Sunday, January 01, 2006
Our insular community rings in the new year. Michael Jackson and Robert Blake escaped conviction, but not judgment from the public. And those prominent players, the ones whose noses constantly itch from the swirling news and rumors the rest of the ultimate players pass on, will find themselves likewise judged.
It’s really irrelevant to define a player or team as a winner or loser when the rest of the world seems to be going to shit, but these small breaks from that oppressive truth allow us to continue waking up in the morning without pulling out our hair. So instead of lurking around dailykos or cnn getting depressed about the world – HERE! Look! Something shiny!
Winner: Mike Gerics
He’s been the bogey man for years. The guy you can look at and say “That’s the bad guy.” And people loved to get in line to bash him or revile him when the bandwagon would take off. But his computer melts down for several months, no one hears from him, and everyone starts sniveling and begging for his return. It couldn’t have worked out more perfect if he’d done this on purpose. You all love him. RSD needs him.
No Gerics. The ones who contributed the real meat of the posts went and got their own blogs, like ditching you at the mall in junior high. What was left? Banal chatter, Toad Leber, co-ed, and the Metro East. Not even a Luke Smith thread review would have made it worthwhile.
Winner: Furious George
They got shat on at Labor Day. They were handled at ECC. Everyone counted them out. People bemoaned their descent, saying Grant fell off. But as they lost early on all their younger studs collected valuable playing time and experience, and their workhorses remained fresh and healthy. Their season for me crystallized in finals when a high floating huck was perfectly read from two different directions by Chase and Grant, and Grant fucking owned him. Chase called an injury, several women on the sideline wept, and I knew then Furious would win it.
Loser: Ring of Fire
Hinkle, you’re doing a heckuva job. To be fair it wasn’t his fault as six or more key players were too injured to contribute for them on Thursday of the Club Championships. A surprise jump by Potomac, BAT followed suit, and their season ended – poof – just like that. Maybe it gave them some comfort to know that they weren’t alone because…
Gentlemen, when we came together at the beginning of this season to finalize the roster for this 2005 Condors team, who then dreamt that our hard work would take us all the way to a victory in the ninals?
He gave us UltimateTalk, establishing himself as the Rupert Murdoch of ultimate news. But his true genius was in leaving Jam for the season, thereby absolving himself from any blame when they lost in semis. Or…could we somehow still blame it on him?
He either cheated, or he didn’t know the rules. “Fool me once, shame on you…fool me tw—you’re not gonna fool me again.”
Do I need to put a reason why here? They go undefeated the entire season, making them winners and by association…
White smoke poured out of the chimney in the Space Needle. A new leader had been chosen! He would guide his sheep and show him the true ways of disc! But for all the pomp and fanfare, finals was ugly, and they were left to play second fiddle to their female counterparts.
Iconic status has been inferred. Rob has placed himself in such a position of influence that people now actually believe he owes them something. His business to profit from, your U.S. dollar to spend. So if the cash flow’s not there, he’s not making it. So…
The fury was hot enough to fry motherboards. People want women’s footage! Right fucking now, Rob! Now! But for all the complaining, what they really meant was “We want free women’s footage!” Because when it comes time, not enough people want to pony up. Seems what our dollars are saying is that Open is, with some notable exceptions, more entertaining on the TV.
Extended the Colorado tourney record to 10-0. Switched teams for Lungbuster and caught the tourney-winning Callahan. Got ample playing time on several fields. Finally able to throw a flick twenty yards consistently. Was not stripped naked and forced into a lycra leopard outfit the Saturday of nationals. Ordered drinks on Dan Hodges’ tab at Labor Day party.
Pulled a hamstring at practice, aggravated it playing coed. No longer has his fire. Made a fool of himself in front of several hundred fellow players. Did not kill Wiggins as proposed in 2005 resolutions. Started a blog.
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