Process of Illumination

At Bravo's last practice of the year there was a family of two boys and their parents at the track. The parents had their eldest son doing 200 M repeats while the younger of the two boys did three step approaches on regulation hurdles. The boys ages I'd estimate to be 11 and 8. Despite the cold, the 3 inches of snow from the night before, the parents were cracking the whip on their eldest son to push himself as he did each 200.

At the end of one the mom turned to the dad and said, "Make him do two more. Two more would be good for him." To which the boy, bent over at the waist and sucking air replied,

"I'm about to puke. Maybe you should shut the hell up and go home." Wierd.

Onwards.

Right now...

...Monster is discussing on their email list who is bringing what drinks to the fields.

...Twisted Metal is wondering what game against a big-name opponent they're going to almost win.

...Tim Paymaster, Misha Horowitz, and Danny Clark all have some type of nagging injury. Again.

...Alex DeFrondeville is eligible for social security.

...All the Open division players are making fun of the Mixed division.

...Ben Wiggins is in front of a mirror trying on different shades of eye black.

...Brendon Steets and Todd Owens are united in prayer.

...Cyle Van Auken is looking at pictures of himself at college nationals.

...Cyle Van Auken wishes this was college nationals.

...Justice League is bored looking at cabinets at the Home Depot.

...Dr. Chris Hinkle is calling some first year doctoral candidate a dildo.

...Colin Mahoney is lumbeing about ackwardly.

...Rob is hoping UVTv subscriptions sell like crack in Baltimore.

...Tyson Park is visualizing 70 yard forehand blades.

...Jim Parinella is stirring metamucil and smelling of AsperCreme.

...John Hammond is trying to have a conversation and not making any sense.

...Sub Zero is failing to convince themselves they can beat Bravo at nationals.

...The plans Furious has to contain Dave Boardman are doomed to failure.

...Matt Bruss is no longer claiming status as unblastable.

...Revolver is the highest seeded "happy-to-be-here" in history.

...Justice League is wondering about the dates for Revolver tryouts.

...Jeff Cruikshank is unaware of what the word "mark" means.

...someone is underrating A.J. on Chain.

...someone is overrating Jeff Graham.

...you think you know Beau.

...Andrew Brown is waking up sweating from a nightmare in which he turned the disc over.

...Johnny Bravo is not concerned.

...VC ultimate is concerned.

...you're wishing your Gaia cleats had not just blown out.

...the memories of the Sarasota sun and sand are already warming me.

...Benjamin Cohen is looking at a fire alarm suspisciously.

It's very late, even for Saturdays, but the upcoming week is already throwing me about my bed. Visualizing our offensive and defensive schemes, trying to do everything right, and picking match-ups with the opposing teams in our pool. With so much mental preparation to be done with less than a week until the Club Championships, who can sleep, anyway?

Tomorrow is Bravo's last practice of the year. It's been tumultuous at times, and yesterday night's last full-speed practice began with a near brawl between two of my hot-headed, but much loved, teammates. After some heavy flagrant fouls from both of them, one held the other back as he ran upline from the dump position. The other yelled his foul call, turned, and before anyone else knew what was happening shoved the fouler with both arms. A fight seemingly immenent, the pushed player walked off the field and was more or less ruined for the rest of practice. After several more points with full-on beef between the O and D, the practice turned into one of the most intense and productive of the year. Excellent way to finish.

But getting back to my original reason for writing. As I was thinking of my friends whom I'll see on opposing teams and thinking on the good times we'll spend in comraderie, I started thinking about my Bay area boys, specifically Matt Bruss, arguably the most handsome ape ever tamed. Arguably. I was looking forward to seeing him play and letting loose a heckle or two when it struck me. Fucking Justice League didn't even qualify for nationals.

Is that still shocking only to me? A team with THREE members of Team USA? Whose entire roster plays as if they're the heralded graduating class of Handsome Boy Modeling School? What could have happened to them? I listed in my head 10 names of players on the team, as I could name them off the top of my head, then wondered how those 10 alone couldn't qualify for nationals? Still a shock.

But getting back to Bruss. Apparently he got his head knocked in an altercation where details are hazy (at best) to all those involved. Apparently he's operating on Spurley's brain capacity. And apparently it still hurts. No, I don't want to out him as one of Justice Leagues' members who purchased a ticket ahead of time, but apparently his melon is so bounced right now it might hold him back from traveling. If anyone reads this and can contact him, tell his ass to get on the plane anyways, get ready to watch his girl win nationals and put back Shlitz with me as we reminisce on our halcyon days as players.

(on a side note, if there is something good to come out of Justice League's elimination, maybe it'll be that next year those that get cut from Revolver will form a team with a better name. Justice League? You're fucking kidding me. You can do better, on and off the field.)

2004 Callahan Winner Josh Richter Ackley relaxes in the Duo-Core heat capacity Fuzzy Hat from Five Ultimate.

The death of the two Gendors players, both younger than me and one my brother's age, hit me hard.
How often have we driven home all night, tired and spent, just four bodies laying in a car pointing toward home? How often have we nested in the back amid sleeping bags and backpacks, removing the annoying seat belt to find a more comfortable way of sleeping?

My freshman year, a car of 4 true freshmen rookies made their way back from their first cross country road trip, first college tournament, and first trip through the Streets of New Orleans during Mardi Gras. Sometime around 3am, one of them woke up from the back seat and surveyed his surroundings. It was then he noticed the rest of the car, driver included, was napping right along with him. I was that guy. Jason Ludden was the dude "focusing from the bottom of my eyes."

John Shutkin, lord forgive us for giving him a driver's license, fell asleep driving back from Mardi Gras six years later and introduced the side of Tyson Park's car to the railing for several hundred yards, before managing to swerve and avoid a fence post. The grinding of metal on metal woke him. He had run out of gas only hours earlier. That was a tough driving shift.

We do this shit all the time. We're brash. We're athletic, handsome, gregarious, confident and take the proverbial bull by the cojones. My only suprise is that this doesn't happen to us more often.

And, thank god for that.