Thomas Edison, I am not
A hat tournament is an opportunity to reinvent yourself. Names are put into a hat, or paper sack in this case, drawn out and assigned to teams. This randomly drawn group of people spends the day together playing Ultimate and trying to defeat other randomly drawn groups of people.
This is the second hat tournament of my life. All I recall of the first is that it nearly ended in death by heat exhaustion. It definitely ended in vomiting and a brutal car trip from Columbia to St. Louis. Thanks to good friends and whatever it is that keeps me going, I survived.
This past Monday was no ice cooler filled with beer. It was more like charcoal grill just getting warmed up. I drank plenty of fluids in anticipation. Back to the reinventing...
I took the field with new people that only knew a name and the fact that I was prepared to spend my day in the heat chasing plastic like they were. I was not quiet, or fiery, or even good to them. I don't know if I'm those things to other people. I just know that in other places I sometimes feel the weight of expectations. Here, I was Dave and I was going to play. There is something refreshing and invigorating about that. My team was filled with cutters. We aren't the people that pick up the disc and make the big hucks. We aren't the tall people bringing down those long throws. We were a bunch of 6 foot or less movers with ok throws, ok hops, and decent speed. There was one true handler on our team; so for much of the day I, like many others, shared in the handling responsibilites. I also wound sharing in the leadership responsibilities. That's a mantle I take reluctantly, but somehow I think my scoring and my personal battles on defense had elevated me to leader. There are some roles that apparently can't easily be turned down. With this came cheerleader, strategy-maker, and even a little of the dreaded rules expert.
At one point I raised my rules expert mantle a bit too high. In a heated battle, as I was chasing down a long throw with my defender on my heels, as I readied to leap into the air and grab a score, my defender jumped up and swiped the disc right out of the sky above me. There is a rule called the principle of verticality. It states that a person has a right to the space immediately above him/her. The disc had been immediately above me and so I called foul based on the rule. A discussion ensued and my opponent may have mentioned not so kindly how he had played defense above my head- he had "skyed" me. I argued that I had a right to my vertical space. I stared into his eyes refusing to back down. He stared back angrily. Then he said, "If that's true, how could anyone ever sky anyone?"
At that moment I could no longer keep the anger boiling inside of me. I felt a smile creep to the corners of my mouth. Here we were nearing the end of a gorgeous day playing a game. He had probably made a spectacular jump to steal my score away. Even if the principle of verticality supported* me, I wasn't sure it mattered. Those corners quickly became a full smile and I replied, "I have no idea. Turnover."
I felt good about the call. I worried a little that I'd backed down from confrontation, but my worry quickly dissipated when he checked the disc in and immediately threw it into the ground.
They went on to win and play for the championship. My team of cutters (I love how by the end of the day "a" team becomes "my" team) proudly took third place.
*The principle of verticality actually doesn't support my argument as he didn't contact me; he just jumped over me. The UPA rules (more rules!) state: "The Principle of Verticality: All players have the right to the space immediately above them. Thus, a player cannot prevent an opponent from making an attempt on a pass by reaching over an opponent. Should contact occur before the outcome of the play is determined, it is a foul on the player restricting the vertical space."
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Saturday, May 27, 2006
plane with a view
A good window seat on the airplane is like a really slow ViewMaster. Thursday, I awoke from my nap as the plane neared St. Louis. I began scanning my home state looking for something familiar. I saw some lakes and rivers that I wasn't sure I could identify. I saw the road split around a warehouse in a place that might be Osage Beach. Eventually I was able to identify the Missouri river. It's big and brown, even from the sky. From the river, I knew I would eventually come to Interstate 70 (my favorite-est Interstate). The question on my mind and on the minds of those like-minded was whether I had passed Columbia. Near the river I spotted a large road, one with an interstate quality; it turned to the North and crossed the big brown Missouri in a rather familiar way. I followed the road through a town and soon my eyes arrived at the big "M". Much Merrymaking Mandated Mindfulness in my Utterly Unexpected excUrsison over Utopia, MU. Soaring by my alma mater at 600 mph, I was able to make out various stadiums and arenas, Stankowski field, the South Quad, and Jesse Hall. Old Missouri, Fair Missouri, you're really small from 15,000 feet.
The glory of my window seat was not just about being up on the top, upon the top of Columbia. No, no, my window seat had more fight. And a bully for that. As I arrived in St. Louis, my ViewMaster of alabaster came through again unveiling downtown and the gateway to the West in the east, the 630-foot tall arch. Cruising into Illinois to make a u-turn, I was able to view the arch from all sides.
To cap off my day, we punched through the clouds just after dark in DC and I stared right past the Washington monument, down the mall, and into the twinkling lights of the capitol. We squealed to a stop and the circle of tiny slides was complete.
A good window seat on the airplane is like a really slow ViewMaster. Thursday, I awoke from my nap as the plane neared St. Louis. I began scanning my home state looking for something familiar. I saw some lakes and rivers that I wasn't sure I could identify. I saw the road split around a warehouse in a place that might be Osage Beach. Eventually I was able to identify the Missouri river. It's big and brown, even from the sky. From the river, I knew I would eventually come to Interstate 70 (my favorite-est Interstate). The question on my mind and on the minds of those like-minded was whether I had passed Columbia. Near the river I spotted a large road, one with an interstate quality; it turned to the North and crossed the big brown Missouri in a rather familiar way. I followed the road through a town and soon my eyes arrived at the big "M". Much Merrymaking Mandated Mindfulness in my Utterly Unexpected excUrsison over Utopia, MU. Soaring by my alma mater at 600 mph, I was able to make out various stadiums and arenas, Stankowski field, the South Quad, and Jesse Hall. Old Missouri, Fair Missouri, you're really small from 15,000 feet.
The glory of my window seat was not just about being up on the top, upon the top of Columbia. No, no, my window seat had more fight. And a bully for that. As I arrived in St. Louis, my ViewMaster of alabaster came through again unveiling downtown and the gateway to the West in the east, the 630-foot tall arch. Cruising into Illinois to make a u-turn, I was able to view the arch from all sides.
To cap off my day, we punched through the clouds just after dark in DC and I stared right past the Washington monument, down the mall, and into the twinkling lights of the capitol. We squealed to a stop and the circle of tiny slides was complete.
Thursday, May 25, 2006
You can do what with stamps?
Denver- Desperately, I have searched for stamps. I wanted post card stamps, but I was ready to settle for good old fashioned first class stamps. I finally gathered up the courage to ask the convenience store guy.
"Any chance you've got stamps here?"
"We've got packs of two for $1.39."
My math is sometimes rusty and the prices of stamps have been kind of erratic the last few years, at least in so far as erratic is that steady march toward infinity pricing.
I eyed convenience store guy and repeated, "Two stamps for $1.39." I squinted a bit and half-mouthed, half-uttered, "but..."
He then launched a missive which included the following statements. "We can do that. King Soopers does not do that, but we can." He then closed with, "I actually discourage people from buying stamps here."
"Well, you've discouraged me," I said as I turned and walked out the door.
I marched on, not wanting to give up. I talked to Diana at the Family Dollar, but they didn't have stamps. I arrived at another gas station and patiently waited my turn. When I asked for stamps I was told almost apologetically, we have books of 6 for $3.99.
With the math firing on all cylinders, I quickly departed-- stampless.
Denver- Desperately, I have searched for stamps. I wanted post card stamps, but I was ready to settle for good old fashioned first class stamps. I finally gathered up the courage to ask the convenience store guy.
"Any chance you've got stamps here?"
"We've got packs of two for $1.39."
My math is sometimes rusty and the prices of stamps have been kind of erratic the last few years, at least in so far as erratic is that steady march toward infinity pricing.
I eyed convenience store guy and repeated, "Two stamps for $1.39." I squinted a bit and half-mouthed, half-uttered, "but..."
He then launched a missive which included the following statements. "We can do that. King Soopers does not do that, but we can." He then closed with, "I actually discourage people from buying stamps here."
"Well, you've discouraged me," I said as I turned and walked out the door.
I marched on, not wanting to give up. I talked to Diana at the Family Dollar, but they didn't have stamps. I arrived at another gas station and patiently waited my turn. When I asked for stamps I was told almost apologetically, we have books of 6 for $3.99.
With the math firing on all cylinders, I quickly departed-- stampless.
Monday, May 22, 2006
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Self-awareness and TV on DVD don't mix
My neighbor kindly bought every season of Gilmore Girls and then let me borrow them. I already own seasons one and two, so I've worked my way through three and into four in the last week. All was well and good through most of three. Laughs, fast-talking, pop culture references, the vaguely familiar but mostly greeting card-esque heartfelt moments. Then Rory graduated from high school and went to Yale. Now I find myself contemplating the potential of my daily existence as it compares to the high school senior and college freshman. I'm awed by how unaware I was at that time. I'm amazed at how much I can't remember, already. Will I look back at this time and feel the same way? Do I need more education for that to happen? Is this standing still? Or is this tweaking "not unhappy" until we can reach happy? Is happy something to reach or is it more something to continuously stretch for and occasionally rub up against? Do I need to apply my philosophy in sports to the rest of my life? Is my sports philosophy too masochistic for day to day existence? Have I already applied it?
And finally, how many Nutter Butters is too many Nutter Butters?
My neighbor kindly bought every season of Gilmore Girls and then let me borrow them. I already own seasons one and two, so I've worked my way through three and into four in the last week. All was well and good through most of three. Laughs, fast-talking, pop culture references, the vaguely familiar but mostly greeting card-esque heartfelt moments. Then Rory graduated from high school and went to Yale. Now I find myself contemplating the potential of my daily existence as it compares to the high school senior and college freshman. I'm awed by how unaware I was at that time. I'm amazed at how much I can't remember, already. Will I look back at this time and feel the same way? Do I need more education for that to happen? Is this standing still? Or is this tweaking "not unhappy" until we can reach happy? Is happy something to reach or is it more something to continuously stretch for and occasionally rub up against? Do I need to apply my philosophy in sports to the rest of my life? Is my sports philosophy too masochistic for day to day existence? Have I already applied it?
And finally, how many Nutter Butters is too many Nutter Butters?
Sunday, May 14, 2006
Adding injury to injury
My left ankle, the one that's caused me so much trouble this year, was already reinforced by sturdy slabs of plastic. This weekend's tournament would be a big test for the plastic and for my recovery. In the first game, we lost a man to an injury and I bummed support for my other ankle which must have been compensating. Other than a forearm to my jaw, the first game provided only minor aches and pains all around. I would not be so fortunate in the second game. Late in the first half, my right calf cramped up. I was left writhing on the field. After an infusion of bananas and Gatorade, I was able to return to the game. I played for a while, even grabbing a Callahan (defensive score) at one point. Then my left calf decided to get in on the cramping. More writhing ensued. We lost the second game and I went on to play a few points in the third game. My right hamstring decided to join in on the fun. I was running out of body parts to cramp.
I thought I was done for the day, but I really didn't want to be. My team needed me. We were playing a fresh young team with lots of subs. At this point, we had no male subs. I paced the sidelines, massaged my legs, drank the juice and crammed bananas and salty chips past my sore jaw. The team was holding off the opponent, but it wasn't easy. Every so often, I'd try a little jog to see how I was feeling. There wasn't much improvement. I was jogging down the sideline just before halftime. I jogged past a large dog. I'd passed him at least twice before, but this time he jumped up and bit me in the side. Other than the terror I initially felt at having a 100 pound beast lunging at my unformed love handles, it just stung a little. Still, I felt a little strange, because after all, A DOG BIT ME!?!
I couldn't play. I had teeth marks on my side. My team was hanging on for dear life. I felt bad. Powerless. Bitten. A few more points went by. I jogged lightly in the other direction and noticed that my leg pain had gone away. Just as a test, I hopped up a little. No twinging in the calves. I sped up. I felt fine. On the next point I announced that I was good for a point or two if anyone needed a rest. My teammates were happy to take me up on the offer. I scored a few, made some defensive plays and we wrapped up the victory. In the vein of spiderman, perhaps the bite had given me superpowers.
Or rabies.
My left ankle, the one that's caused me so much trouble this year, was already reinforced by sturdy slabs of plastic. This weekend's tournament would be a big test for the plastic and for my recovery. In the first game, we lost a man to an injury and I bummed support for my other ankle which must have been compensating. Other than a forearm to my jaw, the first game provided only minor aches and pains all around. I would not be so fortunate in the second game. Late in the first half, my right calf cramped up. I was left writhing on the field. After an infusion of bananas and Gatorade, I was able to return to the game. I played for a while, even grabbing a Callahan (defensive score) at one point. Then my left calf decided to get in on the cramping. More writhing ensued. We lost the second game and I went on to play a few points in the third game. My right hamstring decided to join in on the fun. I was running out of body parts to cramp.
I thought I was done for the day, but I really didn't want to be. My team needed me. We were playing a fresh young team with lots of subs. At this point, we had no male subs. I paced the sidelines, massaged my legs, drank the juice and crammed bananas and salty chips past my sore jaw. The team was holding off the opponent, but it wasn't easy. Every so often, I'd try a little jog to see how I was feeling. There wasn't much improvement. I was jogging down the sideline just before halftime. I jogged past a large dog. I'd passed him at least twice before, but this time he jumped up and bit me in the side. Other than the terror I initially felt at having a 100 pound beast lunging at my unformed love handles, it just stung a little. Still, I felt a little strange, because after all, A DOG BIT ME!?!
I couldn't play. I had teeth marks on my side. My team was hanging on for dear life. I felt bad. Powerless. Bitten. A few more points went by. I jogged lightly in the other direction and noticed that my leg pain had gone away. Just as a test, I hopped up a little. No twinging in the calves. I sped up. I felt fine. On the next point I announced that I was good for a point or two if anyone needed a rest. My teammates were happy to take me up on the offer. I scored a few, made some defensive plays and we wrapped up the victory. In the vein of spiderman, perhaps the bite had given me superpowers.
Or rabies.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
The breeze doesn't blow through shuttered windows
"I'm bored," I told my mom between reruns of Everybody Loves Raymond. There was a time she would have made me homemade Play-dough or set me up with scissors and markers in an attempt to free the artist in me.
Some years later she would have said, "Work on your scrapbook," or "Clean your room." By then her suggestions would have irked me even though I didn't know what "irked" meant.
And now we've come to this. "You'll find something to do," she told me. I've never considered myself much of an entertainer when the audience is me. For a while, I could pick on my little sister, but I think I may have exhausted that option in the late teens. It can still be worth a kick, but long-distance sibling war lacks satisfaction. It's a bit like vending machine chocolate donuts. Put the quarters in, punch in the numbers. The possibility is there, but the taste is off. It's just not as fresh as it should be.
What to do? What to do?
Then things just started happening. I don't know what changed. I was open to one possibility and then along came another. Suddenly, I'm in the midst of a good book The Handmaid's Tale, and my favorite TV show on DVD is backlogged on the coffee table. There are bikes to ride, frisbees to throw, avenues to explore, potential to consider, friends to meet, and chicken salad to eat. Maybe it was the chicken salad. Suddenly the watch is ticking (or is that the clock in the living room?) a little louder. There's so much to do. Where will I find the time?
Here. YOU take the donuts. I'll take the change.
"I'm bored," I told my mom between reruns of Everybody Loves Raymond. There was a time she would have made me homemade Play-dough or set me up with scissors and markers in an attempt to free the artist in me.
Some years later she would have said, "Work on your scrapbook," or "Clean your room." By then her suggestions would have irked me even though I didn't know what "irked" meant.
And now we've come to this. "You'll find something to do," she told me. I've never considered myself much of an entertainer when the audience is me. For a while, I could pick on my little sister, but I think I may have exhausted that option in the late teens. It can still be worth a kick, but long-distance sibling war lacks satisfaction. It's a bit like vending machine chocolate donuts. Put the quarters in, punch in the numbers. The possibility is there, but the taste is off. It's just not as fresh as it should be.
What to do? What to do?
Then things just started happening. I don't know what changed. I was open to one possibility and then along came another. Suddenly, I'm in the midst of a good book The Handmaid's Tale, and my favorite TV show on DVD is backlogged on the coffee table. There are bikes to ride, frisbees to throw, avenues to explore, potential to consider, friends to meet, and chicken salad to eat. Maybe it was the chicken salad. Suddenly the watch is ticking (or is that the clock in the living room?) a little louder. There's so much to do. Where will I find the time?
Here. YOU take the donuts. I'll take the change.
Thursday, May 04, 2006
Internet, I have but two things to add*
1. I don't think the developers in this story get it. Every one of 'em keeps talking about the money that he could have made. Maybe the guy wanted money, but since they couldn't get his side, I'm going to pretend he just wanted to follow through with a pizza kitchen dream or just wanted to be stubborn to piss off some developers. It's fun that way. And, it's a place that's going to have some real character.
2. No pants day is tomorrow. Celebrate!
*at the moment
1. I don't think the developers in this story get it. Every one of 'em keeps talking about the money that he could have made. Maybe the guy wanted money, but since they couldn't get his side, I'm going to pretend he just wanted to follow through with a pizza kitchen dream or just wanted to be stubborn to piss off some developers. It's fun that way. And, it's a place that's going to have some real character.
2. No pants day is tomorrow. Celebrate!
*at the moment
Monday, May 01, 2006
Hey Gatorade, it's in me.
After my first year of high school cross country, I took the winter off. I came back for track season and was unable to replicate the success I had in the fall. When track season ended, I decided not to make that mistake again. I have not gone a whole winter without running since then.
The ankle sprain set me back for most of February, March, and April. GEEZ. It didn't seem quite that bad until I wrote it down. I went nearly three months with minimal exercise- the new winter of my discontent.
Saturday, I played Ultimate. The ankle performed better than expected, but my body revolted. By halftime I was spent. I know this because my lunch popped up and told me so. Repeatedly. I don't think that's ever happened to me in the first game of the day. It was rather unpleasant. By Sunday afternoon, I was making another decision. I decided to come roaring back. I know it's going to take some time, but winter is over.
After my first year of high school cross country, I took the winter off. I came back for track season and was unable to replicate the success I had in the fall. When track season ended, I decided not to make that mistake again. I have not gone a whole winter without running since then.
The ankle sprain set me back for most of February, March, and April. GEEZ. It didn't seem quite that bad until I wrote it down. I went nearly three months with minimal exercise- the new winter of my discontent.
Saturday, I played Ultimate. The ankle performed better than expected, but my body revolted. By halftime I was spent. I know this because my lunch popped up and told me so. Repeatedly. I don't think that's ever happened to me in the first game of the day. It was rather unpleasant. By Sunday afternoon, I was making another decision. I decided to come roaring back. I know it's going to take some time, but winter is over.
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