Process of Illumination

Every once in a while I get sucked into some hideous comment board at CNN.com, over a hundred comments deep before pulling up, no longer able to bear such ugly civility. Has this always been the tenor of our discourse? Have we always been so rude?

I've been in many conversations about whether having the Spirit of the Game (note the caps) elevates the sport of Ultimate beyond others by enshrining in its rules that concept of Spirit, making it explicit and fundamental to the correct way of playing the game... or does it merely state what should be obvious, that in sports competition sportsmanship is necessary to ensure the validity of the results?

I find myself in the latter camp. I definitely appreciate that the concept of sportsmanship (which stripped even further reveals itself to be about effort, honesty, and integrity) is embedded in the rulebook, right there in the beginning of it, but Spirit is necessary in all sports and if you play without it, whether  you win or lose, you're doing it wrong. But like I said, I think it's nice Ultimate took the time to write it in. I reiterate this point because when I speak about my stance with people in the former camp, they collapse the meaning of my argument that there's nothing unique about Ultimate because of Spirit into this wacky notion that I don't like Spirit, or Ultimate, nearly as much as they do. Which I'd be willing to argue.

Spirit, or Sportsmanship, capitalized or otherwise and whatever you call it, is actually incredibly important to me, within and without the sport of Ultimate; it's the most important thing. Your ability to maintain poise and civility during conflict and disagreement is an entirely personal challenge, and must be a requirement of each of us living in a country that grants free speech as a right. It's what DFW called the "Democratic Spirit", and as our world continues to interlace, it'll be necessary to navigate the disagreements that will naturally arise.

Being able to make your own calls, or foul at your discretion, in competitive games is an exercise in free speech. Sure, you can do so whenever we like, but do you really want to? What happens when people decide to take their liberties to the extreme, to yell bullshit calls on the field and type bullshit comments on news sites, simply because they can? The legitimacy of the game and the civility of the argument are both drowned out.

When I took the helm of the Hodags in '10, the team carried a reputation for cheap play and lack of sportsmanship, and there had been players in the years past that earned themselves and the team that reputation. The attitude and style of play that garnered embarrassingly low spirit scores could not be a part of the team's success in its future, and the young team bought into the goal of turning the reputation around.

We finished this past season without a single chippy game. Sportsmanship was never an issue and without being flawless our bad calls were few and our positivity high. Conversations I had with coaches after games ended with agreements that the game had been hard fought and with integrity. I was incredibly proud of the turnaround the program has had in these last three seasons. So it was no surprise, but certainly an honor, to view College Natties' Spirit score rankings, and to see our nearly flawless score, placing us in 3rd after a 2-way tie for 1st with perfect scores. In fact, you have to go down to 8th and 12th to find the next two quarterfinalists. To play a tournament and have that level of success against opponents who honor you with that spirit score at the end of your game is rare, and it speaks loudly to the character and heart of this team.

I repudiate the philosophy that you have to play with hate to get fired up or win. It's the antithesis of my own philosophy and also patently untrue. More valuable than a medal at season's end is intact self-respect. At natties, we came tantalizingly close to the medal we wanted, but the results of our tests against our sportsmanship and integrity were never in question. The Hodags will continue to keep perfection in our horizon, and I'm confident our march forward will reward our efforts.

It's dusty here.

I hacked at the cobwebs above the keyboard for several minutes before I saw a single key. My computer space is overrun by piles of paper and clothing and my neural blogging infrastructure is emaciated from disuse. Still, my brain is thinking about Ultimate more often than not, and it's gotten to a point where it's spilling over into typed copy. Also Muffin's testosterone prose spreads unchecked like kudzu, and I feel obliged to restore balance. Hence, I am going to write on this blog again.

Throughout the last college season there have been myriad moments where I return home from a practice or tournament with an idea or observation chaffing at my mind like store-brand compression shorts. These would be the things that I have written about in the past but as a captain and coach I wonder if sharing them openly would conflict with our team. I certainly wouldn't give away any of our playbooks, but I wonder if some of these insights and new perspectives don't qualify as proprietary knowledge. I have previously chosen to err on the side of silence and caution.

Certainly in cutthroat patent and copyright law worlds any and all knowledge is a commodity to be owned and traded or sold, but that philosophy has never sat well with me. Ultimate knowledge disseminates itself eventually as players graduate or move to new cities and teams, and I don't think it does the sport much good at this stage in its adolescence to withhold insight and thought from each other. As the talent at the highest levels of Ultimate continues to increase, the strategies and styles teams employ will continue to evolve and differentiate. I am confident that we have not seen just how elegant and exact the game can be played, and am hoping that by sharing my pieces of the conversation I can have some part in spurring that evolution.

Hh

Major changes in rules:
1) Stall 7 (silent count from referee)
2) Double teaming on the mark!
3) 80x53x20
4) Fouls are penalty yards of 5, 10 & 20
5) Travels are turnovers! (throwing violations only)
6) 2 Flagrant Fouls
7) Four 12 minute quarters
8) 40 seconds to pull
9) Three hour game to 30
10) Sub the entire line on time-outs!
11) You never have to stop moving during the point (the best rule!)
12) Injuries don't stop play either
13) Picks rarely exist
14) Physicality Scale: Women's Lacrosse < Soccer < Ultimate Frisbee < Basketball < Rugby < AUDL < Boxing < MMA
15) Cheerleaders
16) #rhinofacts

When I was a sophomore in college, I lived in the "frisbee house" with five other teammates. We had a stacked line. 5th Year Senior Grant Zukowski was dominating the basement. 4th Year Senior Rodrigo Valdivia roamed the kitchen and first floor. Fellow 4th year seniors Ted Tripoli, Nate Hurst and Jon Schutkin lived upstairs. Sophomore Muffin was last to arrive at the house and was crammed into the smallest room. I was in over my head. These guys were awesome. A 19 year old acting like a rock star. I held a high estimation of my ultimate prowess and had the mouth to back it up. But occasionally, I could not always back up my mouth. It was a hilarious place and the battle was for the Hodags. We lived, breathed, slept, ate, worked, studied ultimate. There was no down-time, it was one team function to the next. I was focused on school, becoming the best, and learning as much as I could from my roommates - some of the best players in the nation. Grant was the most interesting. Having transferred from UW-Whitewater his sophomore year, a road paved by Andrew Brown a season earlier. And best of all, Grant was a teacher. He could break down any concept to the simplest of terms, so that the smallest child could understand as well. He made me think outside the box and filled me with confidence. I learned so about ultimate that season and Zukowski was showing me the way to play on the field. Complete Confidence. A Stud 24/7. Handling, Cutting, Hucking, Defending, Skying, or just plain Shutdown - Grant could excel at all functions. "What do you need done?" "I got it!" We sprinted hills together, battled at practice and both wanted to get that National Championship. We thought we were the best, NUMP poll and everything. Well 2005 happened and we lost in pool play to Stanford and then to Colorado in Quarters. It was disappointing and Grant moved to Portland the next year.

I'd ask about Rhino and he described it as weird. I was confused. How could it be weird? It was ultimate right? And Portland has tons of good ultimate! It must be spectacular, way better than Madison surely. He said something about cutting lanes being different... describing the horizontal as spread across the field with vertical cutter lanes. I thought he was fucking nuts. He went on, unbelievably talking about how ultimate wasn't as much fun when you weren't playing with your best friends. I wasn't sure at first. I again confirmed that we were playing ultimate. Then speculated that ultimate was ALWAYS fun. Grant was recovering from an injury at the time and ended up not playing club his first year out there. I was shocked. This was Zukowski. Cold Blooded Killer. Dominator. Game Changer. But apparently it just wasn't as fun because the "teammates" were not as connected.

I take for granted how awesome the relationships I had with my teammates. We were committed to the same goal and played for each other. It built a trust on the field that was overwhelming. I got your back as a teammate, as a friend, as a roommate, as a mentor. It was the best support system you could ask for. Hodag Love.

Coming from Madison Club to Boston in 2010 -- adjustments were made to my playing style. Vertical stack rather than horizontal offense. Possession instead of field position. Position man defense instead of space/lane poaching. However, the biggest difference is the effect I can have on a game. In college, if I played well, we won. In club, if I played well, we usually won, but not always. In elite club, it seems not to matter. Remove one or two players and the result is largely the same.

In elite level club, making a difference is hard to do. Sometimes impossible. Ironside lost only twice in 2010 -- once in quarterfinals of worlds to Sockeye 15-17 and once in Club National Finals to Revolver 10-15. Of any game that season, those two were the hardest to be on the field and make a significant impact. The game-changing, momentum-swinging knockout-uppercut to propel the team to victory.

This last season specifically -- I felt like my fantasy value dwindled, as I found it more difficult to land power-punch impacts constantly. The large turnover of the roster, developing roles and overall immense talent of the team, made superstar players difficult to generate consistently. Perhaps there are just less touches at the highest level. I can't get over the feeling of not winning my battle and playing a major role in our success. On every ultimate team I've ever played on -- I was one of the main contributors. In college and club in the Midwest, I was driving the offense, getting resets and completely controlling the game. Last year, I felt like I wasn't able to finish at to the level I've come to expect from myself down the stretch.

I've always prided myself in being a deadly weapon. Threatening the ability to throw a goal from anywhere on the field, at any moment. That was high school, then college, then club, but not so much elite club. The windows are smaller, the defenders faster, the deep cuts not as often. That's what frustrates me the most. When I have the disc, why are the cutter's setting up for 5-10 yard under-cuts? It doesn't make sense. I have a rocket launcher with a scope. A loaded arm cannon with a loose trigger. Get the disc in my hands.. and let the magic happen. But Boston runs a different "ultimate brand." It is consistent, conservative, dependable and most importantly, boring. The odds make sense actually. 22 passes for 4 yards at 99.8% completion percentage will amount to more goals than 1 pass for 75 yards at 80% completion percentage. I get that.

I'm not sure I'm cut out to just be one of the sailors. I've always had the rage of a massive wild Hodag. Having a smaller role, watching plays happen rather than doing, it all feels like a step backwards? I can contribute more; I can win those battles to 15. I have every throw. Complete confidence, total control. Breakside, deep, open side, resets.. I know them all. I can drive an offense, take over a game and mentally win each crucial moment. Developing in a midwest was the best situation for me. It's always windy. Most players struggle in high winds. Soon I realized the swing off the sideline is 50/50 at best. Sometimes I don't completely trust my teammates, because I've learned their tendencies and can predict their bad habits. I realized as a sophomore in college that the most difficult throw is usually the first one. Especially for the D line bringing the disc up to the cone. I call it the cone of death with Worcester Flatball. The one place on the field where no one has throws. However, that is my favorite place to be. In the pressure cooker, forced to make plays in brutal conditions. These are the situations that make you stronger. Because if you can execute here - everywhere else is a breeze. I know I can do it because I've done it so many times before and in all sorts of high stress situations. The stronger the wind, the bigger my advantage is. I like the responsibility of having to do the heavy lifting, especially when the pressure is on. Rising to the challenge and embracing the moment is where glory happens.