Glory Days
Feb. 17th, 2007 01:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
stoutfellowThe other day, I was passing through the math office when I overheard one of the student workers talking about a recent sporting experience. Something he said caught my ear, so I stopped and asked what he was talking about. He replied, "Ultimate Frisbee".
After that, of course, there was nothing for it but to tell him (and the other worker who was there) some of my old war stories. The rest - I'll spare you, if you're not interested - is under the cut.
I don't remember who it was that got us started, but at some point early in my first year as a grad student, a bunch of us started playing Ultimate every day after class. It might seem odd, a bunch of math students - desk jockeys, one and all - running around playing such a strenuous sport, but we loved it. We got pretty good, too; we entered our team in the intramurals, and were at one point the second-best team on campus, after the club team. (Number three was the Law School team. Bunch of barracudas, they were.)
Most of the time we played against each other, in the courtyard in front of Eckhart Hall. We learned the different passes: the backhand, that everyone learns; the forehand, for short, hard, accurate throws; the airbounce... I never got the hang of the airbounce, but my forehand was decent. I was more a receiver than a passer, anyway. I wasn't all that fast, but I was determined, utterly intent on that disk. I'd run over people to catch it. Sometimes the people were innocent bystanders. (There's one I still feel guilty about. The poor guy was sitting on the grass reading, oblivious to the game that had started around him. He never saw me coming; I never saw him at all, until I hit and went tin-cup-over-teakettle. He didn't say anything, just got up and walked away. And I dropped the Frisbee, too, dammit.)
The second year of this, one of the Lecturers joined us. R. was a post-doc, on a two-year appointment, as I recall. He was a big guy, built like a wedge, with tremendous upper-body strength; when he cut loose, that Frisbee went fast. (He wasn't all that tough, though. Ultimate isn't, officially, a contact sport, but things happen. One day he got levelled in midair by a little guy, about my height but slender; the guy came out of nowhere, going like a bat out of hell, and upended him. R. was always a little gunshy after that.)
The field we played in had a tree square in the middle of one end zone. The house rule was that the tree was live; we'd leap to pull down disks that had snagged in its branches. On one occasion, R. and I were on the same team. He got the disk, maybe ten feet from the endzone - the one with the tree in it - and I shot past him, screaming his name. He wound up and fired that thing, top speed... straight into the tree. It rebounded off to the left, where I was. I lunged, going nearly horizontal, and flew over the Frisbee. I snatched it as I passed over, rolled over in midair, and landed on my back in the endzone, with the Frisbee on my chest.
About five minutes later, we did it again, on the right side this time.
I loved playing Ultimate. I sprained an ankle once; I took a Frisbee full-force in the eye once; I saw another player break his wrist diving for the Frisbee, and yet another bust his glasses and, very nearly, his orbital socket. (This was the same guy who creamed R. A couple of us took him over to the University hospital; half an hour later, he was back on the field. He wasn't big, but he was scary.) We always came back. I don't think the faculty really approved of it, though...
After that, of course, there was nothing for it but to tell him (and the other worker who was there) some of my old war stories. The rest - I'll spare you, if you're not interested - is under the cut.
I don't remember who it was that got us started, but at some point early in my first year as a grad student, a bunch of us started playing Ultimate every day after class. It might seem odd, a bunch of math students - desk jockeys, one and all - running around playing such a strenuous sport, but we loved it. We got pretty good, too; we entered our team in the intramurals, and were at one point the second-best team on campus, after the club team. (Number three was the Law School team. Bunch of barracudas, they were.)
Most of the time we played against each other, in the courtyard in front of Eckhart Hall. We learned the different passes: the backhand, that everyone learns; the forehand, for short, hard, accurate throws; the airbounce... I never got the hang of the airbounce, but my forehand was decent. I was more a receiver than a passer, anyway. I wasn't all that fast, but I was determined, utterly intent on that disk. I'd run over people to catch it. Sometimes the people were innocent bystanders. (There's one I still feel guilty about. The poor guy was sitting on the grass reading, oblivious to the game that had started around him. He never saw me coming; I never saw him at all, until I hit and went tin-cup-over-teakettle. He didn't say anything, just got up and walked away. And I dropped the Frisbee, too, dammit.)
The second year of this, one of the Lecturers joined us. R. was a post-doc, on a two-year appointment, as I recall. He was a big guy, built like a wedge, with tremendous upper-body strength; when he cut loose, that Frisbee went fast. (He wasn't all that tough, though. Ultimate isn't, officially, a contact sport, but things happen. One day he got levelled in midair by a little guy, about my height but slender; the guy came out of nowhere, going like a bat out of hell, and upended him. R. was always a little gunshy after that.)
The field we played in had a tree square in the middle of one end zone. The house rule was that the tree was live; we'd leap to pull down disks that had snagged in its branches. On one occasion, R. and I were on the same team. He got the disk, maybe ten feet from the endzone - the one with the tree in it - and I shot past him, screaming his name. He wound up and fired that thing, top speed... straight into the tree. It rebounded off to the left, where I was. I lunged, going nearly horizontal, and flew over the Frisbee. I snatched it as I passed over, rolled over in midair, and landed on my back in the endzone, with the Frisbee on my chest.
About five minutes later, we did it again, on the right side this time.
I loved playing Ultimate. I sprained an ankle once; I took a Frisbee full-force in the eye once; I saw another player break his wrist diving for the Frisbee, and yet another bust his glasses and, very nearly, his orbital socket. (This was the same guy who creamed R. A couple of us took him over to the University hospital; half an hour later, he was back on the field. He wasn't big, but he was scary.) We always came back. I don't think the faculty really approved of it, though...
