Meat. It's for eatin'
I went pescetarian for two months. This was not a decision that I made lightly, although it seemed like it. My pescetarian ways started on a bet at a vegetarian joint in Canada. Nope. Not lightly. I know some vegetarians and what they lack in meat-based protein they generally make up in overall coolness. Still, I'm a KC meat guy. They moved cows in my town. I bleed bar-b-que sauce.
Yet, as I ate meat-lover's poutine (it's a Montreal hangover cure that doesn't inherently require meat only fries, gravy, and cheese curds), I found my heart racing and rather than blame the curds I chose to pick on poor defenseless piles of meat. So after some discussion and a delicious meal of non-meat items my pescetarian path unfolded before me. No meat, except the fishes and I don't like fishes.
What had I signed on for? I blamed meat for my poor eating habits and figured if I removed the mammal, I could force myself into a food pyramid. There were some faulty assumptions in there, but I dove into couscous and tofu hard. I finally got around to slicing and cooking up sweet potatoes and kale. I ate fruit- pears, peaches, apples. For two weeks, it was veg-tastic. I shifted my paradigm. I didn't need to have a slab of protein as the centerpiece. I could instead have a series of sides. It was not as unsatisfying as I imagined.
The first real challenge came at a meal with my coworkers. I had steered them away from the seafood joints prior to signing up for this new lifestyle, so they could have registered surprise when I ordered tilapia, but I learned a non-vegetarian lesson that day- even people up in your business aren't always paying attention. Tilapia was the only option I could find that wouldn't make me a bet loser. It was crusted and the fish taste was minor. I survived. Maybe even thrived.
The next big challenge either came at an Ultimate tournament or a rehearsal dinner. Either way, the story was the same- BBQ. I ate cole slaw, beans, and buns and hoped to find an egg salad sandwich later in the evening. This stung a little, but I had a bet and was highly motivated. The Ultimate tournament was manageable, but the rehearsal dinner was pescetarianism under a magnifying glass. It's hard to hide meat-shirking from a family. There was not much hiding here. My cover was blown, but I wasn't backing down.
More weeks went by and I battled on with pasta and some tuna salad sandwiches. I wasn't about to lose. I was cruising along thinking maybe I could make a permanent change when two events struck back to back. First came the steak house. When someone ordered ribs after I'd ordered a sweet potato and a salad, my tear ducts quivered. I held back the waterworks, but just barely. Next came the portobello cheeseburger. It was an ok sandwich on its own, but as a faux-cheeseburger it burned my insides with its inferiority. I longed for beef. Each bite was mushroom covered defeat. It was almost sickening.
I'd learned some things during the challenge. Maybe I could survive without making meat the sun of my dinner solar system. Maybe to eat healthy I needed to focus more on portion size and the particular components of a meal, rather than on trying to assign blame to some poor animal flesh. These were the lessons, but my challenge lacked completion. The bet had gone a bit off the tracks, so I set my sights on the two-month mark. I was going to make it to that point without meat. I dug in, chugged couscous and made it.
To celebrate I ate a pepperoni pizza, a small cheeseburger, and a tofu explosion. I'm kidding about the tofu explosion. There are some things that require bacon. Maybe I'll cling to what I've learned and let someone else eat those things.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Dear legs, please don't quit on me
Since Tuesday's squeaker second-place finish, I have run a track workout- 2 times 4 by 400m at 69 second pace with 90 seconds rest and 3:30 between sets, run a 4.5 miler, played shoddy laid-back Ultimate, biked 23 miles, run a 5k race, and hiked 4 or so miles.
When I woke up this morning for the local Earth Day 5k, I thought my legs might go on strike. If I hadn't already paid an entry fee, I likely would have bailed. The event was so close to my house that after I picked up my packet, I jogged a warm up home to drop off my new t-shirt and socks. I knew several of the participants from the local running store runs. The atmosphere was relaxed. One of the runners suggested that victory could well be mine, but like most runners I supplied appropriate doubts. It wasn't modesty talking, it was soreness.
The race was an out and back course, with most of the first mile on a long sloping downhill and everyone fully aware that going down meant coming up. I toed the starting line because not many others seemed to want to. Once GO was uttered and the chips were activated, my mind went a little blank. We soared down the hill. I was running in fourth or fifth for a while as we ripped through a mile in 5:21. The leader soon established his dominance and I found myself trailing an older man in a jersey with the words "third place" on the back. After looking at those words for a while and thinking about the potential prize money, I decided that it was my duty to help this gentlemen attain his jersey-given name, so soon after crossing the 2 mile at 11:10, I moved into second place. When we turned back up the long hill, I had the good fortune of being so far out of first that a second pacer on a bike appeared to lead us on the course. This gave me someone to chase up the hill. I chased well for a while and then the pain began to set in. I slowed, kept the visions of cash close at hand, and fought on. I'd opened up a sizable gap on third, but could feel the gap shrinking.
There was a pretty good internal battle going at this point, but I just wanted it to be over. With several glances behind me, I finally made it across the line at 17:55. The little pay day was mine. I was more than a minute out of first and had taken second by just a few seconds. My legs did not fall off. Hopefully, the earth appreciated it.
Tomorrow, I rest.
Since Tuesday's squeaker second-place finish, I have run a track workout- 2 times 4 by 400m at 69 second pace with 90 seconds rest and 3:30 between sets, run a 4.5 miler, played shoddy laid-back Ultimate, biked 23 miles, run a 5k race, and hiked 4 or so miles.
When I woke up this morning for the local Earth Day 5k, I thought my legs might go on strike. If I hadn't already paid an entry fee, I likely would have bailed. The event was so close to my house that after I picked up my packet, I jogged a warm up home to drop off my new t-shirt and socks. I knew several of the participants from the local running store runs. The atmosphere was relaxed. One of the runners suggested that victory could well be mine, but like most runners I supplied appropriate doubts. It wasn't modesty talking, it was soreness.
The race was an out and back course, with most of the first mile on a long sloping downhill and everyone fully aware that going down meant coming up. I toed the starting line because not many others seemed to want to. Once GO was uttered and the chips were activated, my mind went a little blank. We soared down the hill. I was running in fourth or fifth for a while as we ripped through a mile in 5:21. The leader soon established his dominance and I found myself trailing an older man in a jersey with the words "third place" on the back. After looking at those words for a while and thinking about the potential prize money, I decided that it was my duty to help this gentlemen attain his jersey-given name, so soon after crossing the 2 mile at 11:10, I moved into second place. When we turned back up the long hill, I had the good fortune of being so far out of first that a second pacer on a bike appeared to lead us on the course. This gave me someone to chase up the hill. I chased well for a while and then the pain began to set in. I slowed, kept the visions of cash close at hand, and fought on. I'd opened up a sizable gap on third, but could feel the gap shrinking.
There was a pretty good internal battle going at this point, but I just wanted it to be over. With several glances behind me, I finally made it across the line at 17:55. The little pay day was mine. I was more than a minute out of first and had taken second by just a few seconds. My legs did not fall off. Hopefully, the earth appreciated it.
Tomorrow, I rest.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
An April mile
Two nights ago, ignoring the triple threat of rain, traffic, and straying so far outside the DC city lines, my friend M and I journeyed to the untamed suburb of Gaithersburg, Maryland to test our mettle on the Quince Orchard High School track in the mile.
We spent quite a while cruising up and down an avenue, desperately missing those who had organized and directed us in the past or at least a map. With minutes to spare we arrived at the track in time to register and then wait.
The evening was divided into heats with the milers predicting times over 10 minutes going first, 9 to 10 minutes second, 8 to 9 next, and on down. Almost every heat seemed to share several characteristics.
1. Someone (or several people) would start out faster than they intended to and fade painfully.
2. Someone would run 30 seconds or more below the low end of their predicted time.
3. Much to the crowd's delight there would be a furious agonizingly close finish for at least one pair of people.
M and I studied and applauded these heats and planned our strategy. M ran first and with a little coaxing agreed that if she could hold 7:30 pace for a half-marathon; she could run in the 6 to 7 minute mile heat. This was her first timed mile and so she plotted a conservative approach. She started off well at the back of the pack as planned. Her heat was HUGE and she shared the track with about 30 people. Entering the second lap, I thought she made a big move, but was told later that 10 high school kids were regretting their fast start allowing her to smartly move up to around the middle of the heat. She crossed the half mile in 3:21 and continued to look comfortable and on pace. The crowd was forcing her to lane 2 on the turns, but she cruised on. M stayed steady throughout, passing a few more people on lap 3 and keeping pace on lap 4. She picked off one more entering the final turn and headed home with a 6:38 mile. She had a new personal record! She looked strong and I suspect there may be some untapped speed in there, but we'll wait to find that out next time.
The evening wore on, the crowd thinned, and 7 runners toed the line as a light rain began to fall on what had become the under 5:30 mile heat. My goal was to run under 5 minutes. When the gun went off, 4 runners jumped out front and I tucked in a few yards behind. The man in front was soon out of reach, second place had 15 yards and the runner in third, fourth, and
and I all crossed the first lap in 75 seconds, right about on pace. I thought I was pouring it on in laps 2 and 3, especially since I passed and put some distance between the now fourth and fifth place runners, but instead I clocked times of about 77 and 75, just off the desired pace. With the final lap, I set my sights on second place. I'd shed my glasses since it was raining, but I could still see that I was gaining on the runner in white. He was a blur, but I didn't need to see his features to know that he was a ways in front. I thought his lead was too great, but I went after him anyway. I gained a few yards on the backstretch and gained a few more on the homestretch, but the distance wasn't closing fast enough. As we made our way over the last 80 yards, I kept staring at his back waiting for him to pour it on as I gave chase. I believe that if he'd had just a hard step or two, I would have been broken and stuck in third. Instead, somehow with 10 yards left, I pulled even with him and then slid past. The runner reacted with a late kick, but the finish line arrived just in time. Second place and a 4:57 mile were mine.
Two nights ago, ignoring the triple threat of rain, traffic, and straying so far outside the DC city lines, my friend M and I journeyed to the untamed suburb of Gaithersburg, Maryland to test our mettle on the Quince Orchard High School track in the mile.
We spent quite a while cruising up and down an avenue, desperately missing those who had organized and directed us in the past or at least a map. With minutes to spare we arrived at the track in time to register and then wait.
The evening was divided into heats with the milers predicting times over 10 minutes going first, 9 to 10 minutes second, 8 to 9 next, and on down. Almost every heat seemed to share several characteristics.
1. Someone (or several people) would start out faster than they intended to and fade painfully.
2. Someone would run 30 seconds or more below the low end of their predicted time.
3. Much to the crowd's delight there would be a furious agonizingly close finish for at least one pair of people.
M and I studied and applauded these heats and planned our strategy. M ran first and with a little coaxing agreed that if she could hold 7:30 pace for a half-marathon; she could run in the 6 to 7 minute mile heat. This was her first timed mile and so she plotted a conservative approach. She started off well at the back of the pack as planned. Her heat was HUGE and she shared the track with about 30 people. Entering the second lap, I thought she made a big move, but was told later that 10 high school kids were regretting their fast start allowing her to smartly move up to around the middle of the heat. She crossed the half mile in 3:21 and continued to look comfortable and on pace. The crowd was forcing her to lane 2 on the turns, but she cruised on. M stayed steady throughout, passing a few more people on lap 3 and keeping pace on lap 4. She picked off one more entering the final turn and headed home with a 6:38 mile. She had a new personal record! She looked strong and I suspect there may be some untapped speed in there, but we'll wait to find that out next time.
The evening wore on, the crowd thinned, and 7 runners toed the line as a light rain began to fall on what had become the under 5:30 mile heat. My goal was to run under 5 minutes. When the gun went off, 4 runners jumped out front and I tucked in a few yards behind. The man in front was soon out of reach, second place had 15 yards and the runner in third, fourth, and
and I all crossed the first lap in 75 seconds, right about on pace. I thought I was pouring it on in laps 2 and 3, especially since I passed and put some distance between the now fourth and fifth place runners, but instead I clocked times of about 77 and 75, just off the desired pace. With the final lap, I set my sights on second place. I'd shed my glasses since it was raining, but I could still see that I was gaining on the runner in white. He was a blur, but I didn't need to see his features to know that he was a ways in front. I thought his lead was too great, but I went after him anyway. I gained a few yards on the backstretch and gained a few more on the homestretch, but the distance wasn't closing fast enough. As we made our way over the last 80 yards, I kept staring at his back waiting for him to pour it on as I gave chase. I believe that if he'd had just a hard step or two, I would have been broken and stuck in third. Instead, somehow with 10 yards left, I pulled even with him and then slid past. The runner reacted with a late kick, but the finish line arrived just in time. Second place and a 4:57 mile were mine.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
I've got a theory
Groups with enthusiasm are an awesome force. Saturday night I was part of a sing-a-long birthday party. We had parts and dressed up and we performed. Some more than others. The stage was set on a cardboard and construction paper Sunnydale, California. If we'd ripped up the carpet we probably would have found a cardboard Hellmouth, but we were contented with magic shop contents and eating at The Bronze between the store fronts of main street. The Buffy The Vampire Slayer TV show episode "Once More with Feeling" was our assignment and celebrating Kim was our motivation.
I practiced many hours to learn the part of Xander as best I could. I still clung to the security of my script during my songs. Others either practiced more or have more natural talents. It was an impressive display of modest singing ability. The most impressive part was the enthusiasm everyone shared. We were into it and thrilled by each performance. People knew or made up choreography. Everyone smiled and laughed and sang like he or she was in the episode. We could have been the understudies. I'm a little biased, but it was that good. And if it wasn't, at least it was that much fun.
Somehow, it felt like more than fun . It was more like teamwork. It felt like it meant more than just a sing-a-long. I've heard most of my friends sing karaoke in that same basement, but this was bigger. I saw the talents of my friends in a renewed light. It felt important that we had trusted each other enough to show that we cared about something, even a basement performance. The event didn't transform my view of my friends, but it reminded me a little of what it was like to first meet them and be amazed. That's a special gift and quite a party.
Groups with enthusiasm are an awesome force. Saturday night I was part of a sing-a-long birthday party. We had parts and dressed up and we performed. Some more than others. The stage was set on a cardboard and construction paper Sunnydale, California. If we'd ripped up the carpet we probably would have found a cardboard Hellmouth, but we were contented with magic shop contents and eating at The Bronze between the store fronts of main street. The Buffy The Vampire Slayer TV show episode "Once More with Feeling" was our assignment and celebrating Kim was our motivation.
I practiced many hours to learn the part of Xander as best I could. I still clung to the security of my script during my songs. Others either practiced more or have more natural talents. It was an impressive display of modest singing ability. The most impressive part was the enthusiasm everyone shared. We were into it and thrilled by each performance. People knew or made up choreography. Everyone smiled and laughed and sang like he or she was in the episode. We could have been the understudies. I'm a little biased, but it was that good. And if it wasn't, at least it was that much fun.
Somehow, it felt like more than fun . It was more like teamwork. It felt like it meant more than just a sing-a-long. I've heard most of my friends sing karaoke in that same basement, but this was bigger. I saw the talents of my friends in a renewed light. It felt important that we had trusted each other enough to show that we cared about something, even a basement performance. The event didn't transform my view of my friends, but it reminded me a little of what it was like to first meet them and be amazed. That's a special gift and quite a party.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Making up for lost time
March Madness
The Missouri Tigers run to the elite 8 did wonders for my bracket, for a moment making me a believer as I captured all 8 of the elite correctly. Then UConn and Michigan State destroyed my hopes and sent me to 14th place. I watched too much basketball and enjoyed some nice mad moments. I rushed out of work and headed to a sports bar to watch Maryland win their first round game. It was a bit like being in church. I felt fellowship with the Terps fans as the emotions rose and fell while I took sips of my beer. Maybe not exactly like church. Those two little guards from American giving a scare to Villanova was a treat. My favorite game was a women's game.
It was Maryland vs. Vanderbilt. I was flipping channels and I caught the start and couldn't stop watching. Maryland was heavily favored, but Vanderbilt came out scrapping from the jump. They were led by a senior and she was having a day. She was 5 to 7 inches shorter than the women she was guarding, but she was swatting balls away, making steals, getting rebounds, and finding ways to score. Her scrappy attitude put Vandy out in front of Maryland, way in front. With her on the court, Vanderbilt was unstoppable, but she got some fouls and needed some rest and Maryland managed to stay within striking distance. Vandy kept fighting all game long, but one Maryland player, Marissa Coleman (who recently became a Washington Mystic in the WNBA) refused to lose. She put Maryland on her back and scored 42 points. It was a great battle. I didn't need a bracket to enjoy fiery competition.
Sectionals Madness as told with help of a halfbeard
"I'm dressed for you today. I'm wearing these cargo pants, so you can put all of your baggage in my pockets. I'm wearing this tie-dye shirt so you can play with calm and chill. I'm wearing this hat so you remember that divided we fail, but united we stand. Teamwork. And I have this ridiculous beard because I Want You TO PLAY RIDICULOUS!"
After seven months of growing an increasingly charming(?) beard, I finally shaved half of it in part as an effort to inspire my team to overcome the odds and go on to Sectional glory. I agreed that I'd go to work looking ridiculous if we met our early season goals. The plan had been laid out, though not followed, and the section was ripe for a shake up.
I was doing my coaching best, which leaves something to be desired, but has progressed since September. The team was seeded seventh overall and second in our pool. It was going to take an incredible amount of gelling and a bit of good luck to get where we wanted to be, but I've taken to searching for wells of optimism. The sun was shining, but the wind was blowing. Discs and wind are a bit like coffee and Irish creme. The right amount can be wonderful, but mess up the ratio and trouble awaits. The first game was against Johns Hopkins. The game was like the halfbeard, sometimes hairy, sometimes nearly smooth, never exactly pretty. At universe point, we blew it and our lofty goals took their first hit. My well of optimism sank, but JA said it well as we would time and again over the weekend, "We didn't come here to go undefeated. We came to go to Regionals."
So the team rallied a bit and polished off the 4 seed Maryland B in marginally convincing fashion. The biggest problem in that game other than the spate of dropped passes was our ailing star Lemon who took another hit trying to help the team and his limited playing time was reduced further. After a bye, Bad Habit took on Delaware B and with a little help from their disinterest steamrolled to a 13-1 victory, narrowly missing a shutout. Life was further improved when Maryland B upset Johns Hopkins at universe point, making way for Habit to at least make it into the 3rd place bracket comfortably. Still, the 1 seed, GW awaited. For the first few points, Habit held serve and looked strong doing it. Stills was playing his heart out, but slowly the facade began to show cracks. GW put on a zone and then reeled off 4 in a row and never looked back. Stills came up with one of the individual highlights for the team with a huge layout D on a swing pass, but Habit couldn't find a groove and GW ran away. With a 2-2 record, Habit would have to come out strong on Sunday and reel off 4 wins. It was a tall order, made taller by a lack of depth. The team was carrying more members than usual, but practice together had been limited and it was difficult for me to tell who could be counted on in the clutch. This was made even more difficult by my general fondness for the group I was with. I had to balance optimism and realism as we entered the game on Sunday against Salisbury.
We came out with very little punch on Sunday and things did not go our way. Salisbury dispatched of us and our poor throws rather quickly and our Regional aspirations were gone before I knew what hit us. A series of mistakes and missed opportunities along with an inability to capitalize continued to haunt us. We went on to play in the seventh place bracket.
I set a poor tone for the game against GMU. My line calling was as lax as my attitude and I was far from alone. Down way too many, the team finally dug in and pulled out a miracle by coming back from down 12-7 or 8 and winning at universe point 14-13. It wasn't pretty, but they did the job. That victory meant a match-up with the host St. Mary's and a chance to prove that we had deserved to be seeded 7th to their 8th. Feeding off the GMU game, Habit sliced up everything St. Mary's put out. SM scored 4 or 5 and showed that her recent dominance is only in its beginning stages. For subs, I was rotating the top 7 to 9 through about 5 or 6 spots and trying to get the other players in as much as possible in the other 2 spots. It seemed to be working all right. The top group was playing well, and KG and Classics made a push to really fill out some of the gaps, while SM, Tini, and Frodo all had solid performances in their limited points. The team was starting to be a team.
Bye-bye St. Mary's, hello rematch with Salisbury. The Salisbury Buzz weren't really interested in playing for seventh, but after a weekend of hemming and hawing, we had finally found some kind of groove. I kept with the same substitution game plan for the next game, and got huge points from KG and Classics again. The starters were playing great and this became a battle of attrition. KG wasn't interested in much attrition and came up with about a zillion D's using his little spring-loaded legs, and then grabbed several scores to boot. JA found a way to get deep and AJ started finding a way to get his big throws to him. Salisbury found themselves in a mighty battle. JG continued his solid play finding big gaps for cross-field throws and just making the offense run through him. The score went back and forth. We'd go on a run and then the Buzz would answer. At Lemon's urging I used our timeouts to stop runs and it seemed to work pretty well. JM hit on a backhand for a score and the tide seemed to be turning, but the Buzz kept finding answers. The battle was reaching epic status when Banjo made a huge grab for a score on an out cut, took the body blow and held on to the disc. Frodo tried to fight his way to victory. At 13-13, we were receiving for universe point. We had at least 2 chances, one 5 yards from the goal line and one on a deep cut with two receivers, but couldn't finish it off. We ended up 8th.
It was nowhere near where we wanted to be, but there were many things to be proud of and as a team we got what we worked for. Hopefully, we'll learn from it. At the end of the last game, an effusive fellow stopped by and in an apparent sober but heartfelt moment detailed his personal history and love for the game. It was awkward and slightly uncomfortable, but the message that I heard was spot on. That message: "Whatever you're playing for, there is a honor in competing and giving it your all. Be proud that you took part and enjoy the moments."
Right on, guy. Don't cry.
March Madness
The Missouri Tigers run to the elite 8 did wonders for my bracket, for a moment making me a believer as I captured all 8 of the elite correctly. Then UConn and Michigan State destroyed my hopes and sent me to 14th place. I watched too much basketball and enjoyed some nice mad moments. I rushed out of work and headed to a sports bar to watch Maryland win their first round game. It was a bit like being in church. I felt fellowship with the Terps fans as the emotions rose and fell while I took sips of my beer. Maybe not exactly like church. Those two little guards from American giving a scare to Villanova was a treat. My favorite game was a women's game.
It was Maryland vs. Vanderbilt. I was flipping channels and I caught the start and couldn't stop watching. Maryland was heavily favored, but Vanderbilt came out scrapping from the jump. They were led by a senior and she was having a day. She was 5 to 7 inches shorter than the women she was guarding, but she was swatting balls away, making steals, getting rebounds, and finding ways to score. Her scrappy attitude put Vandy out in front of Maryland, way in front. With her on the court, Vanderbilt was unstoppable, but she got some fouls and needed some rest and Maryland managed to stay within striking distance. Vandy kept fighting all game long, but one Maryland player, Marissa Coleman (who recently became a Washington Mystic in the WNBA) refused to lose. She put Maryland on her back and scored 42 points. It was a great battle. I didn't need a bracket to enjoy fiery competition.
Sectionals Madness as told with help of a halfbeard
"I'm dressed for you today. I'm wearing these cargo pants, so you can put all of your baggage in my pockets. I'm wearing this tie-dye shirt so you can play with calm and chill. I'm wearing this hat so you remember that divided we fail, but united we stand. Teamwork. And I have this ridiculous beard because I Want You TO PLAY RIDICULOUS!"
After seven months of growing an increasingly charming(?) beard, I finally shaved half of it in part as an effort to inspire my team to overcome the odds and go on to Sectional glory. I agreed that I'd go to work looking ridiculous if we met our early season goals. The plan had been laid out, though not followed, and the section was ripe for a shake up.
I was doing my coaching best, which leaves something to be desired, but has progressed since September. The team was seeded seventh overall and second in our pool. It was going to take an incredible amount of gelling and a bit of good luck to get where we wanted to be, but I've taken to searching for wells of optimism. The sun was shining, but the wind was blowing. Discs and wind are a bit like coffee and Irish creme. The right amount can be wonderful, but mess up the ratio and trouble awaits. The first game was against Johns Hopkins. The game was like the halfbeard, sometimes hairy, sometimes nearly smooth, never exactly pretty. At universe point, we blew it and our lofty goals took their first hit. My well of optimism sank, but JA said it well as we would time and again over the weekend, "We didn't come here to go undefeated. We came to go to Regionals."
So the team rallied a bit and polished off the 4 seed Maryland B in marginally convincing fashion. The biggest problem in that game other than the spate of dropped passes was our ailing star Lemon who took another hit trying to help the team and his limited playing time was reduced further. After a bye, Bad Habit took on Delaware B and with a little help from their disinterest steamrolled to a 13-1 victory, narrowly missing a shutout. Life was further improved when Maryland B upset Johns Hopkins at universe point, making way for Habit to at least make it into the 3rd place bracket comfortably. Still, the 1 seed, GW awaited. For the first few points, Habit held serve and looked strong doing it. Stills was playing his heart out, but slowly the facade began to show cracks. GW put on a zone and then reeled off 4 in a row and never looked back. Stills came up with one of the individual highlights for the team with a huge layout D on a swing pass, but Habit couldn't find a groove and GW ran away. With a 2-2 record, Habit would have to come out strong on Sunday and reel off 4 wins. It was a tall order, made taller by a lack of depth. The team was carrying more members than usual, but practice together had been limited and it was difficult for me to tell who could be counted on in the clutch. This was made even more difficult by my general fondness for the group I was with. I had to balance optimism and realism as we entered the game on Sunday against Salisbury.
We came out with very little punch on Sunday and things did not go our way. Salisbury dispatched of us and our poor throws rather quickly and our Regional aspirations were gone before I knew what hit us. A series of mistakes and missed opportunities along with an inability to capitalize continued to haunt us. We went on to play in the seventh place bracket.
I set a poor tone for the game against GMU. My line calling was as lax as my attitude and I was far from alone. Down way too many, the team finally dug in and pulled out a miracle by coming back from down 12-7 or 8 and winning at universe point 14-13. It wasn't pretty, but they did the job. That victory meant a match-up with the host St. Mary's and a chance to prove that we had deserved to be seeded 7th to their 8th. Feeding off the GMU game, Habit sliced up everything St. Mary's put out. SM scored 4 or 5 and showed that her recent dominance is only in its beginning stages. For subs, I was rotating the top 7 to 9 through about 5 or 6 spots and trying to get the other players in as much as possible in the other 2 spots. It seemed to be working all right. The top group was playing well, and KG and Classics made a push to really fill out some of the gaps, while SM, Tini, and Frodo all had solid performances in their limited points. The team was starting to be a team.
Bye-bye St. Mary's, hello rematch with Salisbury. The Salisbury Buzz weren't really interested in playing for seventh, but after a weekend of hemming and hawing, we had finally found some kind of groove. I kept with the same substitution game plan for the next game, and got huge points from KG and Classics again. The starters were playing great and this became a battle of attrition. KG wasn't interested in much attrition and came up with about a zillion D's using his little spring-loaded legs, and then grabbed several scores to boot. JA found a way to get deep and AJ started finding a way to get his big throws to him. Salisbury found themselves in a mighty battle. JG continued his solid play finding big gaps for cross-field throws and just making the offense run through him. The score went back and forth. We'd go on a run and then the Buzz would answer. At Lemon's urging I used our timeouts to stop runs and it seemed to work pretty well. JM hit on a backhand for a score and the tide seemed to be turning, but the Buzz kept finding answers. The battle was reaching epic status when Banjo made a huge grab for a score on an out cut, took the body blow and held on to the disc. Frodo tried to fight his way to victory. At 13-13, we were receiving for universe point. We had at least 2 chances, one 5 yards from the goal line and one on a deep cut with two receivers, but couldn't finish it off. We ended up 8th.
It was nowhere near where we wanted to be, but there were many things to be proud of and as a team we got what we worked for. Hopefully, we'll learn from it. At the end of the last game, an effusive fellow stopped by and in an apparent sober but heartfelt moment detailed his personal history and love for the game. It was awkward and slightly uncomfortable, but the message that I heard was spot on. That message: "Whatever you're playing for, there is a honor in competing and giving it your all. Be proud that you took part and enjoy the moments."
Right on, guy. Don't cry.
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