Fauselblog

2008-01-31T13:30:00.000-08:00

Darken your world

I will start this post with a warning. If you were on this team, and I doubt anyone not on this team is reading this besides Luke, you may want to stop reading now. It could dredge up horrendous memories.

The year is 1996. We are coming off our inspiring win at Chicago's Tune Up. Double Happiness is truly feeling like this could finally be the year that the UPA Championship comes home to the Bay Area for the first time since the 80's.

What we weren't really considering is that this was truly a different team from 1995. We had lost a ton of talent in the offseason (Dilly, Dave Smith, Barkan, etc.), and replaced them with talented but green members of Joe, the #2 Bay Area team. While our youth and enthusiasm had arguably increased, our talent level had clearly decreased.

Nonetheless we entered the Fall Series feeling great about ourselves. Beating Boston at Tune Up just confirmed this feeling. We also had lots of opportunities to play and defeat the #2 team in the Section, Saucy Jack.

Saucy was comprised mostly of Stanford Alumni, spearheaded by Truth and Jim Schoettler. They also featured some amazing talent in Andy Crews, Dennis Karlinsky and Jacob Sider.

We hadn't had much trouble with them up throughout the season. We beat them in a close game at Sectionals, which in hindsight should have signaled trouble. But at the time I think we just felt like we were toying with them.

For some insane reason, the UPA decided to hold both the SW and NW Fall Regionals in 1996 in the lovely city of Las Vegas. This could make some sense for the SW, but for the NW it was not even in their region, and meant that teams from Seattle and Vancouver had a particularly long trip to make. This seems like a classic example of "good idea at the time", that in retrospect makes no sense at all.

Why, you ask? Well, it was 104 degrees on that Saturday and Sunday in Vegas. The fields were hard, and there were VERY few options for shade. This is pretty far from ideal conditions for any sport, let alone one that entails the amount of running in Ultimate.

That is not to mention the massive downside for a "party focused" team like Double. Our goal had consistently been to "win the party AND win the tourney". Well in Vegas the party never, ever, stops. And while I would say we actually were pretty good about not going crazy, combine it with 104 degree heat and it is not a good combo.

Saturday we were relegated to a field site away from the main fields. This was a good break, as I would argue it helped us focus on the task at hand away from any distractions. The year before, while playing for Joe, some of our teammates had actually been arrested and spent the night in a WA jail. Their offense? They had been knocked out of regionals that day earlier then expected. They had gotten completely blasted drunk that evening. And then on their way home happened upon a pumpkin display early in the AM at a local supermarket. They seemed to think it was a great idea to smash said pumpkins on the ground. Needless to say police arrived shortly thereafter.

Why do I digress? During our first huddle of the weekend prior to our first game, I came running into the huddle with a pumpkin and smashed it on the ground. The intent was to loosen up the "new guys", and make them feel welcome. It helped, as everyone had a good laugh with it.

We essentially cruised through the first day, buoyed with confidence. I don't recall who we played, or any of the scores, but I remember it feeling like a formality that we would win our pool and focus on Sunday morning.

Saturday night we actually were pretty mellow. There were to be no excuses at this point, and I think most of us were pretty spent from the day out in the heat.

The next morning started well. We beat Saucy in the semifinals 13-9. It wasn't that close. It really felt like Sectionals was just toying with them, and that we were well on our way. Our biggest regional rival, Seattle's Sockeye, awaited us in the final, with the winner getting a spot at nationals, and the loser having to fight through another game to receive the second bid.

As usual our game against Sockeye was very close. Both teams were fairly even in talent, and every game seemed to come down to 1 or 2 plays at the end. This one did as well.

Over the course of the season we had noticed an interesting development with Sockeye. At the end of "next point wins" games, Jon G had developed a strange habit of yanking ill-advised forehands the length of the field. I don't have an explanation for it. Maybe hero-complex? But what I do know is we had seen it happen 3-4 times over the course of the 1996 season.

So when the game was tied at 16, next point wins and Sockeye receiving the pull, I think you know what we were expecting. And he didn't disappoint, taking the first pass off the pull and chucking it deep. His receiver, unfortunately, had turned to cut back in and was now forced to course-correct. He tripped over his own feet, and feel into Tom Glass who was going up to knock the errant pass down.

What ensued after this is exactly the thing that I hate about ultimate. You spend your whole year ruining your life to fit this game in. For no reason other than pride. We had a "joke" on double that everyone broke up with their girlfriend each fall and had to find another one. The sad thing is this was mostly true. You are away every weekend. You are at the track 3 nights during the week. Just to prepare yourself for this one moment on a hot October day in Las Vegas.

And then someone calls a foul on an errant pass as he falls into the defender. Could it have really been a foul and I am just conditioned to think otherwise, even more so as the years go on? Possibly. Is there any way if it was a foul that at the time I would have thought so? Probably not. But I saw what I saw, and what I saw from my perspective was about as far from a foul on Tom as I have ever seen. And what is our recourse? To contest the foul, and basically reward Sockeye with an additional possession for their efforts. Which they took advantage of, winning Regionals and locking up their spot to Nationals.

I have honestly never had such a deflating moment in my ultimate career, either before 1996 or since. And this sentiment was definitely the majority viewpoint at that time, on those fields. We had about an hour wait before the "backdoor" game, and as I looked down on our team trying to get some shade, some fluids and some food, I realized right then we were in big trouble. The body language told the whole story.

Also, we were losing people to heat-related issues left and right. I am sure every team was, but I was only privy to our issues. During the first half of the final I turned to call Weber in the game. He wasn't on the sidelines. When I eventually found him, after the point had started, he was under the tent desperately trying to drink water and get some semblance of his head together.

As we were warming up for the finals, I was trying to find Woody. Couldn't find him anywhere. I eventually looked over to the field next to ours, and Woody was sitting indian-style in the middle of an empty field staring at the ground. When I went over to talk to him, it was like finding a person who had run out of water in the middle of the Sahara. I think he thought I was an oasis.

Then came the moment that will live in infamy. Saucy Jack was now determined to be our opponent to earn the last bid at Nationals. As we were warming up, I took a look 3-4 fields over, and saw the ladies of the Bay Area team Homebrood celebrating their huge upset surprise to earn a spot at Nationals in the women's division. The team they beat? Women on the Verge from Seattle who also had won the Chicago Tune Up. Ruh roh raggie. The sun was setting, both literally and symbolically.

The game was, honestly, never close. We fell behind 5-2 early on. On one of those points Cribber, arguably one of the best players ever to play the game but hobbled by a bad hamstring, had not been able to chase down a pass that lead to a turnover by our own end zone. This was a bad sign, and our captains then told me to sit him for the remainder of the game because of the injury. Only they never told Cribber, so he spent every point glaring at me from the sideline as I didn't call him in to play.

Late in the game I was in on defense. We were down 2. I made one of the best plays I have ever made, a full layout diving block that I really felt would get our team energized. Especially after I then caught the goal as well and roared back for a big spike.

Well, it was not to be. We continued to fade, not being able to cover the quick cuts of Andy Crews and Karlinsky, and not being able to contain the Truth to Jim bombs. It was a game straight out of our nightmares.

Saucy played well. I have to give them a ton of credit. All of the weather, all the partying, they are all excuses. There is no excuse for being outplayed by a team you have never lost to in a game you had to win. And we were.

This was followed by something that everyone who has played Elite Ultimate has always experienced at some point in their career. The Sulk Circle. Every team who plays the Fall Series with expectations to have a chance to win experiences this unless they actually win their last game. Everyone stands around, staring at the ground, wondering what went wrong.

During this somber event, two things happened which I will never forget. The guy I had gotten the block off of came up behind me and whispered to me, "Flash, I never thought you deserved to be on this team. But you proved me wrong today, great game." Kind of a backhanded compliment, along the lines of Cribber telling Tom "You get the most out of the least talent of anyone I have ever seen". And his timing was bad. But with some time to have the wounds heal, it was a pretty classy gesture.

This other part, not so much. We had abused the Saucy guys a bit during the season, kind of in a bully big brother sort of way. And apparently it sat worse with some than others. As we sat in our huddle, one of their players came running up, spiked a disc right in the middle of us and yelled at the top of his lungs "HOW DOES IT FEEL?!?!?!?" Hmm, the answer to that would be not so good.

We sat there for a while. Some people tried to say stuff, but there is nothing you can really say in those moments. And then we all got our stuff and made our way out to our cars.

As we were walking, I happened to be next to Scott Lip on the way out. He turned to me and said "You don't want to be around me tonight, Flash, I am going to darken your world." That's cool, Scott. Be safe! He was found by Kerry Karter and his wife later that evening in the beer aisle of a local supermarket spiking cans of beer on the linoleum floor.

We got some dinner at the Hard Rock Cafe. And then headed in to their casino and did a bit of gambling. It was hard to get into the prospect of adding to the misery by losing money, though, so most of us were not into it. Hoover was hammered, and at one point Jeffy (who can play craps no matter what mood he is in) told me to keep Hoov away from him.

We decided to head to a strip club across the street from the Hard Rock. We ditched Hoover, not telling him where we were going. Later when Hoov went to bug Jeffy at the crap tables, Jeffy threw us under the bus and told him to check Club Paradise across the street.

Now, I will not violate the "what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas" code, but there are two stories worth mentioning.

We were sitting in the first row next to the main stage in this club. There were 5-6 of us. Early on in our time there one of the strippers actually stopped her routine and said "What is wrong with you guys?" None of us had noticed, but I guess we had some of the worst hangdog looks on our faces that you have ever seen.

The second story is a little different. One of our teammates had never been in a strip club. The look of sheer joy in his eyes during the whole episode was a pleasure to behold. It actually helped snap us out of our funk somewhat, as did a couple of things Hoover may or may not have said to the dancers. Whoops, I seem to be leaking over that line. Have to remember, what happens in Vegas...

2008-01-16T15:23:00.001-08:00

AboveZLaw

I originally moved out to San Francisco in 1991, a few months after graduating from SUNY Albany. It, unfortunately, was an ill-fated move. I didn't have a ton of money, and didn't really have any plan as to getting work. I quickly fled back to the East Coast to live with my parents.

But in the short time out West, I met a couple of guys through SUNY Albany friends. Bill Layden and Tom Glass were teammates of my friends, and seemed like decent enough guys. Little did I know.

So when I went back out to San Francisco in 1993, this time for good, I at least knew some people, especially in the frisbee community. The flip side was that I was working hellish restaurant jobs that entailed me slaving away on most weekends, so I couldn't really fit Ultimate into my life.

So I worked in restaurants for about 2+ years. I started at a microbrewery in Alameda. Problem was I was living in Western Addition in SF, and didn't have a car. So I had two options. I started out by taking the Geary bus down to the Transbay Terminal and then taking a bus to Alameda, and then walking about a mile to the restaurant. The only problem with that plan is that the Transbay buses were pretty infrequent, so if I missed one I was screwed. I soon realized I could take the Geary bus to Bart, Bart to Oakland, then an Oakland bus to the same place in Alameda to walk a mile. It was a bigger pain in the ass, but Bart ran more often. And since more options worked better with my inherent laziness, this became my preferred option.

While working at this job, I could occasionally bring home a keg or two for parties. I didn't take them up on this too often, but when I did it was usually met with pretty ugly results. One of them was me putting my elbow through a friend's apartment window because I was liking the sound it made (a little Scott Lippy in me), and the other ended with me telling Worm "What Double needs to do to be a successful team" in a Mexican restaurant parking lot after they had just won the Western Regional Final. He was definitely looking at me like "Who the %##$$$%%$# is this drunken idiot", but in classic Worm fashion he humored me so he could mock me later about it.

Since I was very prone to take a flamethrower to things working in my life (like having a job in a microbrewery that gave me free beer), this job was destined to be kind of short lived. And I didn't disappoint by burning the bridge to a crisp.

One night we decided to go out after work. The general manager of the restaurant (I was the Assistant GM), his girlfriend and two of the bartenders. We went to some dive bar in Alameda, and were there getting relatively heated until last call. At this point the GM asked if we were ok to get home, and the 3 of us answered in the affirmative.

Well, we then decided after he left that it would be a good idea to go back to the Tied House, reopen it, and continue to get our heat on. Look, I never said I was a brain surgeon. We proceeded to drink heavily until about 4 in the morning, and then I headed back to one of their houses to crash before my 11am shift start.

Unfortunately the clock in his living room was set an hour behind. So I woke up and thought I had plenty of time. And ended up an hour late to work and stinking of Barleywine. Not exactly a great idea.

And also unfortunate was the fact that the GM had been an Oakland city cop in his former career. His license plate even read "AboveZLaw". I am not even kidding. So when he sniffed that something wasn't kosher the next day, he questioned us all separately about what we did the night before after he left. And, not surprisingly, we all gave different answers.

Someone had to take the fall for the questionable behavior, and as the most senior guy, the one who actually had the keys to let us back in, it had to be me. I wasn't heartbroken, I needed a kick in the ass to find a more convenient job anyway.

2008-01-04T10:08:00.000-08:00

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.

2008-01-02T12:24:00.000-08:00

Lets just say there was penetration

Yeah, yeah, I know. I get one good post in and disappear forever. Been a little busy. New house, new baby. Yikes, I really am old.

Well, back to the old stories. I was inspired to write this post by thinking yesterday about all the remaining ticker moments that haven't been told. These won't be chronological, or even make sense as one long story, but seem worth writing nonetheless.

I figured this was a good time to bring up a possibly unique moment in UPA history. I would claim this was the only time an elite open team, at an elite open tournament, won the tournament and the party.

The year is 1996. The tournament is the Chicago Tune-Up, as it was called in those days. Double Happiness was the team. We had suffered some losses of talent from the year before (Dilly, Dave Smith, Barkan, etc.), but had filled some of those spots with some young studs (Paul Pisacane, Woody, Hoover, Ken Slicerson, etc.). We were coming off a win at the annual Santa Cruz Labor Day tournament, which had featured all elite division games having officials. We were feeling pretty good about our chances in the fall series.

We showed up on Saturday with our typical swagger. My memory fails me about who we played, but I don't recall us having any particularly close games early. We did have one tough game versus Ring of Fire in the afternoon. As I recall there was one particularly nasty moment where Cribber got into an argument with a guy with a ponytail on the other team, and I believe his exact quote towards the end of the game was "Jerry's dead". As usual we used this interaction to fire us up and give Ring the spanking we seemed to always give them.

Our final game of the day was against Boston's Dog, the 2-time defending UPA champ. This game would be a measuring stick for us in our pursuit of the national title. It was a nip and tuck game, but Boston pulled out a hard fought win. This was not the way we were hoping Saturday would end.

This led to us hitting the party pretty hard on Saturday night. Our hotel was about 20 minutes from the field, and the party was held at the tent at frisbee central. We grabbed whatever food was available at the tourney (they may have even served dinner), and then started swilling beers.

Then the genius began happening.

A group of guys from Johnny Bravo we getting very loaded, and started telling people they wanted to boat race, for the uninitiated this is a beer drinking relay race. I believe it was Worm who actually got their attention and asked them "What's a boat race?" Now this was a completely ridiculous question because Worm had been the Anchor of many successful boat race teams, even leading to the ill-fated "swing shift" moment at a Southern California party years earlier (that will have to be its own blog post at some point).

Well, Biscuit/Billy/Scott Lippy jumped right in. Suddenly we were actually "boat race sharking", convincing the Colorado guys that we had absolutely no idea what a boat race was. And that they would easily destroy us. Now, it is not that hard to convince a drunk guy of something like this. But that is the real genius of it. Because it is so easy it allows you to really drive them nuts by asking the most inane questions like "We all drink at once?" or "Who has the stopwatch?" And it drives the drunkard crazier and crazier when you can't seem to follow even the most simple of directions.

So we determine it will be your usual 7 on 7 boat race. And the beers are filled, and as usual the whole tent is now aware of the impending competition. Lots of yelling and screaming ensues.

Right before the race is about to begin, Worm takes it to a whole nother level. He suggests that they make the competition "a little more interesting". Maybe a little side bet. We agree that the loser of the boat race has to streak the party. Thankfully there is no way we are going to lose.

As usual the race stays close until it gets to Scotty and Worm. And as usual they completely smoke the competition and a celebration ensues.

That is until the Johnny Bravo guys fulfill their part of the side bet. Except instead of streaking the party, they just take off their clothes and hang out at the party naked for the remainder of the evening. We learn our lesson, any future side bets will clearly not entail male nudity.

So, normally this would be the end of a great party evening. We had our shenanigans. We have some big games to play in the morning, and it is time to pack it up and call it a night.

Well, not exactly. Worm, Hoover and I have now begun chatting up some lovely Chicago ultimate ladies. I don't remember their names, and even if I did I wouldn't embarrass them.

The three of us decide we are going to hang out for a little while and see if we can get anywhere. Billy, always the "responsible" one, has decided it is time to go home. He is sitting in his car waiting for us. So we send Worm to break the news to him that we are going to stay and take a ride home from the Chicago women.

I have never seen Billy angrier to this point. He is sitting behind the wheel steaming that we aren't content enough with the evening's shenanigans. But eventually I think he realizes he won't win this argument, and leaves to head back to the hotel.

So we stay and have a few more beers. But then, horror, the beer runs out and the party is over. So the 6 of us decide to head back to our hotel room, but pick some beer up on the way. Worm and I head in one car with two ladies, and Hoover is in the other vehicle with the third female companion.

We pull up to the beer store. The three "men" get out to buy the beer. So we ask Hoover how it is going in the other car. The exact quote was "Lets just say there was penetration". WHOA. Worm and I are lucky not to get thrown out of the beer distributor from the hilarity that ensues. Can always count on Hoover for the good material.

We pick up a case of guinness cans and some "sippers". As Barney and Jeffy so eliquently put it, it is not the guns that kill you but the sippers. We head back to our hotel.

Needless to say Billy was not exactly excited to have us come back. With all that beer. And with three women. He actually managed to get Biscuit (our best player but has the Irish love of a good nip here and there) and Jeffy in bed at a reasonable hour and reasonably sober. And we have to show up with more beer NOW?!??!?

So we head into the bathroom for some guinness shotguns. But we can't just open them like a normal human being. At that point one of our regular routines was to try and find interesting ways to "craw" or open the shotgun. On a car door. On a lawnchair. Whatever is possible.

So I decided I am going to craw the shotgun on the faucet of the bathroom sink. Um, bad idea. Beer spray EVERYWHERE. And when I say everywhere I mean the walls and ceiling and floor of the bathroom are now a rich guinness brown. It is bad.

Biscuit walks into the bathroom to join us, and freaks out. He is relatively sober, and realizes that Billy is going to have an aneurysm if he sees what we have done to the bathroom. So he grabs every towel we have and wipes down the room. The towels go from a nice crisp white to a soggy light brown. Ouch.

We do a couple of rounds of guns, and then the ladies get very bored. I am not sure their idea of fun with us was heading back to the hotel and waiting for us to do guns in the bathroom. So they decide to leave, and Hoover and I offer to walk them to the car. On our way down we pass the hotel bar which apparently has a DJ. We go and dance the macarena, and then walk them out.

I wake up the next day feeling like death warmed over. We got like 4-5 hours of drunken sleep, and now have to go play a full day of ultimate. It is not good news.

We get to the fields on time, a minor miracle in itself. I can't remember who we played in the quarters, but we crushed them. We head over to watch Seattle (our primary regional rival, and one of the top teams at the tournament) play Miami, in what is turning out to be a close game. One of the Seattle players makes one of the worst calls we have ever seen. He is standing at the front of the stack with his man faceguarding him. The disk gets thrown to him on a high stall count, but the defender is still facing him not realizing the disk is in the air. The Seattle player reaches over the defenders shoulder to try and catch it, and drops the frisbee. He then calls a foul, even though he initiated the contact and the defender actually had not moved. We erupt on the sidelines with various "cheater" chants.

So now the semifinals are set. Or so we think. We are scheduled to play Boston and Seattle will get a much easier draw with Atlanta in the semis. But for some reason Johnny G wants us to mix up the Semis matchups. Seattle had played Atlanta earlier in the tourney as well. So they want Boston in the Semis, and are giving us the easier road. As we were never ones to look a gift horse in the mouth, we accept.

We roll Atlanta. I was getting a decent amount of playing time at this point with Double, but you know it was an easy game because I played most of the points. There was one notable point where I got a savage point block on a hammer by one of the Atlanta players. Someone picked up the disc and threw it to Scott Lippy streaking down the middle of the field. Well, instead of just catching the disk and firing a goal, Scott decided to mack it to himself, over and over down the field. Um, this is not quite legal, but it was pretty funny considering the big lead we had at the time.

Boston, meanwhile, is locked in a battle with Seattle. These teams had faced each other in the finals of the prior year's UPA Nationals, and Seattle this time was not going down easy. But in the end, Boston prevailed as usual.

This set us up with a finals rematch against the Boston boys. Unfortunately for many of us, this was also coinciding with the "delayed hangover", that moment in the afternoon when it finally catches up to you. I, for one, really felt like throwing up for most of the game.

But we sucked it up. And boy were we playing well. I covered Corky for a good portion of the game, and while I didn't get any blocks, I at least felt like I made him work for everything. And the rest of our D team did likewise. We ratcheted up the pressure on the vaunted Boston O, and eventually in the 2nd half they began to crack.

This led to us to us pulling away to a 3-4 goal lead late in the game. This was an amazing moment for us, about to put away Boston in the finals of a marquee event. We got the disk and worked it all the way to their goal line, with Edward Coyne calling a timeout. You couldn't ask for a better situation. Edward was arguably our best thrower, a master at breaking the mark. All we needed was this for the win.

The play was called for Kenny Slicer to cut to the front cone for a goal. The disc got checked in, Ken streaked open to the cone. Edward broke the mark beautifully and threw a perfect pass. All seemed well with the world.

Um, not exactly. For some reason, unknown to this day, Ken decided to leap into the air to make the catch. Well, the problem with that decision was he was a little close to the sideline. And then once in the air realized he needed to get his foot down. And he barely missed the sideline. From then on he was called BarishnaKen for his fancy footwork.

Well, the story has a happy ending. Even with this potential heartbreak we managed to put in the winning goal capping off the first, and to this day I believe, the only successful "win the party and win the tourney" combo in Elite Open Ultimate history. It felt good once we got that first beer in us.

Which reminds me of the last great story from that weekend. As we were celebrating our victory with rounds and rounds of shotguns, Worm noticed that Weber (one of our new guys that season) was sneaking away in a car to the airport. They were running a little late.

That did not stop us from forcing Weber to get out of the car and do a "gun for the road". Weber apparently did not feel so well after said shotgun, and attempted to go behind the rental car and throw up discreetly. Well, Worm saw him, and proceeded to insist that Weber do ANOTHER shotgun to make up for the one he just horked. Weber did and kept it down this time, and then made his way to the airport. Once at the airport he was forced to hold the flight from leaving until Biscuit and Scotty made their way to the plane, which they entered wearing wigs. I do not believe the other passengers were amused.

2006-01-26T20:44:00.000-08:00

Always throw inverted cring

Poker or ultimate?

Poker or advertising?

What to write a blog about? This is a question that has kept me up for at least 15 minutes.

So, since my man Bill Layden didn't step up to do this on his blog, I figured it is my duty. This will be dedicated to the top 100 ticker moments of all time.

Definition of "ticker"= stories from Billy/Worm/Flash's playing days, or just general SF days. There has been some serious ridiculousness over the years, and this seems like just the place to chronicle it.

I am accepting screenplay development offers. I mean, another part of Worm's life has already been made into a movie. So why not the senior years?

So. what story should I start the blog with is the next tough question? There are a ton, and this could take years. So, I will start with something simple.

How Flash made his way onto Double Happiness (the real story)
This clearly was one of the best moments of my frisbee career. It led to me having the opportunity to win a lot of tournaments. It led to some friendships I still have today. It even got me a spot on the best team in the country when I moved to Australia. "You called subs for DOUBLE?!?!?!?"

It has also opened the door for many amateur chappers to get their licks in. I mean, the likes of Kenny Lieserson and Josh Faust were even able to use this material. You know it is rich stuff when those guys are chiming in.

So, here is how it really went down. Sharpen your chapsticks.

I had moved to San Francisco in 1993. I had met Worm and Bill back in 1991 when I briefly visited Dilly and Ben with post-college dreams of moving out West. Over the next 2 years, I spent time hanging with those guys, as well as chapping them whenever I got the chance. I really thought I was hot shit on the frisbee field when I moved out there, having established myself as a go to guy on both sides of the ball for Philmore and then the original Philly Rage.

But Double was stacked those days. It was never a matter of talent with that team. So, even though I had been a college buddy of Dilly's, I couldn't even get a look. Combine this with the fact that I was working in restaurants and toiling away most weekends, and I decided to take some time off for ultimate rather than play for a second-rate team.

In summer of 1995, I finally changed careers and was afforded some more frisbee time. But that didn't happen until late summer, after I had returned home from Worlds in Streete, and been able to hang with a lot of the Double guys there.

They had picked up some out of towners that fall, Mike Glass etc., and so numbers for practice were super light. By August, most of the decent players were committed to teams, so there was no real practice fodder out there. I offered my services, and they were happy to kick my ass up and down the fields in Palo Alto and Santa Cruz.

I felt like I was playing ok, and it was good to be back. I decided to drive up to Sectionals at Davis in the morning with Billy and Worm, and see if I could pick up with a team.

So, we get there and Double has 8 guys. At sectionals. I tell Worm that if they need one, I am happy to help out for the tourney. He tells Biscuit, who shoots me a dubious look, but agrees to it out of desperation.

Well, we win the tournament, as we should. I don't do anything monumentally stupid, but I am not exactly a factor. I am just glad to be back out on the fields running around.

So, after this, I continue to practice with them, with no real dreams of anything else.

Fast-forward to Winter League sign up. Worm and I are getting suitably drunk on a weeknight, when Biscuit walks in. Shortly after he comes over, Worm says to him, "Dude, Flash is playing hardball. He is saying since his name is on the roster, he is going to Regionals."

Biscuit plays along, and grants me the right to Dilly Batch Sheets against Worm for a spot at Regionals. No promises after that.

Well, we take it outside. I throw Cring, and Worm doesn't even invert. All of the terms I have used in the past two lines are more fodder for a different post.

I win. I have my spot at Regionals, and subsequently on the team until it dies. It was definitely a point of contention for some other members of the squad (certainly with the non-drinkers), and likely has an effect on the team splitting 2 years later.