Saturday, December 03, 2016
So when Avery told me, I was fired up. What a sweet experience! For those within, at least - those without saw not what was offered but what wasn't, and the discourse (to use the term extremely loosely) since then has been a battleground centered around who got invited, who didn't, and why.
The commentary in these kinds of conversations about equity will often revolve around systemic racism, systemic sexism, systemic what-have-you. The use of systemic here isn't an indictment (although those that disagree it's a factor personally take it as one), it's a descriptor, and of course gender inequity and current cultural norms are a factor. What systemic here represents is a sum, the addition of myriad tiny decisions that lead to very real outcomes, whether intended or not.
The systemic outcome here is that ten dudes, five of which I coach, will play ten other dudes for ten minutes in front of a crowd of 80,000, and that during the planning stages of this event we did not think to invite Bella or Heist or any other women's team to be a part of those twenty people.
What often gets lost in the online discourse are the little moments and decision that led us to the sum total, and result in all these commentators taking Avery to task and/or assuring us that, in his shoes, they totally would have played it differently.
So how did it happen? Why didn't we think to invite Bella to a fantastic event with massive exposure? I alluded to the answer in my initial tweet about this whole thing as the furor started: it happened little by little, as the distance between the Hodags and Bella grew. We used to have practice side-by-side year round, indoor and out; now we have separate indoor nights and practice on opposite days in the spring. We used to travel to every tournament together; today the existing elite tournament structure has us rarely attending tourneys together during the season. The halcyon days of inter-team romance and hook-ups ensured that the teams were quite literally joined at the hips; there are no Hodag-Bella couples right now. The distance between the two team has never been greater, and we don't talk or think about how the other is doing very regularly. I'm not forging new ground here in typing that, when presented with an opportunity to invite someone, you think first of those you spend time with, and not those you don't. Of course. When you don't interact with people you begin to think of them less and less.
And I should have expected the online reaction, just as most everyone should have expected the invites to fall where they did. The distance between the two furthest Ultimate players is increasing, and the dialogue between those of us who disagree with each other is thinning. That Opi, one of the luminaries of our game right now and someone I admire greatly, would disavow her laudable work with E.R.I.C. on the basis of a five-word FB post from the non-profit's founder, shows me that not even the best among us is immune. It's far easier for us to not interact with "them". Disgust is effortless then.
I'm not here to tell anyone with whom they're allowed to be angry - it's your right, and the online world has gifted us with an unending supply of ways to tell people we disagree with to fuck off. But Big Picture consequences come from the sum of Little Picture decisions, and everyone collectively deciding that those we disagree with aren't worth our time, or are racists, or misogynists, or deplorable, or not as woke as we are - well, that tends to undermine the pride we feel in our Spirit of the Game, in self-officiation, in the notion that we are as open and inclusive as we all agree we are. How can we claim to be a sport that purports to teach how to resolve disputes through civility and conversation when we don't reflect that in our personal lives?
Tomorrow some dudes are going to play Ultimate in front of a large crowd at the halftime of an NFL game, and for those participating, I couldn't be happier or more excited. And because it's such a wonderful opportunity I understand how disappointed Bella feels in not being taken into account. Moving forward, one path might lead back online, where we'll be free to talk past each other and misconstrue arguments to our advantage and villainize each other while doing some feel-good virtue signaling. There is perhaps another path, in remembering that the personal is political. We can reach out to Bella and spend time together. We can organize and volunteer at community service events, together. We can exist in the intimacy of each other's social lives so that we're always reminded of the interconnection of our fates. We can be political by being personal with each other.
I have a little Hispanic daughter, so the issues of racism, sexism and discrimination are very near and personal to me. The demands on my time with her mean that I won't be able to directly take part in whatever Bella and the Hodags do going forward from here, but I know my players, and trust them fully as great, decent and thoughtful people, and can extrapolate that out to our female counterparts, so I have faith that they'll work it out. And as concerned as I am about the aforementioned issues, I am concerned more about our desire to push others away, to live in smaller and smaller bubbles of thought, to dismiss and belittle those we disagree with. We cannot cure any of our social ills if we continue our retreat to the comfort of the familiar.
I'm immensely proud of Avery and love him like a brother and like a son, and see no fault in how he handled all of this as it was placed on his lap. I'm excited to watch the Periscoped halftime show tomorrow and watch my friends play on a field they've seen on TV their whole lives, and to listen to their stories when they return. And I'm looking forward to what the two teams do going forward, and trust they'll build deeper connections between themselves.
I am excited for the future.
Hh
Friday, October 16, 2015
The ultimate community is pretty cool. At tournaments, I regularly meet new people and rekindle long-lost friendships from teams and years past. While names sometimes escape me, the familiar faces and shared experiences do not. It's one of my favorite parts of ultimate - mingling with teammates and friends from cities long removed when we meet on the cross-roads of the triple crown tour, fun tournaments or just plain summer/winter league.
As someone who is entrenched in the ultimate scene, I find myself transitioning into my fourth such community. Madison is my first, Minneapolis for a minute, Boston had a nice run and now Texas I call home. The part I find interesting is how these groups are so distinctly different and unique from each other. The major differences are obvious - like winter league replacing summer league and the regional bias of each area. But the subtle differences are the ones I focus on - like the college pipelines and reset systems of each offense. Each niche has it's own style, leadership agenda and culture - all similar in some ways, but distinct in their own. Some teams rely on the track - some teams rely on field time together and some teams rely on partying Friday nights.
This will be my 15th year of throwing plastic around, but I'm keenly more aware that the more ultimate I see, the more I notice what each group is missing from the others. Most habits are hard to break and this will be my fourth tour of adjusting to the status quo and trying to fit in. Most communities acknowledge that despite my best efforts, I don't always mesh into the way things run around here. For me to buy in, I need to understand why. Not just - this is always how we do it, but the more pressing question - why do we do it this way? Until this question is sufficiently answered and embedded into my thinking - I naturally resist it - like a haphazard method for solving a jig-saw puzzle. If I can't see the logic and purpose behind it - I wonder why the hell do it like that at all. This is not to say that I categorically resist new ways of getting things done, but that I need to see the implied benefits of doing things this way. The most common answer for why do it like this? Tradition - that's how the college or club teams in the area prior to us did it - and that's how we will continue to do it. Needless to say, I'm searching for "best practices" not outdated prehistoric nonsense someone came up with on a napkin 25 years ago. But usually after enough persuasion and coercion, I come around to doing it the same as everybody else in the neighborhood. Mostly because, that's the bus we are all riding, so I might as well get on board, even if this bus hits lots of bumps and can't make sharp left turns. Usually, I find that each system has it's pros and cons and that if everyone buys in - most any system can run efficiently.
But what am I really talking about here? The horizontal, the vertical, split stack, side stack or just the reset system? The manner in which offenses swirl? The angles of attack downfield? Or maybe the cohesion of everyone working together seamlessly for the best outcome. But who is overseeing the process? The captains, the coaches, the leaders calling the sets and plays on the line? Who is really in control of what? Hundreds of decisions are made each point and it only takes a single error from one person to make a big mess.
I think I've taken for granted how much individual sacrifice it takes to be in a winning team. The play you want to make versus the "best" play for the team at the moment. Moving the disc early for no gain versus holding the disc for an option that can break the defense wide open. It's a delicate balance and feelings get hurt. If trust is not quickly developed, it might never come to fruition. Trust - both on and off the field. Can I make this throw as you plant to cut? Or will I be fooled by the double-move as well? Can I lead a receiver to space, if he is expecting it at his chest? And once the questioning begins, there is no stopping it. Instincts are bludgeoned and hesitation takes over. Now I begin to doubt the simplest of decisions and soon I begin to press - searching for signals and making decisions based on feeling.
Every team is different, from the players to the culture to the leadership to the systems to the warm-ups and cool-downs. Do you adapt quickly or go rogue? Do you trust the players and captains in power? They have to live with their decisions, but so do you. And when things go sour down the stretch, frustration mounts and disgust boils over. Suddenly, I'm just along for the ride on this bus, hitting bumps and making three right turns to go left.
Wednesday, January 07, 2015
9/25/2013
I regard myself as perpetually lucky. Starting with #13, I consider myself superstitious to a fault. In any competition, I believe I will win. I've always thought this way.
So on my birthday this year, I decided to sneak in a lift. I usually do my best not to make a big deal out of special occasions - shying away from attention. But as I swiped my card into the fitness center, the 19 year old attendant, who rarely ever looks up, suddenly snarks, "Happy Birthday."
It caught me by surprise, as I had know idea my information was even visible before the gate sprang open. I smiled and mumbled "Thanks," feeling bashful like he caught me doing something wrong. Immediately I had a bad feeling. I tried to shake it off and went HAM on my routine, crushing my last sets of hang cleans at 190x5 and 200x5, with half the gym watching. I grabbed some beer with a buddy and headed home, only to realize something was wrong. My foot kinda hurt. Nothing serious, just a very small ache, exactly where I had broken my foot 3x before. This had me in a tussle for about a week, before I was able to regain confidence in the 4 inch drywall screw holding my 5th metatarsal in place.
But that was only the half of the problem. As my foot discomfort faded, I realized I had a more urgent problem in my hand. Injuries accrue every season, but my middle finger wasn't feeling right. From a dull ache to a shooting pain, the discomfort was increasing with my workload. I started icing on the way to work, but found it much more difficult to ice while typing. Soon, I couldn't throw a flick without pain. Suddenly, everything I had worked so hard to gain was gone. It was like starting over - nothing tangible to show despite all the work. I finally realized that my game was entirely dependent on my big throws. I was lost in the world. Frustration and disappointment overwhelmed me in the coming weeks. I couldn't contribute in my normal capacity. Suddenly, I was mortal.
It made me realize that I had to change and adapt if I wanted to factor in down the stretch. I became a game manager instead of a franchise quarterback. So, I made strides in other departments, like cutting deep and fighting for resets just to throw the swing pass. I turned up my defensive pressure, locked down on my man and stopped poaching entirely. Ironside struggled to convert breaks in semifinals of Nationals against Sockeye and we lost on universe point. I played hard that game, but couldn't make any difference.
When the off-season began, I focused on leg strength and hand rest. I took roughly 7 months off before slowly increased my throwing regimen. The cause of this injury? Trying to throw 80 yard hammers on the turf with my college kids. For some reason, I wanted 80 yards in all every capacity - flick, backhand, hammer. If memory serves me, I maxed out at 72 yards in the moment of injury, partially tearing the collateral ligament of my right middle finger.
Despite the disappointing finish to the season, I learned that I needed to develop other parts of my game if I wanted to become a complete player.
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
~July 2013
Almost everyday after work, I grab my wireless headphones and begin my trek to the gym. Up the hill, I blast my best pump-up songs and explode through my lifting sessions with bass-pounding enthusiasm. Then, I made the mistake of wearing them during a murderball throwing session in a moderate rain and ever since, the volume "up" button has stopped working. To my horror, I realized that once I volumed "down" -- there was no going back up. For weeks, my workouts dragged, especially when I needed Lil Wayne's Beast Mode the most. But today, as I was contemplating how much weight to add to the bar, a miracle occurred.
My headphones sprang back to life, volume increasing a notch every second as the beat took hold of me. It was a sign from above -- better put on the big plates. I had no excuse anymore, I had to go hard. With the bass reverberating through my soul, I stared into the mirror - readying myself for action. I have a tried-and-true habit of imagining a rival competitor, just before the moment of truth. Without fail, my instincts kick in and adrenaline surges - this is the person who wants a piece of me. This is the person who wants to take me down and beat me to the punch. As I open my eyes and snap back to reality, the emotional response has taken hold and is screaming KILLMODE. Half the battle is done, as my body is now primed for athletic explosion. The reps and sets merge into sweat and grunts, my best effort, all thanks to my wireless headphones.
But as the years wear on -- this rival competitor morphs from opponent season to season -- from the most important game to the individual match-up. I've literally been training against the mental image of my strongest competition since elementary school. It comes naturally to me - especially when I'm weary of the task/lift before me and need some motivation. Just the thought of losing to Brodie pushed my dead lift over 385.
So today, as I stared into the mirror, I realized two extraordinary things. For one, when comparing myself to the best in the game, I don't need to look far. The 4 USA World's teams went undefeated in dominant fashion just last week -- so the competition is there to behold. As I started thinking of the national team, seeking a rival, it became clear. The players who motivate me the most -- are the ones on my very team.
I say nonchalantly that I played with my captains Matt Rebholz and Jimmy Foster at Wisconsin all the time. But to be honest, we never played together because they played offense and I played defense. The real answer was -- that I matched up against them every single practice for 4-5 years with the Hodags, but we rarely actually played "together." It was a completely different way to think of "teammates."
Suddenly, I knew who I was imaging as my rival competitor. It was Stubbs - someone I see in practice, at workouts, in the gym, all the time for the last four years. I wasn't imagining Sockeye, Chain Lightning, Revolver or Doublewide - I was imaging Ironside's offense as my competition - because for the majority of the season -- those are the players I'm battling day-in-day-out.
Suddenly, I knew who I was imaging as my rival competitor. It was Stubbs - someone I see in practice, at workouts, in the gym, all the time for the last four years. I wasn't imagining Sockeye, Chain Lightning, Revolver or Doublewide - I was imaging Ironside's offense as my competition - because for the majority of the season -- those are the players I'm battling day-in-day-out.
Tuesday, March 04, 2014
From Dan Heijmen ('03-'07, Callahan '07). He wanted me to pass this along to the CUT world at large.
*********************
From the first day of my first tryout I heard about CUT. It
was the Fall of 2002 and the Hodags had come off their most successful season
in their history: losing in National Finals to Stanford (a bitter pill) but
more importantly, beating CUT in Regional Finals for the first time in over a
decade. The Hodags went on to back up that win in National Semis, beating
Carleton again and cementing Wisconsin as a national power.
This would have never happened without CUT.
If you’re a Hodag, there is no bigger game than Regional
Finals, and no bigger rival than Carleton. At Wisconsin, scrimmages are held
where both teams are told to play like CUT, and the week leading up to
Regionals is a mix of anxiety, intensity and sleepless nights. The faces of
their studs pop up in your head during workouts and practices - obviously - but
also when you least expect it:
daydreaming in class or when you’re trying to fall asleep.
You dream about getting that block or throwing that goal that
will claim this year for the Hodags. Or worse, the nightmare of getting D’d, or
giving up a break that loses the game. You know that CUT will demand your best,
but that it might not be good enough to win.
In my 5 years playing for the Hodags I had a losing record
against CUT at Regionals . My first year was a typical epic. Guys like Chase,
Masulis, Phil, and Jimmy Chu from CUT going up against Tyler, Paradise, Brown,
Tyson and Hector for Wisconsin. In all my years of sport I had never
participated in such an incredible atmosphere of pure competition. And when it
was over and we had lost, I watched as Tyler and Chase looked each other in
the eye and embraced. They had each given their all against the man they’d been
preparing for and training against all year. They had earned each other’s
respect and admiration. They had pushed the other to new heights and brought
their teammates along for the ride. Both teams gave their all, and CUT came out
on top. We went on to win Nationals that year, but we had still lost to CUT.
As a Junior, playing in Carleton Stadium I suffered a
compound fracture going up for a disc against a CUT opponent. I was rushed to
Northfield Hospital and was in surgery while my team played and lost for the
3rd year in a row. CUT rushed the field and celebrated (or so I was told)
another Central Region Crown while I was hooked up to a morphine drip and
barely knew where I was. But when I woke up, who did I see come through the
door but Chris Rupp, one of CUT’s captains. He wasn’t with his teammates,
celebrating a Regional Championship, a trip to nationals, and a victory over
his fiercest rival in his home stadium. He was at the hospital, visiting a guy
he barely knew. At the time, I knew Chris only as an opponent. He was my year
and the guy I measured myself against. I imagined the work he put in on the
track or in the weight room and used it as my motivation during our latest,
awful, gut-churning workout. That he came to see me said everything about his
character and reflected everything that was good about CUT and our rivalry with
them.
He kept the visit brief, saying how sorry he was and that he
hoped I would heal up in time for Nationals, 5 weeks away. His visit meant the
world to me, and deepened my respect for him and his team. But more than
anything, it made me want to beat him even more. I wanted to show him my best.
I respect the hell out of Chris Rupp and I wanted to prove that to him by playing my balls off at Nationals.
We matched up in Pre-Quarters that year, knowing that because
of the draw and tournament format, that there would be only 1 bid to Nationals
from the Central Region the following season. Both teams fought hard, with
alumni screaming on and tempers flaring up. I caught a 50/50 disc in the
endzone with my good hand and spiked it down with my cast, the bones in my
forearm being held together by 2 plates and 12 screws. My teammates swarmed me,
ranting and rabid with joy. This was why I played. To compete against the best,
and to lose myself in pure competition against a worthy opponent.
After that college season was over I decided - with a few
other Wisconsin guys - to try out for Sub Zero, our chilly neighbors to the
North. There was some definite tension in the air when I first got out of the
car and put my cleats on. What was it going to be like to catch passes from
CUTboys, instead of trying to D them? What about high-fiving after our
scrimmage team scored?
The tension lasted for about 3 minutes. These were good
players: fast, smart and hardworking. They were easy to play with and they were
fun to play with. The guys on CUT moved the ball quickly and yelled a ton from
the sideline. Sure, they were weird liberal arts kids and probably played a ton
of Magic the Gathering, but that didn’t change the fact that they could ball. I credit my
first season on Sub Zero with instilling in me the awareness that a strong,
supportive and intelligent sideline was paramount towards building a winning
program.
The Hodags were good at being loud. We were good at being
crazy. We were good and jamming our bodies in a mob and screaming absurdities
until we lost our voices. We were good at freaking out at all the right times.
At that point, we weren’t great about constructive sideline communication. On
Sub Zero, my CUT teammates made me a better player when I was on the field.
They told me where the disc was on defense and when I was hot. They cheered for
me when I denied my man an under and fired me up when my legs started to go.
The feedback and insight I got when I came off the field helped me develop into
a cerebral player, someone focused on the details while always remembering the
big picture: every time you step on the field, get better.
The CUT influence on the Hodags cannot be overstated. Of
course they pushed us to be our best. They forced us around the track for
another 200 and told us we had another rep in us when it seemed we were spent.
But we also borrowed and stole from them, unabashedly. They had good ideas, and
we took them. And guess what, it worked.
The joke with CUT was that the team you saw during the
regular season was not the team that showed up at Regionals. They’d come to
Stanford or Centex in white, v-neck t-shirts they decorated themselves and go
4-2 or 3-3. Pretty underwhelming for a team with their talent. Their rookies
would get a bunch of run and in general they seemed vaguely apathetic about
winning. I think I’ve only lost once to Carleton in a non-Regional game. They
had a plan, a trajectory for the season that said, early tournaments don’t
matter, let’s improve and keep our eye on the prize.
At Regionals, everything was different. They had slick-looking jerseys and made their annual sacrifice to the Midwest weather gods.
The rain fell and the wind blew hard, but CUT was fast; their throws were crisp
and they were ready to win.
Winning Nationals will always be the highlight of my
Ultimate career, but I’ve never been as happy on an Ultimate Field as when we
finally beat CUT at Regionals. The weather was so horrible that the University
of Iowa closed their fields. We played the game, Regional Finals, essentially
squatting at a city park where the dandelions came halfway up our shin. The
game could’ve been on the moon, it didn’t matter. To make the stakes even
higher, our win over them at the previous year's prequarters meant that only one team was
going to Natties. 2 teams enter, 1 team leaves.
The game had everything. Lead changes, amazing grabs, great
blocks, upwind goals and a fair dose of controversy. The sidelines were packed
and alumni were racing onto the field after scores as though they were playing
in the game. When the dust settled, we had won by 3, scoring an upwind break to
take the game 15-12. I was elated. I found my best friend and co-captain Tom
Burkly and hugged him as though he just returned from war. “ I can’t believe we
did it. “ he said, “I can’t believe we finally beat them.”
It was hard to imagine what the CUT players felt. We shook
hands and hugged after the game, but something that year was different. We had
ended their season. In other years, when we had lost, we still had nationals.
We had beaten Iowa or someone else to make it to she show. Sure the loss hurt,
but we had more to play. I realized that Nationals wouldn’t be the same without
CUT there. It would be watered down, less intense and less vibrant without
those crazy CUTboys.
I watched as the CUT players, friends, families embraced
each other much the same way that we were. Obviously, there were more smiles on
our sideline than theirs, but there was something almost uncanny in the
similarity of each teams’ reaction. There was a realization that maybe this was
it. This was the game, this was the opponent. This was why we played.
Many Hodags and CUTboys have chosen to mark their bodies
with their team logo. Many haven’t. I got one and I see it every day. But even
if I didn’t have it I would still remember. I remember my teammates. I remember
the workouts and practices, the tournaments and games, the wins and losses. I
remember what it feels like to be pushed to be your best, and I remember our
rivals.
The CUT community lost 3 brothers on Friday and it sucks. It
hurts and it doesn’t make sense. I didn’t know the players personally and
haven’t overlapped with any college players for some time now. But I can
picture them in my head. I can see their faces in teammates past and present. I
imagine that they brought the same fire, smarts and relentless energy that’s
become a defining characteristic of every CUTboy I’ve played with and against.
We, Wisconsin, mourn your loss. But we celebrate our rivalry
and remember it every day.
Hodag Love to Cutboys everywhere.
Hodag Love to Cutboys everywhere.
The real grieving, the kind when you realize time refuses to stop and the world in all its capriciousness demands to keep going, hasn't even begun yet. Having grieved like this before, I know this, and the thought now is sickening.
I'm trying to just hold on to little pieces, going through some motions, looking for the appropriately sized frame. I sent the Hodags an email last year shortly after the New Year, and I'm not sure why but I'm compelled right now to share it with you it its entirety. I'm gonna ask that the current Dags read or re-read it, and you're free to read as well.
Also, the next post I put up momentarily is a letter from Dan Heijmen, former Hodag captain and '07 Callahan winner. He too is mourning.
Hh
From: CoacHh
Subject: Bromo Throw Sesh Philo: YOLO, (iow, DevChem)
Hodags,
Happy New Year to all of my working blues. Damn have we got a lot to do in these next few months. Because of the
volume of information we'll need to take in, my goal is to send you this
in manageable chunks via correspondence to supplement the limited time
we have together as a group during practice. From a practical
perspective, there will be times when much of this information will seem
tangential to our larger goal of winning nationals; I offer that the
opposite is true - winning nationals will be a tangential product of
taking many of these little lessons to heart, and working hard to
implement them in your lives.
In other words, if some of this shit seems ridiculous and overwrought, trust me, it ain't.
Today,
I want to discuss your philosophy at throwing sessions with your
brothers: what do I think about when I go throw with my teammates?
Ask this question of yourself and you're already on
your way - the thing is, most people do not have anything in mind when
they go and throw. They think nothing beyond "I'm going to throw some
passes. I'm going to make some catches. I'm going to do it with my
buddy." For most people, I advocate nothing further - chasing frisbees
is fun as hell and being outdoors doing it when it's nice even moreso.
If you're trying to win a national championship, however, more is
required. First, though, let me talk about the concept of "you only live
once."
"You only live once" (I will abbreviate it to YOLO,
if I may), has been used often to justify behavior that is the
*antithesis* of YOLO - to excuse stupid actions that lend themselves to,
not only wasting precious time, but also severely shortening the life
of the person yelling it out moments before they're killed. What should
the fact that we only live once actually teach us? The prevailing
philosophy is that you should do everything at least once before you
die, and while that will definitely lead you to some exciting moments of
adventure, it will often also lead you to moments where you're making
decisions that run counter to a lot of other shit you hold valuable,
like community, your health, respect, ethics, and a spotless criminal
record.
But it is true - you only live once - and it's also true we're all
going to die, soon. So maybe YOLO isn't meant to give us a pass on our
mortality - maybe YOLO hints at something deeper and more humble. Perhaps,
YOLO is there to remind us of our mortality, not forget about it. And if
that's the case, maybe it's also there to keep us present and aware that our
last action, our last effort, and our last impression, may be how we're
remembered. And so, rather than try to do everything once, we are free to focus on
the few things we do, so that we may do them as best as we can.
So what should you think about when you go throw? We
should start by thinking about what we know of ourselves as throwers.
Are my release points variable? Am I doing well when I throw away from
my pivot? How windy does it need to be before my throws crap out? What
was similar about my turnovers near the endzone at the last practice?
By identifying areas where we'd like to improve beforehand, we're already
giving our time throwing a purpose and focus, two things crucial for
those looking to separate themselves from the challengers. Take moments
during your throwing sessions to throw, attack, jump, and catch, as you
would expect yourself to games.
As you become better at being self-aware, and fine-tuning
and learning become as much a part of your throwing routine as the
reach for a nalgene and disc that commenced it, you'll arrive at the
real sweet spot of a throwing sesh with teammates - when you begin to
adjust and fine-tune not for your own sake, but so that you can fall
into sync with your teammate. When you learn to read his tells as well
as an airborne disc; the shift of his weight as he pivots for his around
flick; the speed, fluidity, and range of his backhand hucks; his go-to
pump fake just before his i/o break; you reach a level of communication
that plays out at a height above what our opponents can reach and adjust
to.
In other words, an explicit focus on developing
chemistry, first within ourselves and then outward with our teammates,
is where our focus should lie. Happy throwing.
YOLO, Brodags,
Hh
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
As many of my Whitecaps teammates can attest, I’ve been in a continuing love-hate relationship with the Innova Pulsar. For starters, I was definitely intrigued that the MLU was using a different Frisbee. At first touch, I was pleasantly surprised by the increased lift and smooth release of the disc. It was new and different, which was exciting -- like throwing a brand new disc golf for the very first time. This feeling lasted for maybe two weeks, before I had accrued enough touches to realize, that this Pulsar was very different than the Ultrastar. During the early practices and scrimmages, multitudes of throws careened out-of-bounds, missing their targets by 30 yards. During one particularly windy deep drill, there were at least 10 straight throws that floated, turned and veered away from their target.
My suspicion grew.
But after several weeks, the throws began to straighten out and play appeared almost normal again. Initially, I was intrigued at the prospect of being able to throw the Pulsar farther than the Ultrastar – something that appealed to me greatly. For another several weeks, I was whole-heartedly convinced that the Pulsar was a superior Frisbee – a big boy disc that held its edge and was destined for max distance.
However, it didn’t take long for me to realize that this was a foolish conclusion. Thus, our relationship flipped-flopped and flipped again. I had to re-crunch the numbers. It wasn’t until I was able to get onto the turf with a bag of Ultrastars and my 2-3 Pulsars that I came to several horrifying realizations. For most throws, ranging from 5-15 yards, the difference in flight is barely noticeable. Once the range hits 20-40 yards, there is a technique change, but nothing revolutionary, as long as there is enough spin. However, anything over 40 yards is completely reverse – and this is my biggest gripe.
When maxing out the distance on an Ultrastar (which is under-stable), the initial edge must be Inside-Out (IO or hyzer). But to max the distance on the Innova Pulsar (which is over-stable), the initial edge must be Outside-In (OI or anhyzer). Splitting hairs on the angle of release sounds tedious, except when the flight plan is aimed for 80-100 yards. Even the slightest difference on the release, can yield a yardage difference anywhere from 20-40 yards. Still, changing the angle of release is normal in ultimate, depending on the target and distance – so nothing THAT revolutionary right? If you're new to the basics, then this difference is minor, if not completely irrelevant, to you.
However, I make my money on big throws – rocket launcher with a sniper scope. I can huck it 80 yards on the money, either way, boomheadshot. The key to my success is having the biggest throws any way – upwind, downwind, crosswind, no wind. Despite almost any conditions, I had the biggest throws on the field – especially upwind. And here is the biggest difference and my pet peeve: The Innova Pulsar was designed to max its distance when thrown like a disc golf. Anhyzer edge, laser straight, S curving and tailing left on the backhand. For going downwind, great – it goes 100 yards and floats forever!! But now try throwing the Pulsar upwind. Go ahead – straight upwind. And… Oh, it only goes like 60 yards before it blades and dies. That is my issue. When throwing against the wind, the OI (anhyzer) edge is naturally pushed down – and therein lies the problem. The Pulsar was designed to max out with the OI edge, which coincidentally doesn’t happen when going straight upwind. The difference for the Ultrastar is the versatility and ability to turn/aim/airbounce the disc – moving it around targets more effectively and the ability to control the flight plan all the way through the S curve. When throwing upwind with the Ultrastar, the edge has to be severely IO (hyzer), which is the way to max the distance for an Ultrastar regardless.
However, I make my money on big throws – rocket launcher with a sniper scope. I can huck it 80 yards on the money, either way, boomheadshot. The key to my success is having the biggest throws any way – upwind, downwind, crosswind, no wind. Despite almost any conditions, I had the biggest throws on the field – especially upwind. And here is the biggest difference and my pet peeve: The Innova Pulsar was designed to max its distance when thrown like a disc golf. Anhyzer edge, laser straight, S curving and tailing left on the backhand. For going downwind, great – it goes 100 yards and floats forever!! But now try throwing the Pulsar upwind. Go ahead – straight upwind. And… Oh, it only goes like 60 yards before it blades and dies. That is my issue. When throwing against the wind, the OI (anhyzer) edge is naturally pushed down – and therein lies the problem. The Pulsar was designed to max out with the OI edge, which coincidentally doesn’t happen when going straight upwind. The difference for the Ultrastar is the versatility and ability to turn/aim/airbounce the disc – moving it around targets more effectively and the ability to control the flight plan all the way through the S curve. When throwing upwind with the Ultrastar, the edge has to be severely IO (hyzer), which is the way to max the distance for an Ultrastar regardless.
Obviously, this is a big difference when trying to throw hucks with a Pulsar and Ultrastar – because the angle of release is completely opposite. Not a little different; it's completely 100% opposite. This realization was cemented several months into the season, when Ironside tryouts and MLU games were in direct conflict. Suddenly, I was hucking Ultrastars like a Pulsar and Pulsars like an Ultrastar. Neither disc agreed – and my rage and frustration with the Pulsar grew. This Pulsar is a fake, beginners disc with a fat rim and extra float. You could grip it like a cantaloupe the rim is so deep and every pass is destined for extra air time. I didn’t care if I could throw it farther than an Ultrastar anymore. I had lost my total control of the disc and my muscle memory.
At first, I started getting angry with the disc and just trying to throw it harder. I had been just killing it in the weight room, so why not just go beastmode on the grip? If there was enough spin, the Z’s could turn the edge naturally... So, I started squeezing harder. This had two immediate effects. First, the rim was soo deep, it began bruising my hand from how hard I was gripping the disc. Second, the massive rim was changing my grip to such an extent that I was now missing my power point (the very last point of contact with the disc before release). Perhaps my friction gloves could be the solution? Not remotely.
I can recall the exact instant when my loathing for the Pulsar climaxed. During a long scrimmage at Ironside tryouts, I threw my fourth flick huck to a wide open deep target and for the fourth time, the disc turned, bladed, and fell. Incomplete. I was throwing the Ultrastar like a Pulsar. Suddenly, I felt like a beginner again, frustrated with my inability to adjust and angry for playing so poorly.
Coincidentally, USAU has been exploring new disc options for the last several years. Apparently, the original Discraft Ultrastar mold has fully depreciated and lived its last days, spurring the need for a new plastic mold to fill the shoes. Originally, USAU sent 5 test flight discs last year for feedback. I was impressed with some more than others, but generally hesitant to approve just any old Frisbee for championship use. I wasn’t the only one, as 43% of testers failed the current Ultrastar (one of the five test flight discs) for championship use! So for the second round of testing, I was more receptive to change and passed the next 3 discs with relative ease – as they were adequate enough. However, one more disc came up for testing and I immediately recognized it as an Innova Pulsar-esque, which I relished denying for championship use - although it was just as adequate as the others.
Overall, the MLU is awesome and clearly top dog over the AUDL. The professionalism and excitement created for the sport of ultimate is amazing. The new sponsors and increased competition make sense, but from a handlers point-of view, at least choose a Frisbee that doesn’t compromise play in the sense that I have to relearn how to huck the darn thing. For 90% of players – who like to run lots, chase players on defense, make under cuts and throw dumps – this will hardly affect you. But my favorite part of ultimate is throwing the disc, and overall, this disc is completely different to throw deep.
Lately, I’ve decided to take that Pulsar where it really belongs-- the disc golf course. I nailed some trees, but also some birdies. It's actually a very effective mid-range disc.
It’s mid-April and I’m already 9 weeks into the season. My first game is this weekend against NY, but I can already tell it’s going to be a long season. Every Wednesday evening for two months now, I’ve battled traffic and stormy weather just for the opportunity to murder my legs on a gigantic ultimate field. The extra 10 yards of length and 13 1/3 yards of width are surprisingly large factors on the professional stage. There is no shortage of space anymore. Defense is nearly impossible.
But the biggest travesty thus far, is changing the Frisbee. Good intentions aside, this new disc will undoubtedly affect the level of play. It’s no wonder the Innova flies like a golf disc; Innova is a leader in disc golf discs. The rim is huge, bulky, and abrupt in comparison to the Ultrastar rim. But the biggest difference is that the Pulsar holds its edge, despite the spin on the disc, making IO throws stay IO. Even a flat IO will fade away, making the majority of huck drills unmanageable as disc after disc strays out of bounds. At first, due to the Pulsar's ability to hold its edge, I thought it could be thrown harder and farther. That was foolish optimism. There is no S curve. Throwing IO with the intention of turning the edge over isn’t an option. With an Ultrastar, ripping the hyzer and playing out the S curve makes for the biggest throws. But with this Innova, the only option is anhyzer.
Wednesday, May 08, 2013
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| Never with head in sand |
If you belong to the tiny subset of humans that play competitive Ultimate you've heard of the former and if you belong to a small subset of that subset, players from Wisconsin, you've heard of the latter. There's a reason for that, and for all the on-field heroics both were, in their time, famous for, you'd be hard-pressed to find mention of some specific play. Talk to people who knew them, and you're a dozen stories deep before some play either made on the field comes up. They're known now as ambassadors, as people, and are remembered not for their plays but for the way they carried themselves and they way they treated others. These are people now remembered by those who never met them, because the ripples of effect they had on so many created a wake of influence behind them.
This year the Hodag program is inaugurating the Kevin Crowley Spirit Award, our in-house version of the Callahan, to be voted on by the outbound seniors to give to a returner; the one who carries the fire of the team within them, who can not only make plays but lead others to elevate along with him; it's the person you entrust with the future of the program. This being Hart's last year, it comes too late. And, "the Callahan trophy is presented to the man and woman who combine superior athleticism with outstanding sportsmanship, leadership and dedication to the sport of ultimate. In the eyes of his or her peers, the Callahan winner is the personification of the ideal ultimate player." Both awards ask their recipients to live up to incredibly lofty standards, and in order for them to mean anything, to act as a relic for the people they're named after, we must uphold those standards as voters.
That's why I want to tell you about Hart, who's so unassuming that you might walk by him tomorrow on your way to work or class and not even know, not have any idea how he lives his life.
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| roostering at his 1st PDs |
I guess that's because aside from incredible talent and panther instincts, he also has humility, which day in and day out seems to be the most difficult thing to cultivate and nourish in ourselves. And he's that rare person who figured out how to interweave humility and leadership into the same concept. Hart has been an exemplary teammate and friend to all the Hodags in his time here, leading by words and example. There are plays his teammates make that can be attributed to 9 months of being challenged by Hart in practice, always encouraging his match-up, and always winning it.
And there's another rare gift he shares with Crowley and Callahan, simple but elusive to so many: consistency. If you know Hart you know Hart. He's as respectful to people on the field as he is off of it, calls games the same from beginning to end, will give you props for making a play on him when you best him, and retain your respect the overwhelming majority of the times that you don't.
I love Hart and I'm thankful we had the opportunity to work together like this. He's a brother that I've adopted with a spirit I hope my son will have. When I think of Henry and Kevin and the legacy they left for us, which we nurture and grow every year by awarding an honor in their name, no more fitting a person than Hart comes to mind. It's not so much that his skies and layouts and hammers and catch Ds will fade with time, only that the shine of contributions to us as people will blind us to them.
Hodag Love,
Hart For Callahan 2013
p.s.
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| "Click on me to see what i do on the regular," Hart said never. |
Monday, April 29, 2013
8/8/2012
If you are really interesting in "becoming a more complete ultimate
player," then get better at handler defense. That is where you are
lacking, Muffin, and that's what the team needs from you this year.
I'm disappointed that my defense was not able to dictate
today and bring a higher level of energy, feeling, aggression,
intensity.. flat out enthusiasm, be that my body language or team talk.
I
can see the plays I missed today, the ones I want back. Two possible
bid opportunities, and I was not able to pull the trigger. I put myself
in position to make a play, anticipated the throw, wasn't in danger of
being exploited, and missed the opportunity to hit the B button and get a
layout D. I came off the field, clearly mad at myself for not being
"ready" at the moment, and Brenden scoffs, "Man, I dream about those D's."
I reflected, do I dream about those D's? Am I going to bed every night
still wanting to get that D? Still motivated to make that single play
which shifts the momentum of a tied game?
I need to
make those plays. I want to make them. I need to see myself making
those plays. Expecting that level of play. Knowing that I am going to
execute next time. Not just anticipating the throw, but anticipating the
layout block -- totally ready and committed to giving it a shot.
For the first time in my life, I no longer enjoy ultimate.
It's slowly evolved from being an outlet of energy into to a source of stress.
Playing on two teams has left me at times conflicted and certainly frustrated.
Is a game more important than practice? Depends on who you ask.
The AUDL kinda sucks. At first it was novel, exciting and mind-blowing. Slowly it turned frustrating, intolerable and finally indifferent. That's when I doubled-down. Half the team quit, but I invested more energy into each game. When I commit to something - I see it through. I never quit anything once I've started and now I wanted to win. I made the long road trips, sometimes with barely 13 players and played both ways in the summer heat. I'm struggling to convey how difficult each game is, but I'll leave it at this -- it was normal to leave my heart on the field. I tried to do everything, and sometimes that wasn't even enough. Not disappointment, rather resigned to our fate. Frustrated. Powerless. Pissed.
Pissed. That's the one emotion I can relate to. When I get mad and focus on a target, everything else disappears. Anger gives me the ability to focus my passion and use it to my advantage. Extra energy when I'm tired, an adrenaline kick, a bite your tongue big throw. It allows me untapped strength and certain conviction. I received a stronger dose than usual of criticism so far this season, and I'm ready to pop the lid on that can of whoop-ass. Sometimes I'm able to use that negative energy to evoke more emotion and raise my level of play. But when it passes my threshold of tolerance, it begins to weigh on me. I disconnect, get stubborn and eventually lose confidence and break down. Sink or Swim? Fight or Flight?
I'm ready to fight.
Losers stop when they get tired..winners stop when they win.
Unrelated, I believe I finally maxed out my throws. 90 yards either way, except for my hammer, which I can't figure out how to throw bigger than 55-60 yards. Show me the 80 yard hammer. I wanna add that to my bag of throws.
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
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| (above hands not actually Dayu's, Colin's or Hh's) |
My relationship with the Hodag captains is great, thank you (but perhaps you should also ask them!). I'll explain our dynamic as I see it. The "Or" beginning your 3rd question implies that either that question or the one prior is answered in affirmative, but not both. I guess I disagree with that premise. Aside from our captains-coach relationship, I have been teammates with Dayu and Colin Camp on Madison Club, as well as their captain on same, but we've also been friends throughout the entire experience. We share a lot of our discretionary time with each other, and we go deep; there are things we have survived or experienced together that I cannot share here. So I see our relationship as an equal partnership, and there is no way I'd be able to do my part without their contribution.3) How does your relationship with your captains work? Are you guys all equal partners? Or does your wealth of experience make it so that you have the final decision? How does this manifest itself with the team and in huddles? Who dominates the huddles at practice and at tournaments? Is it you or is the captains? How do you run your huddles at practices? At tournaments?
Along with that, our roles and responsibilities complement but are not congruent to each other. And in my role, my "wealth of experience" does make it so I "have the final decision" in matters on the field or at practice, and w/r/t behavior and expectations. But letting the story end there might leave some thinking that I'm roaming around Hodag lives vetoing and imposing my will, which I do not. As I said in an earlier post, the officer corps and I are communicating all the time (unlimited texts & minutes), and I push us in the direction we all want to go. But having the final say in some things is helpful and necessary; there are times when decisions need to be made quickly; also everyone on the same page doing something is often more successful than everyone on their own page doing what they think is right. I'll stick my neck out and say that I have the trust of the captains, trust that I will make decisions with the team's best interest in mind, that those decisions are informed by sound strategy, and that I listen to what they tell me and take them into account.
In teaching high schoolers, captaining adults, or coaching college guys, I've found that deciding and leading unilaterally doesn't come close to getting the same mileage that collaborative work, focused on shared goals, does - Aesop's fable of the Sun and the Wind competing for a man's coat was big for me as a lil'un. I have mentioned that I do not have a vote in picking the team, only the 5 officers do. I attend the cuts and ask questions they should be asking, give my own input on players, and make sure we're balancing present and future. Because of my feedback during the process I've never looked at our final roster and wished it were different; only twice have I adamantly lobbied for a player, making clear I was convinced he should be on the team. In both cases I think time has vindicated my advocacy.
I do most of the talking in huddles, and when presenting drills- a little too much of it, I feel. At practice, I introduce drills and establish the focus of each while the vets demo, and once we're going veterans keep the chatter up and give feedback - this constant learning from each other is a crucial part of our long-term success. Post-practice huddles and most huddles at tournaments it's my voice coming from within. To some extent this is helpful to us; I know as captain of Club firsthand how distracting from your own play it can be to have to be thinking of salient points for the team to focus on. One of the nice things about having a coach is that your captains get to just play. But I also see our team as a long class in citizenry for the outside world. Hodags put in such a tremendous personal investment, working toward long-term goals that are a year, or two, or five long. They should leave the team with the confidence earned from constantly pushing yourself outside your comfort zone, and using those challenges for personal growth. Cultivating this side of my players is also a responsibility of mine, and I need to give the captains more of a voice, so that they graduate as Hodags and Badgers, proud and full-throated, ready to lead.
Hh
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Continuing to respond to Anon's questions...
2) Technical question. How do you call lines? I'm not asking about your line calling strategy, but what method you use to do it. I've watched McCarthy coach Ironside and it seems like he just uses a small strip of paper with peoples names. From what I've seen of you coaching, it seems like you prefer this method as well. Why do you use this way instead of something like a clipboard that allows you to keep track of points played and other stats? Do you have someone else keeping track of things like that? Any other methods that you've tried?Hodag Kyle Geppert's father designed a statistics app specific for Ultimate for iphones and ipads, and we use it to keep track of playing time and general stats. Players take turns being responsible for a point's stats, and they rotate turns per game. I have a spreadsheet I made specific to my needs, and the top portion has the names of all the players healthy at the tournament. They are organized by handlers and cutters, by O-line and D-Line, and players from each line that can fill in anytime on the opposite side of the disc. I do this using a table with cells that are shaded different gradients to designate each of these options. Aside from this, in meetings with the officers we design lines of players that have good chemistry for specific situations, such as upwind, must-break, must-hold, etc. I use this coach's sheet to guide my choice from point to point, and i have a rough calculation of points played that ends up reflecting the app's numbers within my margin of error.
In my years on Bravo we organized into small pods of similarly styled players that organized their own playing time in loose fashion, and we communicated often enough to know when to defer, in critical moments, to the team's studs and veterans. We've done this on the Hodags on few occasions, but usually at preseason tourneys. It generally doesn't work as well on a college team than it does on an experienced club team like Bravo; that's not because players overestimate themselves and can't share, but because it takes years of experience to get a feel for the timing of a full game experience, by which I mean how much you've played in relation to others, percentage of total points, complete performance during the game, etc. This makes it difficult to be able to self-assess mid-game and adjust your playing time accordingly. There are some college players that can do this, but it works much better on a team of veterans who have years feeling out the game's subtle texture.
Monday, November 19, 2012
Gonna answer some questions from the last post's comment section. Anonymous person asks:
That the Hodags had not had a coach before me is actually a misconception. In the winter of 1998, my freshman year on the Hodags, the UPA changed the rules determining college eligibility. Previously, you had five years of eligibility starting from the moment you joined the UPA. That winter, they decreed that the eligibility clock started the moment you joined the UPA or any other governing body of Ultimate. Aside from Jonathan "Opie" O'Connell, our other captain was Simon McNair, citizen of Canada, and that college season would mark 5 years since he joined the UPA, but 6 years since he joined CUPA. During one of our first indoor practices he got the news. After some soul-searching, he decided to stay on for the season in a coaching capacity. He was, in my 18 year-old eyes, far older than most of us, and respected on the team as the brightest Ultimate mind, so the usual problems you encounter from players who immediately stay to coach were non-issues, and his soft-spoken but steady touch complemented Opie's redheaded firebrand style. Simon must have enjoyed the experience, because he stayed the following year as well and helped guide the team to their first natties appearance in the (then)modern era. So there was precendent, and the results had been positive.1) Wisconsin has historically been a player/captain driven program. When you started coaching, was there any resistance or did make any adjustments to your coaching style going into it? For example did you take more of a back seat your first year?
I returned to Madison from my years in Boulder and commuted to play with Sub-Zero in '08. That was the modus operandi at the time, having the best of the Hodags travelling up to play with the Frosties, so that year I had the veteran Hodags as teammates. This was the club season after the Hodags' last national championship, and Shane Hohenstein, Muffin, Drew Mahowald, Reb, etc, etc had just run out of college eligibility. I expressed to Jim Foster et. al. my openess to help them with the season, and they expressed two things: 1) They wanted me to coach and 2) They did NOT want Muffin in any coaching capacity. We had a meeting where both of these things would be expressed to Muffin and me, and if you know Muffin or the history, you know what happened next. Muffin pretended to not hear everything anything he didn't want, and we both ended up in "advisory" roles, attending practices but not traveling to any distant tourneys. It was a compromise they decided they could live with. It wasn't that Muffin didn't have the capacity for usefulness, but the year prior he had been an incredibly polarizing figure on the team, and he didn't have the supoort of the younger guys, who after a year of bench-riding verbal choke-outs were hesitant to embark on another season of same.
Everyone's fears were unfounded and the Hodags did as best we could that year. We split results on two games decided on the final point and it pushed us into a pre-quarters match that proved too heavy a weight in quarters, but we had lost the players that played over 3/4 the prior year's points and our ability to finish games still needed work. We were young-heavy and many of them had played only a handful of points, and our inexperience showed. The following year Muffin moved to Boston and I became coach of the Hodags fully.
There wasn't any resistance that I could feel, only the healthy arguments with Feldman that are to be expected of two people who want the best, but we always ended in a shared agreement. In my role as a coach, I have a say but not a vote in tryouts or our tournament schedule, and I don't take charge of any travel logistics. The team was then, and remains, a player-driven team. My role on the team consists of planning all practices, creating and communicating team strategy, calling lines at tournaments and keeping the team's focus where it needs to be during competition. I help players find their roles and give feedback on performance. But none of it happens in a vaccuum; the officer corps and I are in constant communication and they have ample input in what happens. I've been grateful to have, each year I've coached the Hodags, an experienced and motivated leadership who bring diverse insight into our play. My skill is in synthesizing that feedback and insight into a unified, coherent message to transmit to the team.
That has been and will continue to be my role on the team, and it's an honor and so much fun. Our last two second place finishes have tested our character but hardened our will. And although we push ourselves and finishing second has been disappointing, each year we've gone to nationals and played our best Ultimate of the year, and this year we plan to peak there again.
Friday, November 16, 2012
That degree of collaboration is markedly absent from the ranks of Ultimate coaches, who are largely left to synthesize from their own playing experience and books and videos their particular coaching style and approach. The mandatory Level 1 coaching certification is a fantastic 8 hour lecture on legal liabilities and admonishments against hooking up with your players, and for casual rec players looking to help out and form a team at their local high school it's a good starting point, but as a long-time club player coaching and captaining established programs, I would have benefited more from direct collaboration with my peers. How do you talk to your players? How far in advance do you plan practices? How do you lay out an upcoming season? What do you focus on during play? How do you decide on adjustments and how do you communicate this to the players?
I take any opportunity to have these conversations with my peers and I'm always searching for new information. It was in this spirit that I was picking Alex Snyder's brain over a dinner last college season. Aside from having elevated herself during this year's natties finals into Club Women's current GPiG, she's one of only two players who have been coached on Fury by Matty Tsang for the entirety of their 7-year dynasty. And because I am so in awe of Matty, I wanted to know: what does he say in a huddle? How does he get Fury to make adjustments? I kept peppering her with questions, demanding specificity, but she couldn't answer me. Not that she wouldn't, but she couldn't. I began to see her annoyance at my incessant curiosity starting to rise because she could not tell me what Matty says, and more importantly, how he says it.
Exasperated and ready to drop the issue, I finally asked, "well, what are you doing in huddles while he's talking that you can't remember his words?" Her answer, its logic and effectiveness so obvious, blew me away in its simplicity. During huddles, with Matty addressing the team, she's playing Ultimate. Not for real, mind you, but in her head. She sees herself playing as she has been all game. And her brain, as it takes in Matty's message, adjusts the video it plays. If they're taking shots from the break side next half, then she sees herself creating space and cuts on that side. She notices where the cutters are attacking downfield, notes where she's looking. She throws those shots. If the adjustment is on the mark to force the arounds, then suddenly her woman has the disc, and Alex pays attention to her feet as the thrower pivots. She contests the I/O aggressively. She shuffles to push arounds for loss of yards. She does all this as Matty's words travel around the huddle and so his phrasing, his words, evaporate away, and a clear vision of how to play going forward remains as the sole precipitate.
What happens then is that when play resumes, she's already been playing under Matty's new rules and priorities. She's game-time before it's actually game time. And the results, for anyone who watched Fury last month, speak for themselves. The power of visualization cannot be overstated, but it only unlocks its full benefits for those willing to commit wholly and play make believe. Even the phrase leaves clues as to what is required: suspend your doubt, release your expectations about your current reality, and make yourself believe in a new reality. And when circumstances change and it's time to make adjustments, you will already know what it feels like to live by your new rules.
Hh
p.s. I'm going to expound a bit on the coaching certification/collaboration and my dream scenario in a later post. But for any captains, coaches or players reading, if you've got questions, I'd like to read them, and I'll answer them to the best of my ability here on this blog.
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
How many times from the sideline have I heard, "Billy, that's a double-team," or, "Johnny, that's a fast count," or, without question the most abused, "DOWN!!!"
"Double team", "fast count", and "down", within the context of a game of Ultimate, are not just words, or appropriate sideline communication; they are violations with prescribed consequences; in the case of "down", it's a stoppage of play where the defense is asserting that a turnover occurred. And as such, those specific words should be left to the 14 players currently on the field, and them alone, to use.
Here are some alternatives that I endorse to my team. Rather than say the words "fast count", say, "that's very quick!" Then, at the next stoppage of play, from the sideline you can talk to your teammate and tell him, "dude is fast counting you every time." Play has stopped so feel free to say it then. Instead of "double team", say, "they're too close," "they're crowding you," or "their cup is on top of you." Then, at the next stoppage of play, talk to your teammate and tell her she's being double-teamed, tell her when it's happening, and tell her when and how to punish it. In a stoppage of play, say whatever you'd like.
But keep the word "down" out of your mouth when you're on the sideline. Don't go there at all. It stops play, and anyone on the field who hears it and stops can send the disc back to its location at the time of the infraction, which you can bet they will if, in the moments afterwards, their team was roasted. "Down" requires a disc check to put the disc back into play, and that all players be set in position.
To complain further, aside from "down!" being abused by reactionary knee-jerkers walking the sideline, it's also routinely abused by defenders on the field to stop play, second only to the travel call. Violations in Ultimate are meant to be called when you believe, in your heart of hearts, that a violation has occurred. But the burden of proof for calling a disc down has fallen so low that defenders now call it with little perspective on the disc, without actually seeing it touch the ground, with no angle on the catch, merely because they think that, hey, maybe, right? Of course, if you call them out on their lack of position to see what actually transpired, they're adamant about their call, instantly looking for the nearest holy text to lay their hand on and swear they saw it touch this blade of grass, or that one.
All this is further exacerbated by the confusion as to what happens when a disc is called down. Few seem to know play stops and must be restarted with a check, and often after a side conversation or two the offense will just put it back into play and off we go, official procedures be damned. Ugh, so annoying.
Aside from monitoring what we say from the sidelines to strike a balance between communicating to our teammates and constricting on-field play, let's raise the bar on the certainty we require of ourselves to call a disc down. You should have an unobstructed view of the disc; you should be able to see the moment it touched the ground; you should know, and not just think, hope or, extrapolating a trajectory in your head, assume that it should have been down.
SMFH,
Hh
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