Ultimate time
I spend Mondays daydreaming about Sunday’s Ultimate game. I try to replay my key moments from every camera angle. I still haven’t decided if my layout D was gratuitous, but it sure was sweet. Mr. Smith thinks I should have caught the disc, but I elected to knock it down once I knew it was in my hand. I also still can’t decide what made me think I could squeeze an inside-out forehand around my teammate cutting across the lane to another teammate cutting in. Mr. Cut-across got whacked in the side of the head. Oops.
Now, about “Ultimate Time”. Ultimate time is kind of like 15 Hawaiian minutes or a New York minute. It means “whenever” and usally later rather than sooner. I don’t understand it though. The Hawaiians are laid back so that’s their excuse. The New Yorkers try to hurry, but there’s just so gosh darn many of them that they end up late. Ultimate players, though, what’s their story? If I was running the show “Ultimate time” would mean EARLY. It should be like Christmas morning. I can’t wait any longer to play with my new toys. We have to get up NOW! That’s how I feel about Ultimate. I’m almost always the first one at the fields. I usually have time to run a warm-up, stretch, put on my cleats and throw the disc to myself for a few minutes before any of the “early” players show up. I kind of understand if it’s a Sunday morning during a tournament. Those days are hard to get up for. After all, those usually come after you’ve been eating, drinking (often too much) and sleeping Ultimate for an entire weekend. Ok, maybe those players can be 15 minutes late once and a while, but the casual players? What have they done? Gone an exhausting round at church? Worked their fingers to the bone switching between the Redskins game and the Ravens game? Come on people. Dave wants to play! Put your pants on and let’s go. I do mean pants. You might regret that.