Blame it on the spicy prawns

Tom Glass, aka The Worm, attended the University of California at Chico in the 1980s. It was a notorious party school, and Tom had a boatload of classic college stories involving the degenerates he hung out with in those days.

So one year Tom decided to bring a team to the West Coast Fools tournament called "Chico Reunion". I am a little fuzzy on the details of the start of the team, but by the team I started playing with them it was essentially just all of Worm's friends, past and present. There were generally a few of the old Chico guys, Dave Mo, Dan Handler, Jimmy Connors, Billy of course and then whoever else didn't mind the fact that we would be drinking all day.

Somewhere around 1995 it got taken to a whole new level. At first it was about bringing a keg. Then we decided we really needed a couch. Jimmy was a chef, so he would make some kick ass BBQ for us as well.

In 1996 we lost to the Saucy Jack guys in the quarters (wow, was that a bad sign of things to come). Losing in the quarters was pretty much a Chico tradition. This way you got plenty of drinking time in before the finals. The tournament was held in Stanford that year, and we were plenty loaded by the time the finals got going. We had a great time heckling, and even helped one of the players make an important call late in the game. OK, maybe helped is not the right word.

At the end of the finals, we somehow came up with the bright idea to burn the couch, rather than have to lug it all the way to some garbage dump. Kids at home, consider this a warning: BURNING A COUCH IS NOT A GOOD IDEA! What started as just lighting some of the "stuffing" of the couch quickly took off to a big blazing mess that came fairly close to getting frisbee tournaments banned from the Stanford campus.

Things came to a head in 1997. Our "lets get a keg for the tournament!" plan had really blossomed. We now were bringing a full-blown living room to the tournament. Couch. Coffee table. Lamp. TV to watch the Final Four. And a generator to keep the power running. That's right, we were bringing a power generator to a frisbee tournament. And the usual bbq run by Master Chef Connors.

At this point our "scene" was actually starting to get kind of annoying. We would come off the field after a long point and guys from other teams, guys we didn't even like, were camped out on our couch eating our prawns and drinking our beer. The best part was that people would yell at us saying we were making a "mockery of the game" and the next thing you know you would look over and they would have a mouthful of food and beer in a prime spot on the couch. But that is what happens when you are the life of the party, and Chico Reunion had always been that.

For the opening point of our first game of the tournament, we actually brought the couch onto the line and lined up our starting 7 on it. The other team wasn't particularly amused, but they put up with it since it was April Fools. We had two people on either side of the field who ran out and grab the couch and lifted it off the field immediately after the pull.

A scary development was happening. We actually had a very good team, and no matter how much we drank or ate, we were actually winning. This was potentially a big problem. Chico NEEDED to be out in the quarters, but it was increasingly becoming clear this might not happen.

At the end of the day Saturday there was a Fools West tradition of a good portion of the tourney gathering around the Heatbags sideline setup and watching the NCAA Final Four. This night was particularly raucous as we had won our pool and were feeling proud of ourselves. Jimmy was cooking up some awesome spicy prawns, and the chapping was flowing.

Then, out of nowhere, an angel appeared. None of us had ever met Luke Smith before. I am pretty sure he was new to the West Coast. He had wandered near our ruckus, and I think recognized his type of troublemakers. Luke walked over and inserted himself in the mayhem.

Now this is not something that would generally happen. From the outside we could come off as kind of an intimidating group. We were constantly ripping each other, and anyone else who got in the camera angle. So when Luke comes up and starts CHAPPING US, now that could not be stood for. We started inquiring as to who this guy was.

And this is when Luke pulled out a fifty-dollar bill, stating he was buying a slew of guinness cans if someone would go get it. He obviously knew how to play to a crowd. We took him up on it, and sent some of the rookies (or probably Billy) to the store to make the purchase.

This is a mythical moment that will always be remembered as "the time with too many guns". We were all pretty stuffed and hammered already. Then a couple of cases of guinness showed up, and to be honest we weren't up for the challenge. We should have known this weekend was special right then and there.

We hit the party that night pretty hard. Well, most of us did. Biscuit was actually drinking apple juice. You will have to ask him. Worm and Billy actually went to sleep before midnight. Uh oh.

Thankfully Karl Pisacane and Frankie pulled us through to a hard-earned party victory. This was proven last night when we showed up to the fields for the quarters. We woke Karl up, he had slept the whole night on the couch on the fields in Santa Cruz. And when he got up we saw he was snuggling with a half-full bottle of Jagermeister. He took a big swig in place of a morning coffee, and we got to warming up for Game 1.

We won our quarterfinal. Suddenly we were in uncharted territory, and a bunch of us were none too happy about it. Hangovers were starting to kick in, and we really felt like packing up our cleats and getting going with the heckling.

We still had a ray of hope, though. Our semifinal was scheduled to be against the Matza Balls, the 2-time defending champs. Only there was a problem, when we showed up on their sideline at the end of their quarterfinal game, they were in a dogfight with Monterey. What happened to our LOCK?!?!??! Monterey won 13-10, parting the red sea for us in our semifinal.

We took care of Monterey pretty easily, setting up a final with Guitar Jam 9, Andy Petroff's group of stoners. Yes, one of the premier fun tourneys of the year had come down to a bunch of drunks versus a bunch of stoners.

It began as a pretty silly affair. We all got in a big circle, both teams, pregame. Singing and swigging a bottle of tequila. We decided that "ripping the disk off the end of the world", i.e. throwing it into the parking lot at the back of one of the end zones, would be worth 2 points.

Things, though, got a little heated by the end of the first half. Guitar Jam suddenly wasn't so happy about the prospect of losing to a bunch of guys who were half in the bag. And lose they did, with the greatest moment in heatbag history ending with a 13-11 score.

This led to us popping a bottle of champagne in a supermarket parking lot on the way home. And Worm becoming a father later that night. To this day he blames it on the prawns.