15-12. There was no good explanation. How had everything unraveled again, after such a strong regular season? Why couldn't Belladonna get over the hump?

Finally, 2009 arrived and the leadership core of the team expanded, as a plethora of veteran players wanted input. It was still Courtney and Georgia captaining, but McKain and Shira were also co-captains as Holly coached and called lines. However, the leadership was hardly a concern as the Belladonna roster was dirty-girl after dominator; the skill level nearly identical to the 2006 squad as Sandy Jorgenson, Rebecca Enders, Becca Ludford, and Amber Sinicrope joined the team. The real story of 2009 was that the full force of Georgia Bosscher and Amber Sinicrope would be felt by their opponents and that was no joke. It's like having Michael Jordan and Scottie Pippen on the floor as the same time -- two game-changing dominant players! Moreover, Wisconsin did just about everything right last season, winning Regionals and gaining the #3 seed at Nationals, using the same principles of hard work and a tight-knit team as 2006. Belladonna held seed at Nationals in pool play, winning their games decisively and looking very fast and very scary. Madison took their bye into quarterfinals against Stanford, with their eyes looking forward to semifinals, as they played well to start. Bella was taking it to Stanford initially up 3-1, before 4-4, but taking it to half 8-6. Just after half, the Hodags left to warm-up for their game, which was also against Stanford in quarterfinals. I wasn't able to see the second half, but here was the gist of the story given to me as I absorbed it 4 months ago.

"On a similar note, Belladonna finished their season with clear disappointment.. I watched the first half and saw Belladonna's superior speed and veteran presence in Bosscher and Brute Squad. Belladonna looked dominant, but Stanford was calling everything. The last sequence I saw, Stanford threw a 20 yard backhand into the end zone landing 7 yards OB out the side. During the throw the cutter tangled feet with the Belladonna defender, nearly 6 yards from the end zone line. The foul is called as both players trip, but the throw, which was laser-ed forward, out-of-bounds and clearly uncatchable. Somehow, the call goes to the Observer, who inexplicably rules foul and the disc on the line. That was shady. At best it was a feet tangle; foul - contest. But on this specific play, the disc was clearly way OB and there would be no play on the disc whatsoever. Neither call was within 10 yards of where the disc landed! Hector commented that he saw 2 foul calls upheld that he thought were without a doubt - not a foul. He was so sure - he encouraged the call to go to the observer. The statistician noted that Stanford made a possession saving call on 13 of their 15 goals. When the game finished, the observer who had been ruling against Belladonna all game went over, hugged and kissed the Stanford coach and then began hugging and chatting with Stanford players. If that was my final season - I would want some answers."

That was the explanation to Bella's frustration as they lost 13-15. Down the stretch, it was their best players not being able to execute on critical plays when it mattered the most. Excuses were made, but at the most important moment of the season, they failed to execute. It was shocking to me when they lost. Wisconsin had done everything to prepare, believing they had the talent and the roster to succeed. Belladonna had now been exceedingly close, again. Painfully close, but turning the corner at Nationals is never an easy task.

It is now Fall 2009 and it's safe to say that Bella is crazy motivated and pretty disappointed with last season's finish. They considered themselves a semifinalist at worst and once again fell in quarterfinals, in a heartbreaking loss.

The questions were too much. Bella needed a different answer. It was actually at Nationals that (Anna) Schottie told me I should coach Belladonna next season. I actually laughed at the idea, the first I had heard of it, and was instantly like, no way. It was a ludicrous idea. The Hodags owned Brand Muffin.

But suddenly, the rumor on the street was Muffin coaching the women. It began as wishful thinking, but was soon materializing into full contact negotiations. The asking price for a Love Muffy is no fair bargain. Muffin's rights would only be relinquished from the Hodags for 6 team picks and 3 player evaluations to be named in the future. It didn't take long to realize what was happening. It was a coup, as Muffin was being asked and pressured to coach on a daily basis. Belladonna now wanted it badly enough to swallow their pride and ask for help.

I took about a full month considering it. What was Belladonna lacking? The fact of the matter remained that in 2008, Wisconsin has the roster to do it. They had underachieved their talent despite working extremely hard throughout the season. Wisconsin had developed their young players and seen the Hodags success first hand -- with eager eyes from just a field space away usually. Belladonna had trained harder than the Hodags in 2008 and were a self-sustaining tight-knit community of support -- completely focused on Nationals.

Bella's downfall seemed to be that the weave of knowledge was passed mainly from player to player - captains to successors -- with little outside perspective. Different ideas were scarce and mistakes were repeated. Enter Muffin: two-time National Champion, three time finalist.
With a presence stronger than a 600 pound gorilla, Muffin brings a completely different perspective to the women's game and an attitude to match.

Muffin brings intangibles that are difficult to define on paper, mostly an iron will and a strong work ethic. I expect this season to be the most difficult and perhaps the most rewarding. I will most likely ask more of these girls than they even know their capable of. I will ask for more time per week than an NCAA sub-committee would approve. Ultimate will become another class - complete with study packets, homework assignments, and walk-through visualization rehearsals. Beyond that, intensity and confidence will radiate from Belladonna this year. Wisconsin will also hold a mental edge scarcely seen in the women's game as Malecek is always thinking, plotting, and setting up. It is a recognized gamble for both parties as Muffin has regularly been cited for emotional outbursts at Hodag practice. For Belladonna, feelings might get hurt, egos shattered, and old traditions dismantled -- only for the whole to be reassembled -- more efficient and deadly than ever.

With dawning comprehension as the rumor spread it was questioned how George and Bourtney could so willing give up control to Muffin? How many practices until 2 girls cry? As it turns out, it took the full binding power of a G-5 Summit to allow Muffy absolute veto power. So finally, here is the confirmation to the rumors on the street -- mostly proliferating from Ted Tripoli's nightmares; Muffadonna is for real.

The best part is that Wisconsin will have ammo to spare in 2010, even after graduating Callahan Courtney (Nemesis). The 2009 All Region returners from Wisco include Georgia Bosscher (Fury), Emelie McKain, Laura Bitterman, and Frances Tsukano (Showdown); plus Rachael Westgate who won the Freshman of the Year in the Central. This is all without Eyleen Chou who captains Atropa and Amber Sinicrope, who punches faces with Brute Squad.

Now comes the real challenge; how to overcome the lip service and make measurable impacts on game. What am I bringing to the table? Obviously, Muffin will need to gain the trust of the players before they can take serious critique and input about strategy. Women tend to take things more personally and will want more of an investment of a whole person. This will involve a better/nicer communication style and a different method to the madness. What's the best way to deal with an intense dictator? Hopefully co-coach Courtney can mediate the differences in opinion.

And then we have the hard questions like: Who will get the best nicknames? Who will be made fun of the most? How often will the disc be spiked? How many times will I have to deal with Hodag/Bella drama? I expect this season to be very fun as well as a learning experience as it will be crazy jumping straight into a girl's team dynamic. Besides, if Ben Wiggins can coach, then it must be easy ;p
So Is Belladonna Taking Home the Title in 2010?
That's my bet.

Coach

2009-08-24T11:18:00.000-06:00

My freshman college season was in 1999. The prior off-season the Hodags had decided to undergo some giant changes. For the first time ever, there would be tryouts to make the team in the fall. The now-classic logo made its debut on the front of our three all-cotton jerseys, colored baby blue, white, and black.

The captains elected to implement this new paradigm were Opie and Simon McNair, a mathematics grad student from Canada far older than anyone else on the team. He was set to play his fifth year of college disc that season until, shortly after the fall began, he learned that a change in the UPA's eligibility guidelines rendered him, sadly, ineligible. The rules before had established eligibility starting the moment you became a UPA member and for five years afterwards. The subtle change that year was that your clock started ticking when you joined the UPA or any other worldwide governing body of Ultimate. As a Canadian, he'd been a part of CUPA before joining the UPA, and that got 'im.

After a short bit of soul-searching he decided to stay on board with the team and act as our coach through the season. Being the most experienced and oldest, he guided that young team through the transitional phase from ragtag runners throwing the fris', to the disciplined national power the Hodags are today. He stuck around the following year as well, and he and Opie put the pieces in place one practice at a time.

It has come full circle for me now. Last week I spoke to the captains of this year's Hodags and they extended the offer to have me coach the team this year, in a role far more involved and critical than the advisory roles Muffin and I shared last year. I, of course, accepted.

My main duties will be planning and running practices and implementing team-wide concepts and strategies as directed by the team leadership. I expect that as the season progresses we will delineate our roles on the team more specifically, but I am mindful of their leadership and plan on limiting my role where I feel the captains and officers need to take charge. To put it another way, I think my main contributions will be in getting the team ready to play at a tournament, and then providing strategic adjustments in games, and their job will be to make sure the team is actually performing when it's go time. I am the study guide, they are the test-takers.

I'm incredibly excited at the opportunity. The styles of practice and leadership that I've been providing as captain of Madison Club have been well-received, and I feel like we're on track to do great things. I'm anxious to throw lumps of freshmen on my potter's wheel and build them up into a new generation of KM dominators, as mindful of sportsmanship as they are of fundamentals and hard work.

Hodag Love!

UFSE: Ultimate Frisbee Stock Exchange (IV)

2009-08-21T10:07:00.002-06:00

The Dow tanked. UFSE continues strong!

Buy:

Streetgang - Recent merger between competitors should mean a stronger product for consumers in '09.
Chase Sparling-Beckley - Best mixed division player. Ever.
Next Level HS Ultimate camp - Inaugural year goes off without a hitch. Team synergy in service-based market was strong and immediate. A bargain right now.
Alex Simmons - Virtual unknown about to be known. Buy now, but don't tell who gave you the insider info.
Carleton College - With coming influx of young national talent, should continue to hold its top spot for the foreseeable future.
Madison Club - Head-hunters hire away regional rivals' studs and grow in the process.
Doublewide - Current portfolio has them positioned to make big moves upward.
Russell Wynne - Currently trading for pennies, but developing innovative technology that will blow away the competition.
UPA Communications Director - New executive director signals possibility that next CD may actually stick around a bit.
Old People - Maiden GrandMasters championship buys this company a little more shelf-life and relevancy before being being sent to the knackers.
Riot - Despite an epic meltdown of their Finals Nuclear Reactor, they seemed to have cleared out the radiation nicely. Acquisition of Gwen Ambler steadies the ship.

Hold:

Revolver - speculators have driven up price enough to keep profit margins small, but should meet expectations.
Ironside - strong 2nd quarter puts them in line to grab more market share, but showdown with Revolver looms over patenting of moniker "Club Champions"
Machine - purchased assets from truck company pennies on the dollar, but mismanagement continues to keep them hovering in place.
Furious George - This stock's up-and-down performance makes it a shaky investment in their crowded market, but the payoff for current stockholders could be large.
Fury - Latest tournament loss should not inspire a selling panic. Still one of the most solidly performing stocks.
Gabe Saunkeah - current inactivity is no sign that this company won't continue to impress when its machines start humming again.
Mixed Division - like MySpace or PerezHilton, it's not going anywhere.

Sell:

Jam - Much of the upper brass retired with golden parachutes. Stock will rebound eventually, but still trading high enough that a sell at this time can allow a larger buy-in later.
Sub Zero - Employee diaspora leaves gaping holes in assembly line.
RSD - Old media is dead. New informational feeds and spam clog are rendering it irrelevant.
Unempowered Observers - All indications signal that their product will be useless in the future.
Plain Jerseys - Sublimation is quietly inching away market share, and consumers are liking what they see.
Sectionals Nudity - Product Recall forces company into bankruptcy.

Colorado Cup 2009, Bill Locker

2009-07-30T18:16:00.013-06:00

I find it no coincidence that Madison plays Sub Zero first and Machine last.

At this moment various members of Madison Club, Sub Zero, Machine, Johnny Bravo, Showdown, and Nemesis are all remembering the tall tale of Schloski Carrillo - and thus we have the reminiscence of Bill Locker:

He's grown up now, but on a March evening as a sophomore Bill Locker tempted fate and logic, and lost.

The typical shenanigans that seem to follow college spring breaks were blossoming about the evening's stem. PoNY captain Tom Burkly was engaged in a strategy meeting that lasted longer than anyone intended. With each new strategic point, beers were cracked and Bill found himself owing liver debt early in the festivities.

The corpses of the cases killed during Burkly's soliloquy littered the common area, and Bill played Ramses II and commissioned the construction of the largest beer-amid the young team had ever seen. Thirsty from backbreaking work, they quaffed the rest of the beers and began a series of endless arguments about pecking order, shitting on each other in the sorts of brotherly spats that bring a team together when that energy is focused outward (and frequency of which made this crew of players such dominant studs when they took over the team's reins).

Demostrating his resourcefulness, Bill spotted a bottle of Fleischmann's Vodka on top of the fridge and offered the rest of the soldiers still raging kill it by waterfall. It goes around the bullring once before Bill, sense of time and danger probably distorted by the same beers he'd earlier imbibed, took the initiative to coup de gras what was left, an amount enough to give even Judy Garland a buzz.

Everyone looked at him with an equal mix of awe and concern. He took the plastic from his lips and slowly lowered the empty to the table. As he let go of it, the slightest of a body tremble was the first subtle foreshadow that trouble lied ahead. He gripped the bottle hard and leaned through it against the table below. His eyes went empty, the curtains closed though he remained standing.

In the next waning moments of consciousness, something goes terribly wrong. Billiam attempts to open the window as a door handle, spilling syrup serendipiously, and dancing pop-locker-and-drop it. As Mr. Locker was pushed into the stairway bathroom, his muscular physique saved him from certain trigger-pulling. With a great feat of strength, Schlockster breaks through the crowd and storms the hallway, demolishing his once perfectly perfected pyramid of beers. In two giant leaps, Sausage Links is down the street and disappearing. "Where are you going big guy?" Locker's face fills with glee as he slowly turns, steadying himself on a car hood, just moments before slipping and curbing his face.

Within seconds, Bill Locker is carried back into the fray and forced to sleep it off. However, as the sun rises, Bill is nowhere to be found. His suit coat, shoes, socks, and shirt are all left strewn about the landscape and the legend of Locker can be construed through the images of Lou Ferrigno skipping though the streets of Madison.

Today was a brutally long day of ultimate. Madison Murder Club jumped all over Sub Zero for a 5-1 lead and 7-4 half. Sub Zero pulled the game to 10-9 before Madison finished strong 13-11.

Madison traded with Doublewide to a 3-3 score before Texas broke twice to lead 3-6 and half 5-7. Club could not make up the deficit, losing 9-13.

Johnny Bravo was playing fast, taking the early lead 3-5 and half 5-7. Madison Went on a 5-1 run to make it 10-8 before stealing the game down the stretch 13-11.

Last up was Truck Stop, who broke quickly to a 1-5 lead. Madison cut it to 4-5 before losing half 4-7. Madison made a late push, closing the score to 10-11 before Truck Stop gritted out the win 11-13.

Madison is 2-2 with JAM first thing in the morning.

Now for the overall scouting report.
CUT still fouls intentionally.
Kurt still wears gloves.
Stout still takes off shirt in between each point.
Muffin still screams Boom Headshot after boom headshots.
Johnny Bravo still isn't laughing.
Prairie Fire is still looking longingly from the open bracket.
Georgia Bosscher is still SAF as funk.
Doublewide isn't quite sure what "swagger" is.
And Damien is on crutches.
Fury won 13-2 in the showcase game...
10 degrees hotter tomorrow

Potlatch 2009: Arrival

2009-07-09T07:00:00.000-06:00

As I arrived into Seattle-Tacoma Airport, my stomach and mind were famished; one for food and the other for answers to questions that had gnawed me hollow.

Among them:
How ready were my legs and throws to play quality competitive Ultimate for three straight days?
How would Downtown Brown connect as a team throughout the weekend?
What kind of response would we receive when the circle is opened to any comers? Would there be a response at all? (toward this question I felt as I had when filling out invitations to my grade-school birthday parties - what if no one comes?)
How would I react at a tournament that has such strong emotional memories attached to it?
At weekend's end, would I leave the Redmond fields with a sense of connection, family, and hope for my future, or would i leave feeling alone, rejected, and cut adrift?

This being my third trip to Potlatch, my prior two visits had answered most of my inward questions across the spectrum of the positive and negative. Aside from playing well, what I wanted most was to leave Potlatch confident, accepted, and whole.

These might seem to you as needlessly heavy concerns, considering that I was heading to a tournament many place atop the list of capital-F Fun tournaments. I acknowledge that. Thing is, this would not only be my first tournament since the end of last season's Club Championships, but in the interim I also fell into a dense fog of anxiety and depression that had made it difficult to accomplish much of anything without a Herculean effort, and it had only been a few months since I'd come out of it. The clarity I now had, and the difference from where I had been at year's end, were like cleaning a hundred-year old window in your room for the first time, and looking out of it. I feel good, and worry wort that I am, I wanted to continue on the up and up.

So that's the backstory to what was in my head as I touched down. I had reason to believe the weekend would be a positive one; my ticket there had been free after a fortuitous bump in a layover Denver-to-Madison, which not only got me the voucher, but also allowed me a week in Boulder with my brother and a trip to Breckenridge for my boy Whit's wedding to all-around hottie Jen. So good karma abounded.

Shortly after landing my boy Feldspar scored me a Double Whopper meal, so with one of my hungers satiated I waited until two DTB teammates showed up to carpool. We relaxed and ate, framed by a fashionably late sunset, and returned to the airport to pick up a Team Canada player before quitting the night. Never far from me, settling into a place alongside my travel pillow, was that nagging voice of doubt. "Dude, this might get fucked up." I was thankful to be too tired to pay it much heed.

2009 Hoosier Hoedown (Before)

2009-07-08T14:25:00.005-06:00

I'm incredibly glad that Degs wrote that throwback article harking back to the days when things as pedestrian as loose tournament organization were a treat, rather than an expectation. I distinctly remember going to Easterns back when Mike Gerics was at the helm, and wondering who this dude was patrolling all the fields in the morning yelling and threatening to start assessing points if the game didn't start that instant.

"Dude's got a stick up his ass" might have been along the lines of what I was thinking as I saw him get red-faced, but by tourney's end there was no doubt that he held everything down and that, compared to other tournaments being run at the time, he was worlds above the rest in organization and professionalism. By way of example as to what was happening elsewhere, nine Madison dudes once showed up to a Easy Coast tourney on our way back home from spring break and picked up, as a team, at the tourney, half an hour before it began. Those were the days, for better or worse.

Since then we as a group have gotten our shit together a bit better (with still room for improvement) and tournament games start on time and expectations are clearly stated.

So why the hell is it that, three days before Hoosier Hodown, there is zero information up on their website, or on the UPA's tourney page, about what teams are going and what the format is? It's Wednesday. They already have a skeletal page constructed for the tournament. It would literally take 5 minutes for someone to go and type in, at minimum, the names of the attending teams. Or 20 minutes to go to the UPA's tourney page and plug in the format without team names.

But, c'mon. It's 2009. We as a group should be beyond this. I know that organizing a tournament is hard work, and delegation, and many small details aside, but at minimum post online for the few who care what teams will be playing. It's similar to the tree falling in the woods; if there's nothing online to begin planning, hype, and talking points, why would anyone care what the hell happened?

I don't think that is too much to ask.

Intercepted Discourse

2009-07-07T15:52:00.008-06:00

Dear Grand Masters and Masters Women's division players,

We're all set for this weekend! Following the bi-annual East Coast captains meeting in April I rounded up everyone's addresses and phone numbers. (A few of you are now using something called CompuServe but I can't figure it out! We only got a facsimile machine this year.) After trying to get a hold of everyone for weeks and weeks, I finally did. Had to leave a bunch of messages but got called back by enough teams finally man. Enough commitments in the end. For the first time you can't just roll up to the tournament and expect a bid -- we're getting serious or something.

Speaking of, can you believe the UPA is making us wear numbers on our jerseys?? And no more tie-dye, sorry everyone! I was shocked when I received the uniform requirements (by mail of course).

The fields are supposed to be super-kind. I can't believe a pro soccer team has its own stadium, but apparently the fields that surround it are nice. My team is looking at a nice long drive -- 20 hours!! We should roll up in time to play the first round (+40 minutes -- Ultimate time!).

OK, couple of other crucial bits of information... we are not using the Wham-O 80 Mold! Some upstart named Discraft is providing something called an Ultra-Star. Eric Simon said it's legit, so that's fine by me. Also, go over the rules, dudes! Word on the street is we will not be playing by the 7th Edition, but instead the 11th Edition. I hope we get lined fields ... I know, I know, I've never played on lined fields in my entire life, but hoping might just make it happen.

I heard a couple volunteers are also coming down to write up articles for the newsletter, so tourney results will be freshly delivered sometime in September.

All right friends, see ya in Denver! Drive safe -- and definitely go the speed limit!

p.s. No camping at the fields! Sucks, I know.

Clublatch

2009-06-30T07:04:00.001-06:00

They say deaths of famous people come in threes, so I've dodged another bullet. Farrah, Michael, and then, tragically, Billy Mays.

It's an ironic shame that after having endured anal cancer, then the breech of her trust and confidentiality at the hands of her medical team, Farrah's light was eclipsed totally by the passing of MJ. With one improperly-administered painkiller to the King of Pop, her thunder was silenced. She was on the front page of CNN for less than 4 hours.

Then, naturally, MJ's death blew up the news and threatened to "take the internet with [it]". Our long infatuation with stardom is such a well-worn groove these days I won't do much here but note the passion with which we responded to it. One of my good friends in Denver was incredibly upset, and told me later her father had been similarly distraught, near tears even. Fair enough.

But my surprise at the wellspring of condolances following Billy Mays' death threatened to sand away at my well-seasoned, ironic view of the world. Given a news-cycle's reprieve from the MJ death, he was on CNN's front page for almost the entire day after he was found dead. Here we are, after all, mourning a man who made himself famous because he was good at getting so excited about products that we wanted to spend our money to have them. I've used OxiClean before. Meh. Perhaps my letdown was in the fact that somewhere, deep down, I had hoped using it would make me experience life and consumerism with the same euphoric passion Mr. Mays displayed. I submit that it did a slightly better-than-average job at getting the stains out, nothing more. And although I am genuinely remorseful that he had to die so young, with so many cleaning supplies yet unsold, I'm still pretty deep in the anti-infomercial camp. I am already bracing myself for Ron Popeil's obituary.

None of this has anything to do with Ultimate, of course, but if you made it this far, it's fair to tell you that I am the captain of Madison Club, along with Carleton GOP alum Seth Meyer, and that after only two practices I can safely say it's going to be a very work-intensive and rewarding season. Kansas Prarie Fire's victory over a much-depleted Johnny Bravo tryout squad at Live Logic can't be dismissed, and with Sub Zero filling its own voids (CUT standouts Lindsley and Kanner are MIA this season, along with the Madison contingent that's staying home, and the departure of Kevin Riley, CallaHeijmen, and the unsinkable Andrew Brown to various parts of the globe), Chicago Machine is looking to be, at the beginning of the season, off to the best start. But that still leaves 4 front-runners angling for 3 bids. Here come the musical chairs.

Two thing about Machine (ok, three). First, word is they cut many (all?) of the BAT guys who tried out for them. That says to me that either they're already very deep and didn't want any out-of-towners, or they made a few poor managerial decisions. Second, while planning our tourney schedule, the Midwest teams had discussed all going to the same area tourneys so as to get the most competitive games in before the series. To that end we were contacted by Chicago, who requested we all agree to go to Hoosier Hodown in Indiana, and since we were debating between HH and Motown Throwdown anyway, we decided it wasn't a bad idea. A week after we'd contacted the TDs of the tourney confirming we'd go, Chicago contacts us again. That sorry, but there were actually a few weddings unaccounted for, and an ingrown toenail, and sandy vagges had gone unmentioned, and could we please instead go to another tourney, one that better suits their schedule. We responded with the most polite "fuck yourselves" possible. We want to play the best competition, but we're not chasing after anyone on their scheduling whim. Sub Zero is attending MUDI, so we all went our separate ways. We have till Colorado Cup to mingle amongst ourselves.

(last thing I wanted to say is about Tyson Park, who is back and "playing" for Machine this year: I want you there buddy, badly, because it means I might actually get to see you this year, but I'll believe it when you're cleated up at regionals.)

Former Hottest Man in Ultimate Valley Renshaw is back to form, it's being said. My only comment to that is that Nick Nolte was once People's Sexiest Man Alive (no joke, 1992!). Times change, hair buns get cut. I suspect he and Jerrod are still going to be formidable, and I hope they don't think for a moment the other teams are sleeping on them. I did find funny they complained to Colorado Cup that they wouldn't attend unless they were guaranteed a spot in the elite division. Can you believe it! I actually LOL'd. They lost in semis of the open divison last year and they're complaining about the competition being too easy. Rein in those horses, buddies. You've got this whole season to prove yourselves.

But, for a moment, let's step away from club Ultimate and focus on the immediate task at hand: Potlatch. After a fortuitously overbooked flight back to Madison from a trip in the Grand Canyon, I scored a free ticket that I used to book my trip. Considering that I was recently let go from my job for the summer (bummer), I plan on subsisting on tuna and mustard/mayo packets I plan on stealing from some area deli (but am certainly not above receiving charity in the form of food, etc). I've got a tent lined up, a ride to the fields and back (I think), and I'm fired up about playing.

It's my third time back. The first was made memorable by events that have already been written about here, the second by my fun participation in the MLU experiment (2nd in fantasy behind Nord, bitches!), and this one has yet to lift its skirt and reveal its secrets and treasures to me. Still, there are a few things on my mind as I head there; some unrelated to Ultimate and thus for now omitted here, and some very much about my team and my role as a player.

Downtown Brown, bless its soul (pun intended), has outgrown its ability to be a single team and maintain any sense of playing rhythm and thus competitiveness, especially in light of this year's national teams, and so for Potlatch it was decided by special junta that in the spirit of Champ-bracket representation we'd bring a parsed team with the hopes of knocking down a giant or two on our way through the tourney. There was debate about this, and it will continue in our circle once there:

By what criteria should one get to play on Downtown Brown? Should the only burden of proof be that you not be white (although it has had a whitey or two in its history)? If so, does that only serve to strengthen the us-vs-them mentality that we (or at least I) purport to be fighting? In light of Obama's campaign speech on race and identity, how is it that we're defining ourselves as a team? I am all Mexican pride, and if you know me or have seen me I literally wear it on my sleeve (and skin). Yet playing division along racial and ethnic boundaries has never sat well with me, and because I've spent so much of my life growing up vastly outnumbered by whites, it would have been incredibly self-destructive for me to have drawn a line between myself and Them.

So the question remains then, who "owns" Downtown Brown? Who should get to play on the team? It's great that players of color have reached a critical mass that now forces us to ask these questions. Certainly when I started, we were the exception to the rule, and the opportunity to play with other brownie ballers made me salivate. But should that be enough? This is, after all, an Ultimate team, not a national multicultural PIRG, and when we meet we're going to play Ultimate. As much as I love playing, I am also a fierce competitor who loves winning, and while I identify myself certainly as a brownie and more specifically as Hispanic (and even more specifically as Mexican), when I'm at a tourney I see myself primarily not as any of these things, but as a player. The ultimate community is my community, and on what promises to be one of the most competitive coed tourneys I've ever played in, I want to be on a team that is as good as it can be, and that requires that choices, hard choices, be made.

Rest assured the debate is only just beginning. Feel free to give me your two cents either in the comments here, or along the expansive Burlington fields this weekend. Peace.

The discussion continues here at the Huddle. I extend Mike's invitation to join DTB for a discussion on these issues and more on - what an apt date - the 4th of July. -ed.

On our way

2009-05-20T10:49:00.002-06:00

The time is nigh. With half the team already en route, we depart from downtown Madison feeling good about everything. I'll write more tomorrow after we've arrived if I can find an internet connection somewhere.

In the meantime, come along on the trip with me here. My musings will be reactionary and reflective, and I'll keep all the alumni abreast of the events going on between the lines, the things you won't be reading about on the Score Reporter.

Safe travels and good luck to everyone. Walk hard.

Are you freaking out yet?

2009-05-19T17:39:00.007-06:00

You. 5th year player. Nationals begins in 3 days; Your college career ends in 7. Has that reality sunk in yet? Of course it has. I doubt anything other than that reality has been on your mind lately. So, how long have you been freaking out then? A couple of days, a couple of weeks, or have the last several months come crashing down upon you? For most of you, the school year has indeed ended – graduations and commencements come and gone – and the only thing left is to figure out summer employment plans… and win a championship. Yet, in the rush of college life – sometimes the reality that this segment of your life is finishing goes unnoticed. Do these 5th year seniors realize that their college experience has ended? Nope.

This is the first time in the 6 years that I have been a part of the Hodags, in which I have not seen a 5th year player break down to tears during a team huddle when realizing that it was their last College Regionals or Nationals. Usually it's a captain or officer, who is overcome with emotion upon realizing just how much the team means to him. I vividly recall Dan Miller and Jimmy McMurray choking back tears when they tried to articulate what the team actually meant to them. I remember Dan Heijmen’s teary long-winded speeches, Rebholz’s moment to collect himself, and Rodrigo breaking down when the moment of realization came – all of these reflected in their dedication to the program.

And that is what Wisconsin does to its ultimate players. It makes them care. It goes so far as a sense of identity. Ultimate is not something I play – Ultimate is who I am. No wonder Wisconsin consistently turns out dominant programs – the players just care more. However, so far this season, no graduating senior has addressed the team in such a manner. Either the 5th years are especially good at controlling their emotions or it hasn’t quite hit them yet. As hard as it was for me, as impossible as it was, I hope this year's crop can push those thoughts out of their minds for at least one more week. It will be over before they know it. I have seen the 5 super seniors of the Hodags grow, develop and mature into stud players – and now I will have to watch them – like the many before them – learn to deal with life without college ultimate. Departing from a college team of your best friends is no easy feat. It's a death in your life. Your teammates will move away, your camaraderie and everyday interactions will fade to memory, and you will eventually need to cope that fantasy land is over and real life begins. But one more summer of fun can’t hurt anything…

The Struggles/Joys of the Player/Coach

2009-05-19T10:17:00.001-06:00

Musings by 2007 Callahan Winner Dan Heijmen

One aspect of the Callahan discussion that I don’t think has been given enough attention is the fact that Jim Foster, while being the Hodags go-to player, is also their coach. This write-up isn’t meant in any way to diminish the accomplishments or talents of any of the other front-runners for Callahan (Mac, Stevie, Will) but to say that these players have all benefitted heavily from having a coach. I know from playing against the three guys I mentioned above that they are studs on the field and command the respect of their teammates and opponents. I have seen Mac, Stevie and Will do amazing things on the field and know that they are leaders in the huddles and most likely have a strong influence on their team’s strategy/personnel/ line calling etc.

What I do want to talk about what its like to be a player/coach on a top-level ultimate team. Let me just say from the start that it’s really f-ing hard. Even with the support of your teammates having a responsibility to your team in two different facets takes a high level of patience, focus and dedication, especially if you are able to continue to play at a high level. On the Hodags we know that the player who takes the role as the “senior captain” is sacrificing quite a bit. Having been in that position myself I was almost crushed under the pressure of having to be a playmaker on the field while retaining my responsibility to coach and run the team. The transition b/w being the junior captain (i.e. first year captain) to senior captain (second year) was a jump I wasn’t fully prepared for during my last year of college ultimate. Knowing that Tom Burkly, my senior captain in 2006, was gone scared the shit out of me. I was entrusted with a team that had just come off an incredible season that came up just short of a national title. The pressure was on us to deliver a championship. Due to this weight, my play suffered severely the first half of the 2007 season. I played (what I consider) the worst game of my ultimate career in the finals of Vegas (a universe point loss to Florida,) as a direct result of feeling like I had to “be the guy” while trying to coach, call subs, change strategy etc. I was lucky enough to have guys around me during that game who picked up my slack (Jim Foster for one, had an incredible game, highlighted by a ridiculous sky of Kurt Gibson off some trash I threw into the end zone), but in the end the loss was on me and my inability to successful function as both a player and a coach.

Throughout the season I knew that I wasn’t playing at the best of my ability b/c I was so focused on the rest of the team. Sure I could lock in while a point was being played, but being in that mindset throughout the game is not a luxury you have when you’re responsible for gauging all the different factors of a particular point/game/day/tournament or season. Having this sort of responsibility on a college team, whose goals are so high, is incredibly challenging. Its not like in Club where you can count on the majority of your teammates knowing where they should be and what they should be doing. And with the premium the Hodags have always placed on developing younger players, the distraction to a captain’s individual game can be huge. I don’t mean to imply at all that Jim is doing it all on his own, or that the other Hodags aren’t doing enough. In my time as a captain with the Hodags I had an amazing support system during my last year which included Matt Rebholz, Dan Miller, Muffin, Matt Scallet, Jack Marsh and yes, Jim Foster. I know Jim has the same. These players made up the leadership core of the team and we got together often to discuss strategy, personnel, schedules etc.

But come tournament time, a lot falls on the shoulders of the senior captain, in this case Jim Foster. He has been entrusted with a team that has won back-to-back national championships, but that has lost many of the familiar faces that made them up. As was mentioned in Jon Gaynor’s recent post: gone from last year are 5th year players like Shane Hohenstein, Drew Mahowald, Matt Rebholz, Will Lokke, Muffin, Kevin Riley, Chris Doede and Seth Meyer. Each of these players was invaluable over the past two seasons. The strong, vocal, experienced 5th year presence is perhaps not as evident this season compared to seasons past. Yet look at what Wisconsin has accomplished so far this season. Perhaps not the dominant regular season from the past 3 seasons, but a guaranteed top 4 seed in what has been the craziest college ultimate season we’ve seen for the last 6 or 7 years. He has molded a team comprised of the most inexperienced players the Hodags have had since the turn of the century into one of the few teams with a shot to win nationals.

And despite what you might think about the top programs in the country, it is not easy to stay this good from season to season. Especially when the knowledge and responsibility is not embodied in a coach who has been there year after year, but actually passed down from player to player, each season interpreted and implemented slightly differently. That Jim has been able to individually have the season he’s had is nothing short of remarkable. It is a testament to his focus, his determination and his love for his Hodags. I get razzed quite a bit from former teammates for throwing around love like this, but it is true for us. That’s why we scream Hodag Love before games/after games/after practice/and whenever we get together. That’s why Hodags play like they do and that’s why Jim can scream, “We’re the fucking Hodags” in a huddle and it has an immediate response. It is an amazing thing to be a Hodag: To be part of something each season that is incredibly unique yet so clearly connected to the teams of the past, and I know that captaining them has so far been the privilege and honor of Jim’s life. We take it pretty seriously in Madison.

And despite the frustration that I’m sure sets in for Jim from time to time, wishing that maybe for a game or a practice he could forget being a captain and just play, he knows its worth it. Sure it makes the losses harder to stomach, but the wins are that much sweeter. And if you’re lucky enough to make it to Columbus, and to watch the Hodags the play, you’ll see them play with an intensity that is unmatched, spurred forward by their leader. The best and most valuable player in the country: Jim Foster.

What's next after Foul/Contest?

2009-04-27T12:29:00.006-06:00

This shit has been bothering me since the last club season, but it seems like people have either forgotten how to resolve a contested foul, or for the newer players, they were never taught how. It's unconscionable that with games observed this weekend at Central Regionals, there were still contested calls that seemed to have opening and closing arguments, with ample witnesses called to testify on both sides and cross examination before finally resolving it. Fucking brutal, whether the Hodags were doing it or any other team. Let's go over the quick, fair, efficient way of dealing with a contested call so that in the future we can spend less time with lip service and more time playing.

Step 1: A call has been made. Foul. Travel. Whatever. Dude yells out the infraction, and play stops (eventually). Elapsed time: 1s

Step 2: "Contest!" (or in the case of a dude on Luther, "FUCKING CONTEST!" It's ok to show initial disagreement, but you might only be hurting your chances). Elapsed time: 5-10s

Stp 3: Now, in all the calls I've ever witnessed (not all, but the exceptions are statistically insignificant) both parties will know within the first 30 seconds if the other is even thinking of taking their call back. You know this within thirty seconds, and even that is a generous amount of time. So, pause to assess. Take your time, as much as 20 seconds even, if you think they're unsure of their call. For those of you who, in Step 2, bitched at all, skip this step. You've already blown your chances to get the call taken back. In these 20 seconds state your case for why you called the foul, or why you're contesting. State your case clearly, and state it only once. Elapsed time: 30-45s

During this time the observers will be approaching you either knowing how they'd rule, knowing they can't rule, or making sure their ruling agrees with the each other's. They either saw what happened, and have an opinion about it, or they didn't see what happened. If it's the latter, the rules are clear: send it back and do it over. No amount of showmanship, acting, yelling, or legal proceedings here will create a different outcome: we just get to watch you make a fool of yourself bending over backwards to hear yourself talk. You're not interested in actually changing the play because you assessed, correctly so, at the beginning of Step 3, that neither party was backing down.

Step 4a: You both agree to disagree, and leave it at that. Foul: contest. Send it back, do it over, and tap the disc in.

Step 4b: This is where the observing this weekend was, excuse the pun JThib, sub-par. Once two players have gone to the observers, the observers should, if necessary, ask to clarify what infraction is being called. Not how it happened, not a request to recreate it, just make sure you're about to rule on the correct call. It should go something like this:

"Are you coming to me?"
"Yes."
"What call are you making?" (note: only if unclear. This is clear ~90% of the time)
"He fouled me as I tried to catch it."
"No foul, play on." Boom. Elapsed time: <99s

See how easy that is? See how two people disagreed, and the observers did what they're supposed to do, which is to cut down the arguing time and either rule or send it back?

They're not supposed to sit there and spectate thespian theatrics. They're not supposed to ask leading questions that might sqeeze another two minutes out of the argument. They're supposed to go in there, have the players defer to them, and judge instantly. Boom, game on again.

If the players are taking more than 60-90s in Step 3, the observer steps in and asks them to either agree right then, ask for his ruling, or send it back. After the observer has done this, the game should be back on within 15s. It's not too much to ask, is it?

Play on.

p.s. Regarding the two disagreed calls this weekend that I felt Thib blew: I don't think he made those calls to either punish Wisco or to help Luther and CUT. I feel he made both calls as he thought they should go. He just made two mistakes. The call in the Luther game was one where his angle on the play made him see something that, when viewed from the front, wasn't actually happening. He choose to rule anyway, and i disagreed with his perspective on it. The second was a case of whether the disc was catchable based on all the player movements, and whether Kanner was going to be anywhere near the disc. Again, I thought he blew the call, but based on how utterly stupid and n00b-like Drews approached that whole scenario, I can't blame him for allowing that amateur case influence his decision to rule in CUT's favor. I was on the sidelines wishing I could gag Drews instantly.

Hh & Muffin Embedded at Central Regionals 4

2009-04-26T23:18:00.005-06:00

Final thoughts:

H- Carleton is very good. And by that I mean that Grant and Kanner are very good. Their supporting cast is stronger than all Luther or Minnesota but the presence of those two studs makes CUT the #1 seed at Natties in my opinion. The weather was nasty before the game, but it improved at about half the rate of the field's deterioration. It eventually became a soupy mud half an inch deep, covering a hard layer yet to thaw from a Minnesota winter. Hard to cut on and caking everything.

The whole game carried intensity, but credit the giant crowd of Carleton geeks that came in the driving rain to cheer on their most popular varsity team. Their energy late in the game seemed to give CUT that extra little bit that allowed them to put away the long points, while Wisconsin struggled to convert their defensive opportnities into breaks. I would also be ok with JThib never observing a Hodag game again, and after several people voiced long-held concerns about a possible bias against our team, I couldn't argue with them after another endzone call he ruled on. Brutal call. JFo and Bergen played incredibly well the whole game, but we couldn't finish on D. Things to work on this month.

Game against Luther was that ugly, flat, lifeless game that comes from a team coming down a high-intensity loss playing one already happy it got this far. The weather was better, but still cold, and points dragged on as it got sloppy, but never close, 13-8. Around this time all the other chatter from regionals across the country started condensing. It will be interesting to see how the seeding is approached this year.

Also Team USA lost in a scrimmage to Bay area players 12-10!

M- Regional Final

Holy Shit, Carleton snobs are soo stuck up. Wisconsin went through the game plan for Sunday thoroughly at the team meeting. Nobody was scared and all the pressure was on CUT. Sunday morning the games were pushed back half an hour and the rain canceled use of the stadium. It is miserably rainy, cold, and windy at 12:15pm. It should be a rager to remember. One hour to game time and the anxiety rises. 5th year Captain Jimmy Foster and Officer Tom Annen were the only Hodags to have played a Regional Finals in Northfield. Their horror stories of the affair were enough to make Jerry faint and Armstrong puke. It was an appauling scene. A medium drizzle, soaked fields, moderate winds, and 50 degrees maybe. The big match-ups will be Klane vs. CK, Kanner vs. Manny, and Feldman vs. Lindsley. Murderballs Murderballs Stab Stab Kill! can be heard in the distance. The Hodags drilled hard in the now pouring rain, getting jacked, and making plays. Carleton meanwhile had been nowhere to be seen, stealthily warming up on a concealed field. When the Knights arrived to the field, the rain intensified and lightning thundered across the sky. Foster lost the flip and it was Offense to start, as the observers explained the last minute details. The pouring rain was ridiculous and the rowdy Carleton fans were screaming non-sense. Neither team looked particularly prepared to seize the opportunity, as turns came frequently. Darth Klane was lazer slicing in every direction while Drews was toasting in the mud. And it was muddy and every jersey showed it! Players hit the ground constantly - bidding, falling, slipping, or just getting muscled over. Adam Drews finally takes control and hits Mannywood O2 for the 1-0 lead. CUT looked shocked and the rain ceased. 5th year stud Tom Annen ripped an under layout D, wiping the mud across his cheeks for eye black. Carleton manages a score with quick transition throws 1-1. Both points were marathonesque with countless ridiculous turns! Still neither team was exerting its full will and every point was up for grabs, deep shots firing left and right. John Bergen burns O2 and finds Gaynor for the score 2-1. Grant Lindsley becomes the centerpiece of Carleton's attack and Matt Crumb tightens up, bidding twice on under cuts, definitely in Grant's shorts but it ties 2-2. Evan Klane rips a nasty 50 yard break side huck to a skying Jimmy Foster 3-2. Wisco shows zone, but Kanner rips a backhand over the entire field to CK 3-3. The rain begins again and the conditions worsen, the field is messed. Jimmy Foster is forced to get a huge layout D, scoring the bookends from Klane 4-3. The multiple turnover points continue and to marathon length as the game as obviously going to be capped. Kanner refused to listen, calling relentless fouls, flopping a bit, and being the biggest baby - and insisting that Animal was cheating by calling fast count. CUT begins to adjust, working the disc under and converting their O and break to lead 4-5. Wisconsin was getting ample opportunities each point, but were making bone-headed decisions and jacking stupid looks. Madison called a timeout and reminded themselves that CUT without Kanner and Grant is really just Minnesota. Mannywood ripped a shot to Jimmy Foster as Madison scored 5-5. Carleton holds on O to make it 5-6 and Wisconsin begins taking bad looks. After the 4th Wisco turnover in the red zone, CUT fast breaks deep as Chunky Christian Foster rips a flick to Fat Kanner waddling past Animal and finishing 5-7. Half traded to 6-8 Carleton, as Lindley gets loose deep for the first easy goal allowed. Manny took the huddle by storm, screaming about desire and making plays. "These guys are scared of us - every single guy is backing us and we continue to jack it! Chill the fuck out!" Wisconsin starts the second half on Defense, totally stacked, and immediately break as Cullen hits Jimmy for the brutal sky 7-8. The Hodags rush the field and Carleton waivers for a moment as Madison has the disc in the red zone twice, but cannot convert. Carleton fast breaks for the goal 7-9 and time is running out. The rain is coming in hard waves and moving the disc is no luxury. Wisconsin takes the pull and centers who Lazer, who fires the around break for the first time all day, but is tragically footblocked! Carleton is on the doorstep but is forced into a stall 9 cross field floater. Kanner is running to the space, battling with Drews every step. They bump shoulders and Fat Kanner falls, to the feet of a full extension flying Foster, sky catching the disc at 10'3 with his landing almost on Kanner's face! Kanner screams bloody murder and it goes to the observer. JThib unfuckinbelievably calls it a foul and it goes back and CUT breaks to lead 7-10. The wheels come off at 7-11 and soft cap blows. It is 8-12 and then 8-13 with a looming hard cap and a desperate Wisco. The Hodags were crestfallen for only moments before hearing that Florida is not going to Nationals. Boner Check. Luther was ecstatic to beat Minnesota, scoring and breaking on universe, in Tim Pearce's eyeball O2 as Greg Sherbet celebrated a Nationals birth. The 2-3 game was uneventful as Wisconsin won 13-8 in a half-hearted effort. Minnesota took care of Iowa on the cap to round out the 4 bids. Too bad the NW only gets 2 bids.

Hh & Muffin Embedded at Central Regionals 3

2009-04-25T19:04:00.007-06:00

M- Lufda Alumni Beek's, Guam and Dill all claim it will be a thrilling deathmatch. Wisconsin starts slow as Luther hucks deep 1-0 with a raucus home crowd. Wisconsin fights off a break chance and scores 1-1. Game play escalates and the Hodags steal the lead 3-1. Luther barely makes it 3-2 but the game is competitive. Just trying to keep it close it trades to 5-3. It goes to 6-4 and then Masler rips a break 7-4. Animal punches Lil' Shirby in the head - forcing him to take a blood sub. A shitty D point has halftime eluding the Hodags and it must wait for a chilly 8-5 half. With chilly handlers and fast cutters - Wisco Offensive unit was tactical with their attack. Meanwhile, Tim Pearce skied for a nasty goal as CUT broke to lead 11-7. Grant L got a pretty nasty under layout D, but the soft calls continued. Seth Meyer will need to overrule that snap tomorrow at 1pm in the CUT stadium. I predict strong winds, clouds, rain, freezing sleet, huge crowds, snow, and terrible blatant cheating. Tom Murray will sky UPA Starting 7 Grant - just like the beginning of Regionals just last season.
Lastly, Belladonna was ruling on Syzergy with dominant under defense and quick scores. Georgia can pull it 70 easy and breaks came in handfulls. Eau Claire was also looking to take down a bid to Nationals with Robyn eating every disc that goes up, manufacturing upwind breaks consistently.

Hh- The Luther match-up began in the deafening din of Luther alumni, out in force and smelling a first-ever nationals berth. The game began close, but their cheers and energy were quickly stifled, mirroring the Luther offense being smothered by the Hodag D. While Luther is looking good for a shot at Columbus, the Hodags brought their best game of the tournament to them, and is looking ahead to finals. Highlights from the game included Shirby opening an inch-long gash in his head and having to come off the field, and a brutal foul/strip call made by Luther being upheld by one observer that was out of view of the play, and another who didn't do much right all game. Blown call. Weather tomorrow: absolute shit. The game begins at 1pm, and both teams will be looking to avoid the extra time outdoors brought by the 2/3 game. Each team should be fresh after a surgical Saturday here in Northfield.

Hh & Muffin Embedded at Central Regionals 2

2009-04-25T11:01:00.006-06:00

M- It was Eau Claire eeking out a victory over GOP and a Sectionals Semifinals rematch. Jimmy Foster demanded to play his studs immediately, not wanting to mess around at all. The Offense took the field headed downwind and promptly broke itself 0-1 as Klane was Imperioed to turn the disc and J-Fo didn't catch his mack D, resulting on the score. It was rentless rage from that point forward when the Offense made quick work upwind, Gaynor ripping to space for T-Murda 1-1. Manny played five straight points and Wiscosnin scored 5 staight to lead 5-1 with Crumbly catching two scores. Chris Pearce admits that he doesn't know anything about frisbee as Iwsconsin takes ahlf 8-2 on Feldner's second score from Mannywood. Ozone holds out of half to make it 8-3, incensing the Offense, pissed they must play another point! After a turnover, Foster's man cuts hard under and Jimmy is right on his hip. As Jimmy bids to the disc, Gaynor appears out of nowhere, layout D'ing J-Fo and the cutter for the nasty block. Gaynor then bookends the point 9-3, catapulting Wisconsin into a deathrage. Eau Claire punts on its next possession as 10 seconds of D is so fierce, no one is open. Cullen flying burrito's a poach, snacking the disc under his unsuspecting nose. Jazzler Jizzler and Cinnabuns rampages for two breaks to win 15-4 in a barnburner. In other news, Minnesota crushed on Iowa 15-5. Skywalker, ManBearPig and Scallet have just arrived to party Fuck Cut.

Hh- The weather is turning for the better. At times it feels like a nice day to play Ultimate. The fields are soft but in good repair, the grass healthy. Eau Claire had the unfortunate task of facing a Hodag team hungry to send a message after a lackluster second half against UNI. Hodags came out firing, and chants of "Murderballs! Murderballs! Stab! Stab! Kill!" rang out, echoing down to the Bald Spot and Bell Field. The Hodags made quick work of a spirited EauZone, and took time to watch the end of the Luther/Iowa State match-up. Shirby Puckett was all over the fields, throwing not one but two needless pivots with every possesion. On the sidelines, we held our breath with bored indifference, knowing that the winner would be murdered for standing between us and our date with CUT in Laird Stadium. Luther came out on top and won the honor of a clean soldier's death.

M - The two-and-a-half-hour-bye was exhausting as Davidman ate countless Tunafish sandwiches and devoured an entire pond life of Swedish Fish. Mannywood grumbled and muttered as Wisconsin strategically switched fields for every round - something that has mysterious happened everytime Northfield has hosted Regionals. I will bet my last penny that Carleton didn't move fields. As the Luther-Wisconsin match was seconds away, Jerome began punching Mike AirRenSen straight in the mug for looking so clueless. Meanwhile, Charlie ran to the local coffee shop to mix with the commoners. Grey Duck was getting a beakfull of pwnd as Carleton throttled them to a 8-4 halftime lead. Meanwhile, Wisconsin and Lufda was an unimaginable scenario - Jimmy Foster turfing everything and dropping goals vs Shirbert non-stop. Lil' baby shirb nugs puts Luther squarely on his back, breaking the Hodags 4 straight times and stealing half 8-2. The Hodags will need a swift kick in the face to win this game-to-go. Feldner is currently unable to expell his anger fast enough.

Hh & Muffin Embedded at Central Regionals 1

2009-04-25T10:50:00.005-06:00

M- It's fuckin frigid at forty-one friggin degrees. The sleepy service attendant at the local coffee shop had the gall to ask if my extra-large coffee was a "decaf right?" No. Fuck no. I will fucking kill you if it is decaf. Jesus Christ, kid. Iowa's huge flag is whipping across the perfectly green fields, fluffy and wet, and windy and rainy... perfect. The clouds are ominous looking, but not half as scary as the Terrible Torrential Thunderstorms of last night as the wind howled and souls screamed. Game one is against UNI the 15th seed and the Hodags are... yawning as the first game is 8am.

Hh- The day begins at 5:45 in the morning. I get up to shower at Klane's and when I get out someone is playing the jukebox hits at a gay bar. It's Raining Men, YMCA, Like A Virgin, etc. I have no idea who chose this for the morning of regionals, but I contemplate murder for a moment. Two giant pans of freshly baked cinnamon rolls greet us in the kitchen and I'm placated.

Outside - drab, a gray frown drawn across the sky. Everything is wet. It looks miserable. Regionals wouldn't have it any other way. On tap today: UNI, then winner of Eau Claire/GoP, then likely Luther. If we win those three games, we qualify for nationals. I don't recall ever having seen a softer route to natties, but with 20 spots and 4 bids in the Central, it was bound to become easier. (Though, on the other hand, in the NW Stanford, Oregon, Western Washington, UW, and Cal are all fighting for two spots.)

We drop the players off and drive for coffee, then return to the fields musking in all-out Kill Mode.

M- The game begins in utter earnest as the universe line takes the field for 3 straight breaks in a row. Crumbly is unstoppable, layout snatching 2 scores. Master Masler gets a nasty layout D, as well as ripping several beautiful deep shots. Manny takes his girl O2 and breaks her to Simmons for the 4-0 start. Cullen is rampaging faces, twice hucking to Patsy for ruthless mini-hop skies 5-0. As the lines loosen so does the concentration as it tightens to 6-1. The good woman throws UNI's first goal. Foster is enraged about losing the shutout and explodes on a kid for half 8-1. Gaynor pwns out of half to make it 9-1 before a n00b line drops it 5 straight times. Meanwhile, GOP and Eau Claire are fighting for their tournament lives, locked in heated game, 11-10 EC. One of the parents showed up to see the Hodags lackadaisically throwing around and chatting. "Has this game started yet?" "Oh yeah, it's just halftime." The Feldmen were seen cheering enthusiastically for Lil' Hollywood as the winds increased and the air chilled.

Hh- Game One done with. A surprisingly feisty UNI gave the Hodags some fits at times. On the sideline, music plays. On the field the defensive O looks anything but harmonious. Although it's cool, it's also dry, and the sun has peeked out a couple of times from behind the curtain of clouds. While a bit chilly on the sidelines, those running worked up enough heat that it wasn't uncomfortable. A bit of a cross-wind keeps the throws honest and rewards the inside-out with stable distance. Altogether not too unpleasant yet, I keep my head in the game by jamming to beats from the jukebox. It's the kind of weekend where you squeeze every drop of enjoyment from those moments when it's not shitty out.

Big Little Games

2009-04-24T11:58:00.002-06:00

My mind is still thinking about the Pimpdags/Blackcat match-up from Sectionals and how fun it was to watch. I can't stress enough how good a game like that is for a player's maturity and development.

As an undergrad, I was one of two Hodags that played intramural Ultimate (the other being my roommate and best friend Tyler), and got piles of shit for it from the team. Tyler and I would go and rule over people, having to carry most of the load ourselves. When June rolled around, despite playing for the club team in Madison, summer league games carried the same focus as any game we played at a tournament. Our little high school alumni team (+friends, later) played in summer league finals 3 years in a row, winning the last two. We rocked a Badger State Games threepeat with only our summer league team, until Andrew Brown built a squad designed specifically to beat us.

All these games happened while I was still a relative n00b, and I threw myself at them with all my energy. The finals of summer league and Badger State games were held before a modest crowd, the intramural playoffs even more so, but I loved playing with something on the line (and, as someone who loved playing any chance I got, I always felt there was something on the line). With a backup cast even more green than we were, Tyler and I were forced to hoist the team on our backs and make the tide-turning plays.

Later, as I suited up for my last game as a Hodag in the College Championship finals, and as a Bravo during the finals of Club Natties, I channeled all those games into my head. The experience of being amped, playing in front of crowds and hecklers, and the desire to win at my body's expense, all those little meaningless games I played when few watched and fewer cared as much as me; it was these big little games that allowed me to elevate my play and continue to execute at my best, when others tweaked out, succumming to the pressures of playing in something "that mattered."

Sectional Thoughts from Wisc09

2009-04-24T08:13:00.012-06:00

Every year just before the start of Lent, a period of 40 days characterized by sacrifice and piety, Catholics (and now revelers in general) blow a giant wad of sin as a way of purging their urges until Easter passes. This was a time to clear the pantry of forbidden foods and drinks, and to party without restraint before their religion's business time: the most important days of their calendar. Around the world cities have great Carnivals, Rio Di Janeiro's being one of the most decadent and debaucherous. In the US, the most well-known festivities happen in New Orleans, capped by Mardi Gras the day before Ash Wednesday.

I mention these traditional party purges because the Hodags defended their sectional crown for the millionth time in a row this past weekend. Although several area teams have really come into their own recently, the tournament is still the Hodags' playground. And it's been a tradition since I started playing for the team to act ballistic with general tomfoolery for all but the last couple of games.

With winters here being harsh, unpredictable, and often overstaying their welcome well into April, the few weeks before the series begins are the longest served. Midterms come, and final exams begin calling, graduating seniors are packed with job interviews and planning festivities, and several months of non-stop training begin to wear on the stamina of the team, but everyone knows the culmination of all this work, another shot at a title, is at hand. Saturday of sectionals has become the Hodags' own Carnival of sorts, one final weekend to play and goof off with the team, taking nothing seriously, before putting their heads down and accelerating with a kick in a business-like manner till Sunday of Natties.

This year the team was in full regalia, cross dressers and hillbillies, penguins and gorillas; Dan Park even came in the most spot-on Douchebag costume I have ever seen. The weather held as long as it needed to for the grill to fire up and distribute dozens of brats and dogs, and a giant water tank held enough Donkey Punch to knock out an actual donkey. The 'Dags frolicked through the weekend and emerged victorious, and hopefully mentally rested. In two days time they'll play against Carleton in a game that could go either way, and from now until Memorial Day they're punching the time-clock and getting to work.

With the Hodags firmly under control, I spent some sideline time with the B-team. With the loss of many of their ranks to the refueling Hodags at the beginning of the year, they're as young as they have been in some time, and with area teams improving, their shot at Regionals was by no means a sure thing. A brutal blunder by UW-Whitewater got them disqualified and meant there was one less team to get past, but it still wouldn't be easy. As I left the fields on Saturday en route to Riley's, my sister's, and my birthday party, the Pimpdags were locking horns with UW-Milwaukee. The two teams were evenly matched, weather was beginning to set in, and with the Hodags done for the day the sidelines swelled.

The Hodags put aside any heckling in favor of helpful field talk, and with so many watching, the intensity of the game picked up. Both teams were playing with their season essentially on the line, and every point was contested. This was by far my favorite game of the weekend. It's great for both the Pimpdags and Milwaukee Blackcats to play in a high-intensity atmosphere, and feel the pressure of a real crowd with high stakes. As the Pimpdags' coaching and depth helped them pull away, Blackcat fought hard and conceded nothing. A few unforced errors late in the game, with their handlers feeling both the wind and pressure beginning to pick up, allowed the Pimpdags to secure the victory, but Milwaukee has no reason to hang their head. Ian Nifoussi showed leadership for his squad, and little up-and comer Steve Jansen showed heart larger than his frame. I look forward to seeing their program gain traction and grow.

Tonight, the drive into the lions' den. The circle-jerking, pocket-protector wearing, band-camp wannabe lions' den. See you in Northfield. I'll be twittering better than Ellsworth will be broadcasting at ektor_jr.

Colorado Cup 2009 - Open for Business

2009-04-20T12:41:00.002-06:00

August 1–2, Boulder, CO

The 7th annual Colorado Cup returns to the pristine Pleasant View complex (also home to UPA College Championships '08 and annual GRUB tourneys). We will once again host 32 teams broken down as follows:

8 Men's Elite
12 Women's Elite
12 Men's Open

Amenities will include trainers, massage therapists, food & drink, plus a showcase game featuring great ultimate and Boulder Beer.

Information on bids will be available soon, but mark your calendars for one of the summer's best tournaments. From the indicators so far, the Men's Elite div will be a tough nut to crack. But the Men's Open div is getting stronger each year (and any bailers in Elite will be filled from the Open), so I would encourage men's teams to get out here in any case.

Invisible Fence

2009-04-15T10:37:00.003-06:00

When Chico, my family's weimaraner, was just a puppy, full of energy and lacking any discipline, my parents invested in an invisible fence so that he could roam the backyard but stay relatively contained. All told, with purchase and installation price included, they spent nearly $500.

It took Chico about two weeks to convince my parents that the fence was as invisible to him as it was to any of us. And he was the one wearing the collar. Today the fence sits, buried under ground around the perimeter of our yard, nothing but a curiosity for the worms and beetles that burrow alongside it.

Chico was able to break through the shock collar admonishing him from leaving the yard because he wanted to, had to, be wherever the action was. So if I was leaving to go for a run, he'd brace himself and run past the zaps to where I was. It never entered his dog brain that he wasn't supposed to be at the epicenter of the excitement, that he needed to obediently sit within his delineated perimeter.

So it makes me laugh a bit when I see n00b Ultimate players at practice or in games, tethered to their field bag by a short leash only they seem to see. They arrive to their practice or game field and choose a spot to place their bag, set it down, and warm up. But once things are under way, you can always find them hovering around their bag as if, at any moment, some emergency may demand they reach inside it within a second's time.

Their team is defending the goal line? There they are, 50 yards away, maybe yelling but not leaving their bag's sight. Their team is transitioning to endzone offense? They're in the same place you last saw them, tails wagging. No teammates on the far sideline? Sorry, they just can't make it over there. What if they get so incredibly thirsty suddenly, and their water bottle is out of arm's reach? So there they are, each little dog restrained by his own invisible fence, happily obedient to its perimeter, waiting for the moment they get called back to contribute on the field, and completely unaware that their sideline game, where gigantic team-wide momentum can be built, is busy playing dead.

Good luck in the series, be as good a teammate on the sidelines as you want to be on the field.

Odd Ends

2009-04-14T11:47:00.002-06:00

A lot of turnover on Bravo's roster. Popes moving to be closer to Sarah Palin, Deaver and diapers, Chicken roosting in the east, Whit building a mixed empire, Beau moving in with the love of his life in California, etc, etc.

Wonder if Jam returners occasionally wake up in cold sweats dreaming of the upcoming season saying shit like, "Fuck. Beau on Revolver? Fuck." Cold sweats ensue.

Found it funny that Ultimate Peace, looking for teams to sponsor as a way of defraying costs for their trip to Israel, accepted UPA champs Fury's money from a fundraiser they put on, but denied them Team Partner status because their team name was too...violent. UPA runners-up, Seattle Riot, a team partner, unavailable for comment. Wonder if Brute Squad, Rage, Revolver, Colt .45, and Death or Glory applied...

Big Ass Truck is doing about as well as the Detroit car market. Name retired, players old, but a couple are making a trek for one more season with Chicago's Machine. Three bids from the Central, the race heats up.

Jack Marsh is affected by the recession; has his start date deferred in NYC. PoNY's loss, Sub Zero's gain. Tonight I embrace you as my brother, tomorrow morning as my enemy.

This series, Twitter will be my Score-O-Matic. Plan on updating from Regionals and Natties for Hodag Nation and friends at home.

Hodags do work. Old club dudes give 'em a little taste of experience and humility in a friendly match this weekend. 10 days till Regionals. Five till my birthday. Let's go.

Pre View Over Sight

2009-04-02T22:29:00.003-06:00

I am sitting in the Frisbee House, presently in its livable phase, and not the usual squalid conditions that -at their worst- recall scenes from Slumdog Millionaire. A game of beer pong rages behind me, two of its participants wearing no pants, and one slinging his cock suggestively within his boxers towards the opponents' cups. May the fly button hold, dear God.

What prompted me to drag my ass from the couch to downstairs so I could bring a jury-rigged laptop wasn't the beer pong behind me, however. It was the thing that lies before me that did that - the current copy of USA Ultimate (THE MAGAZINE!), with Stephen Presley grimacing toward me on the cover- that did it.

I just read the College previews of both women's and open, and I note that no Hodag was listed in the Starting Seven piece. Been a while. But I'm still digressing. I got up from my primo couch spot to write because of the women's starting seven listed. No Belladonnas. Whu-whu-whaat?? I ask again, what?!?

Maybe the author didn't watch nationals last year. You know, that moment when Courtney Kiesow won the Callahan award. Or maybe he was so impressed by her play then that he assumed she must have graduated. But no, because he mentions her by name earlier in the preview. Fact is Courtney is back and hungry and in murder mode. Still smiling, of course, the one that melts hearts three fields over and causes the area birdies to chirp, but her play has only improved, and with the legitimate shot to add a college championship to her Callahan hardware, she is descending upon Columbus like Clint Eastwood in High Plains Drifter. Any Starting Seven team without her on it tells me you gotta fire the GM.

And then there's Georgia Bosscher, who makes the cutters she's defending look like Asafa Powell to her Usain Bolt. When I see her in practice I give my prayer beads another roll for the souls of the people who have to cover her. Aside from full field hucks from either side, her acme layout grabs save her teammates whenever they need it. She's as close as you can come to guaranteed money this side of inside trading. You're not putting her in the Starting Seven? Really?

If you've made it this far, I know what you're thinking right now. You got up 2-3 paragraphs ago to get your own copy of the mag so you could see what Hh is bitchin' about. You're leafing through the preview and saying, "Fucking cool it, they both got named under Wisconsin's blurb. Chill the fuck out."

And you might have a point. Except for the fact that 5 of the 7 listed 'starters' were also mentioned in their team's blurbs. Look, alls I'm sayin' is that any team coming into a game against Bella this year thinking that 2 of the best 7 players in the country aren't on the other side of the field, well, that's a paddlin'. S'all I'm sayin'. See you in the series.

p.s. So I see that UPA director Sandie resigned. Not sure if this is a bad thing or a good opportunity for the sport as a whole, all I know is that the chances of having a communications director last longer than a year and a half just went way, way up. (position currently empty!)

Teddy's Take on His Worlds Tryout

2009-02-26T04:20:00.006-07:00

Note: Bravo captain Ted Tripoli attended Team USA's tryout weekend in LA in anticipation of the World Games, and after a little prodding shared with us his thoughts. —Ed

As a disclaimer, the opinions expressed in this article are mine and of no one else.

World Games Tryout Weekend

Let me start by saying what I told everyone else and what I told Richter repeatedly by text over the course of the weekend: this was the hardest weekend of ultimate I have ever played, both mentally and physically. I won’t get into to many specifics of the weekend, so as not to ruin the surprises that await next weekend’s East Coast tryout team, but I do want to write about my experience.

Preparation
My weekend begins with me packing Thursday night. I decided that I didn’t want to check my luggage, so I planned to pack everything into my backpack and cleat bag. I had it all laid out in front of my bedroom door, ready for when I’d leave for work the next morning. Friday morning arrives; I’m tired as is normal for me when I get up a little before 7:00 every morning to get to work before 8:00. I brought all the bags I had packed downstairs, ready to bring out to my car. The morning had gone smoothly. I remembered the lunch I made the previous night, loaded my car, and drove toward work.

Departure
I work in Commerce City, a small city north of Denver resembling Gary, Indiana. My office is probably 15-minute drive from the Pike’s Peak satellite park & ride. As I’m making the drive, my head is swimming in scenarios. What if I forgot this? What if that happens? What are my contingency plans? It was your run-of-the-mill paranoia surrounding a weekend of this caliber. The drive, although slow and stressful, goes fine. As I park my truck and head to the bus stop to wait for my ride to the airport I get a sick feeling in my stomach. Cleats! Look in my bag - nothing. Sprint back to my truck, hoping I forgot them there - empty. The worst scenario I had imagined, aside from forgetting my contacts, had come true. No cleats. First thoughts that go through my head are how do I get my cleats to Los Angeles, with my flight being the last one with players/UPA workers to leave Denver. I make some phone calls pursuing the next logical step, locating a pair of cleats to use in LA. After getting phone numbers of friends who live in the greater Los Angeles area and sending probably 50 texts within an hour’s time, I finally get a hold of Bert Kang, ex-Hodag, who lives in Arcadia. Several texts later he volunteers to pick me up a pair from the store. I end up getting a new pair of Nike Mercurial Talaria at a small cost of $106, and for karma gave Bert a few extra bucks for driving and going through the trouble of, essentially, saving my weekend.

Cleats On
My room of Colorado people wakes up at 7 am to get breakfast at the hotel and get the fields by 8:30. The World Games team hopefuls show up in groups from their respective city, aside from a small Bay area contingency that arrive a little before us. After the Colorado crowd, the remaining Bay area group arrived, followed by the Seattle group. My first impression was that no one is really nervous, but more overly excited about the opportunity that has been placed before them. I felt that Greg Connelly, or Coach as many of us had begun to call him, did a great job of assuring us that everyone who stepped onto the field would have an equal opportunity to make the team.

We begin with the warm up, only a taste of what Ron “The Curse” Kubalanza has in store for us over the course of the weekend. After running several basic drills to get our feet underneath us, we went into a combine-like atmosphere with four stations: an individual interview/speech about our role on the team by Greg; a shuffling/marking drill; timed 70 and 40 shuttle runs (there and back); and an overly exhausting shuffling drill with tennis balls (seen on an ultimate training video for coaches I guess). My first station was the interview. Greg told me I would be a cutter, no big surprise. He also told me that he knows I’m short, but have the capability to play big and he needed to see that over the course of the weekend. We parted ways, and my group of ~8 people moved to the shuffling/marking station, which proved to be the easiest and shortest one. It didn’t concern me at the time, but my lactic acid limits would be tested with the 70’s and 40’s. My legs felt tighter and tighter with the 2nd 70 and into both of the 40 shuttles. My training leading up to weekend had focused on straight, shorter sprints and lifting. My legs weren’t ready for that kind of distance, after all, it is the off-season. The tennis ball drill proved to be tryout’s hardest drill, and my group does it last. First time through hurts, my legs were tense but nothing too bad. I completed it in a decent 44 seconds. Half way through my 2nd attempt, my legs were cramping and I was struggling to place the tennis ball on the cone correctly, but I wanted to break 40s, which seemed to be the standard of excellence among all the groups. I ended up misplacing a tennis ball and running a 42 second time, which was ok, but this is the event I thought I could beat everyone on, so I was nothing but disappointed.

By the time my group had finished the station, the other three groups had been done for 10 minutes or so. It was time to go on to our first scrimmage, and I happened to placed on a team that was savage for guys. Normally, when you think of scrimmages you can try to take a point or two off when you guard someone that isn’t as good, or as smart. Every team has them, but not this weekend. Point after point tested our ability to stay focused, get open in a somewhat unfamiliar atmosphere of coed ultimate and stay with your guy. These scrimmages pretty much rounded out the Saturday morning session which couldn’t come quick enough for me.

Back To It
After a Panera lunch, without hesitation we swung into the afternoon session with a short warm up. It started with a few more drills to test many aspects of the game, from cutting and throwing to marking. During the marking drill is when the nightmare began for me. I stepped out like I would for any other break mark throw, and the back spasms I’ve been unsuccessfully running from caught up with me. For the remainder of the day, you could see me lying on my back with my knees pulled to my chest when I wasn’t out on the field. The back spasms where making it nearly impossible to take deep breaths, I sounded like a K9 German shepherd after a drug chase. Short, quick breaths were all my body could handle. I did my best to keep up with the best in the game, but I’d say that effort was less than anything Team USA would consider. As the afternoon session wore on, I wore down, to the point where I was beginning to lose a lot of strength. With the day almost done, Ron got one more crack at us. Exercises with 40 yard sprints in 45 second intervals, which seemed to last 15 minutes, but in hindsight was probably more like 7 or 8 minutes. I sat down, barely able to move with knees pulled close to chest stretching my back so I could breath somewhat normally, and looked and Mac. We were both in agreement; that was the most tiring day of ultimate we had ever been a part of, but also one of the best.

Surviving Sunday
After spending much of Saturday night relaxing my back or doing Tina-prescribed stretches, my back was still tight as an E string, but feeling better. After Sunday morning’s warm up, my back loosens and is no longer a factor. This day’s main focus is winning one-on-one match ups. Both in drills and scrimmages, we were challenged mentally and physically by our teammates to win the matchup we were assigned on that point. All our drills and scrimmaging focused on that one goal: win your match up. My day is progressing much better than Saturday. I’m able to cut normally, and for the first time in 6 months I was able to jump normally. My ankle was messed up for a while, and was a very limiting factor in what I’ve been able to do over the past months. I was on cortisone for this weekend. And it felt great. The day would wind down with scrimmages and one more running drill at the end. They knew our legs were dead, and our minds were tired, but wanted to see how we would react against a set of long sprints and jogs. I’d say just about everyone reacted the way the coach wanted to see us. I believe Greg just wanted us to give 100% effort, whatever that might be at this point. The weekend was good and everyone definitely showed themselves as one of our sport’s elite.

In Reflection
After thinking back to Saturday and looking in on Sunday I realized there were only 3 or 4 layout D’s in over 6 hours of scrimmaging over the course of the weekend. I finally came to the conclusion, through pep talks by Coach and through observing the best in the game, that better decisions by throwers and the willingness of every player to always win their matchups on D were just not allowing tight D-able throws. You were either open or you weren't. A smart thrower wasn’t going force the issue when they have another superstar getting open at the same time. There was never a reason to throw something that wasn’t 100%. Most turnovers weren’t cause by D’s, but by poor throws or drops. The weekend’s mental and physical pressures began to wear down on everyone as the weekend wore on, and you could see decisions and execution suffer.

At the end of the weekend I felt euphoric, my dream of getting the chance to play for a team to represent the USA had come true. Though I thought my weekend could have gone better, I was happy for the chance. I never thought, through my years of playing hockey and soccer, that I’d ever get the chance to earn something with the letters USA on it. But I believe there is a sport in which everyone has at least a chance at greatness, and ultimate is mine.

For those in this weekend’s tryout, some friendly advice: take care of your body!

-EEE

Trembling Before Anticipated Evils

2009-02-23T04:20:00.004-07:00

"Once you lose someone it is never exactly/

the same person who comes back."

- Sharon Olds

Wednesday

Riley and I sat across from each other on worn leather couches in the upstairs lounge section of our neighborhood Borders Bookstore. We were discussing our lives in the months since the end of the club season, and characteristic of our conversations lately, it was an open and frank discussion. We each took turns opening small doors of ourselves for the other to appraise objectively and comment on. In a lull our conversation turned toward friends and our worries about them. As if on cue, my phone rang and the screen lit up with Muffin's name. I took the call. It was 9:30 in the evening.

"Yo Muff, what's up?" The usual intro. He'd planned his evening apart from us that night, both Riley and I were actually surprised to be hearing from him.

"Hector, my sister's missing."

"What are you talking about? What do you mean, missing?"

"Like, missing missing." He began to race through a series of details. His younger sister Jessica, a freshman at UW–Milwaukee, had not come home the night before, and no one had seen or heard from her since 1:00pm Tuesday, as she said goodbye to her roommate and left her suite on the way to class. Wednesday at 5:00pm, after receiving a call to the suite from her bank reporting suspicious activity in her account, her roommate called the police and sounded the alarm. A friend who she was supposed to meet on Tuesday night reported that she never showed up or contacted her. No one knew where Jessica was, and no one had a clue.

Muffin's mom had received the call shortly after the missing person report was filed, and for the next 3 hours tried desperately to reach Muffin and tell him the news. Muffin's surgically repaired foot is weeks from supporting any weight, however, and this makes little things like finding your phone and answering it epic tasks that require planning and motivation. When he finally got the news, hours of motherly hysteria had already ticked away. Now here he was, on the phone with me, unable to process the situation or its implications and asking me what to do. I took it as no small coincidence that Riley and I were together when he called, so I told Muffin to meet us at my house in Middleton where we could relax and better grasp what exactly was happening. I hung up, and Riley and I quickly gathered our things and got in my car, driving with a focused speed back to my house.

It had been almost 24 hours since I'd hung up the phone with Feldman on Tuesday night. A B-teamer had not paid his way on the chartered bus the Hodags and Belladonna had rented to drive them down to Mardi Gras, and the 55th and final spot on the bus was now open. The captains offered me a free ride and room in the hotel so that I might help them out during the weekend. Although it came on short notice and would still cost me, once there, more than I cared to spend, the offer had its appeal. Muffin's spot was already reserved, and I liked the idea of being able to revel with him on Bourbon Street one night and help the Hodags positively from the sideline all weekend. It's still very early in the season, and I wanted to be able to observe the players in a full weekend of play so that I could offer them better feedback about their strengths and weaknesses. I accepted the offer, and we made plans to touch base Wednesday to solidify the details.

But the next time we spoke it was to tell me the truant B-Teamer was claiming he paid, and so the spot on the bus they'd offered to me didn't exist. After a night of wrestling with my decision and finally making my peace with going, even allowing myself to get excited for the trip, I was pissed that now I had to redefine mentally what my weekend would be. I let Feldman know my displeasure at how this whole thing was going down.

"Let me work on it. Most likely someone's gonna oversleep and miss the bus Friday, so you should still pack your bags and I promise someone will get left behind." I knew he was likely right. Still, I wasn't in the mood to wake up at 5:00am in the hopes someone might oversleep, and told him so. He again repeated he'd look into what he could do, and hung up. Twenty minutes later Muffin called me at Borders, and now nothing about Mardi Gras mattered.

At my house, I peeled the foil off the cap of a bottle of 12 year old Chivas Regal and poured us each three fingers into distinguished tumblers of frosted glass. Saying we were unnerved would be an understatement; the moorings of our normalcy had been cut, and our minds were cast adrift.

Except for the moment when he called us to drop the news, Muffin had been on the phone with the UW–Milwaukee police, offering advice on leads to follow, people to talk to, questions to ask, and grilling the detectives about every last bit of information they had at that point. However, since the report wasn't filed until 5:00pm, the end of the business day, their ability to do anything substantive was limited. In the morning they would follow Muffin's recommendations, and look at her cell phone records and try to see if they could track down any ATM transactions that might have occurred. They would talk to classmates and look at professors' attendance sheets. Until then, we had only ourselves to deal with, and outsized worries our only company. I reached for a bottle of Spanish Tempranillo and uncorked some calm. Muffin and Riley played a game of chess, and despite dominating early, Riley's queen was captured after a careless move and Muffin picked him to pieces. In chess and life a moment of carelessness can pass without notice if one is lucky, or it can precipitate the endgame without mercy.

Muffin, for moments in those few hours, thought of something other than his missing sister. I could not. The first thing I'd done after he'd broken the news was call my own sister, a sophomore at the same university, and warn her to lock her door and not travel alone until we could find out what happened. I didn't have to stretch my imagination much to empathize fully with what Muffin was going through. Still, it was late. The futon awaited Riley; my bed called to me. Muffin left my house at 1am and drove the 40 minutes to his home so he could be there when his mother woke up, and immediately begin the search again. As I finally found sleep that night, I couldn't help trying to calculate a mathematics that didn't add up: one missing sister, zero contact, and now, with me warm and safe under my blankets, two nights where Jessica's own bed laid empty. 2am found me in a fitful sleep.

Thursday

Riley and I woke up shortly after 6:30, tired but alert. Concern has a way of cutting through fatigue to energize you. Over coffee and breakfast I called Muffin, hoping the sunrise had illuminated Jessica's whereabouts and we could all brush this off as a case of misplaced panic. Resolution would not come so easily. Muffin had taken the morning off to work the phones and get the latest information, but nothing new had yet come to light. I asked him to call me if he found out anything, and Riley hopped into the car with me on the way to his work. It was a still morning with a warming sun inside my 4Runner; outside it, cold winds dropped the temperature and burned your cheeks. I left Riley at his office and went about my own day, with Jessica trailing my every thought closely.

When I finally heard from Muffin it was close to noon. "Hector, when I got to work today the elevators were broken. I had to hop up all eight flights of stairs. The world is trying as hard as it can to break me. I won't let it yet."

He then broke down the latest, a piebald collection of clues that got us no closer to Jessica. Her bank accounts were intact; apart from a deposit cleared on Tuesday her account had been largely dormant. A cell phone had been found in her room, its SIM card missing. Her boyfriend had called her Tuesday at 3:30, and the call had been picked up, but all he could make out were ambient background noises; no one spoke. He hung up and called again; no one picked up. Another attempt a half hour later was sent straight to voicemail. She had missed her classes.

The outside world was also mobilizing. A Facebook group was started to get the word out, quickly snowballing past a hundred members. The university sent an email to all students with Jessica's description and last known whereabouts, and her friends printed out flyers and wallpapered the dorms and streets with them. On the home page of the police's website, a picture of her accompanied the phone number of a tip hotline.

Muffin sounded rightfully stressed at the end of our conversation. Jessica spoke to their mother almost daily, he said, and skipping town without telling anyone would be extremely out of character. Think of Occam's razor, I told him; the answer that made the most sense was that she was with friends somewhere and we'd hear from her soon. I did not, of course, mention the elephant in our conversation, the unmentionable thoughts that had gripped my mind and held it in a vice since I'd first heard about this whole thing; that something had gone horribly, horribly wrong on a cold Tuesday in Milwaukee and Jessica was hurt, kidnapped, or dead somewhere, and it was only a matter of time before we received the call that would confirm all our morbid fears. Instead, I told him to keep his head up, hold out hope, and assume the best.

When I hung up the phone I stayed for a moment parked outside my credit union, and exhaled. For many reasons, these last 3 months have been some of my most atheist. Still, I closed my eyes, bowed my head, and said a prayer. "God, if there is any way this can turn out well, please make it happen." I drove to work distracted.

Dinner came and went that Thursday night without an update. Muffin's sister was as lost as she had been before work. Pre-disappearance, Muff, Anne, and I had made plans to kick back in the evening at the frisbee house. I didn't know how relaxed I was going to get that evening with Jessica still unaccounted for, but Muff looked ready to take his mind off his search — for a little while, at least. We drove to the liquor store, where Anne and I each selected a six-pack of beer, and Muffin purchased a bottle of SoCo. The bottle was for the drive down to Mardi Gras on the bus, Muffin informed me, and as it was 9:00pm, I informed Muffin that the bus left in nine hours and his sister was still unaccounted for. He wouldn't hear it.

I wonder, now, what Muffin was thinking at the time. When we returned to the frisbee house and cracked open the first round of beers, I asked him if he was still seriously considering going.

"What can I possibly accomplish by staying? If I leave and they find her, then it's good. If I stay and they find her, same thing." He talked now as if strengthened by some internal certainty. I left my own questions unasked, though they played loud enough inside my own ears.

What if they find her and she's not fine? What if you're down in Mardi Gras and your mother is left alone to identify your sister in some Milwaukee morgue? I couldn't get these questions out of my head, and strangely they seemed to hold no purchase inside Muffin's. Was he thinking this, too, somewhere deep inside, and was eager to escape what would undoubtedly be his breaking point in his wrestling match with the world? Or, more likely, had he stoned himself against that reality, and had willed into his mind only one outcome, a miraculous return by his sister in the 11th hour to make this whole mess right?

You see, Muffin, more than anyone I know, has the ability to let the primitive id control his action and thought. This drive is what makes him frustratingly stubborn at times, overconfident of his reasoning. It's also the force that propels him to excel and meet every demand that he places on himself, so that any goal he sets is met without fail. In his head he had decided that his sister was safe, that all would end well, and since he believed so, it would soon be true.

These are all things that I came up with afterward, unpacking the stress and strain of these days. In that moment my mouth and eyes conveyed a shocked disbelief. On the couch there, I looked into Muffin and drank my beer.

My concentration broke. In a measure of silence, Jake entered the living room and in his traditional deadpan delivery addressed us, "It says on Facebook that they found Muffin's sister."

What? Stunned, I refused to believe it at first. I wanted it confirmed. Jake went back to the room and came back moments later. "Yeah, it says on the police website they found her."

Muffin, meanwhile, hadn't moved. He hadn't flinched when Jake spoke and he hadn't hesitated as he brought the bottle of beer to his lips and took a casual gulp. He continued on the couch as if nothing had happened except what he already knew would happen, lacking any surprise that his belief had been confirmed. The world would have to wait to break him some other time.

Six hours later, in the darkness before sunrise, Muffin threw his hung-over ass into a bus with 54 other people, and it departed for Baton Rouge. I stayed sleeping, warm and soundly this time. Mardi Gras, ultimate, the humdrum of our daily lives, all of it was relevant again.

Even now, I'm not exactly sure where Jessica was those long hours. I only know she's back, and she's ok. I am left to imagine what happened, and how loved she might feel, right now, knowing that in 36 hours hundreds of people broke from their routine to do everything they could to make sure she was safe.