Something New

The winter of ‘90 - ‘91 was a little disconcerting. There were mumblings and grumblings from just below the surface of the ultimate community in the Bay Area. Talking to Tom, he apprised me of the actual implications of the possibilities.

These were the facts: the Boot had underperformed at sectionals and regionals, Tsunamis was aging and needed new blood, East Bay was stagnating and needed to start looking in a new direction. The Boot roster was a smorgasbord for either team. There were certain players that had not yet gotten full competitive exposure, but were certainly ready to start contributing in a big way to the lucky team that corralled them.

Sometime in late December 1990 or early January of 1991, I got a call from the captains of East Bay. They wanted to have a kind of “friendly” scrimmage on a Saturday at Stanford. They thought it might be a good way to tune up for the coming season and, maybe, become a little more familiar with each other.

I was in a quandary. I knew what the basic idea was. It was a preliminary tryout for a new team. I was reasonably sure that they - the powers that controlled the East Bay team - had earmarked me for the team. They did, after all, call me directly. The bigger problem, for me, was this - I liked the team I was playing on. Sure, The Boot hadn’t performed up to its potential last year. Sure, there were a few players that, maybe, weren’t exactly going to strike fear into the hearts of other teams at Nationals. But it was the group of guys that I had been with through thick and thin for two years. We had experienced some highs and many lows. And we had almost always had fun.

Wasn’t that what this was all about?

Tom and I talked about it. As he pointed out, we were committed to nothing if we just invited both team’s rosters to come down for a day of scrimmaging. All we were saying, essentially, was, “It’s a nice day in January, and we feel like playing ultimate.” I hesitantly agreed.

Deep down, I knew what the result was going to be. After all, the teams had played against each other enough times to know. There were certain players on East Bay that I would be more happy to have on my sideline rather than match up with them across the field. But I also knew that there were going to be casualties. Players from both teams that wouldn’t be included. They would be left out and, basically, told, “You helped us get to this point, but we’re going on without you.”

I didn’t really care about the East Bay players that got left out. But I literally lay awake at night wondering how to justify excluding some of my favorite teammates from The Boot.

The fateful day in early January arrived. Not all the Boot players showed up. I guess some of the East Bay players had opted out or seen the writing on the wall as well. Either way, we still had a relatively big turnout - certainly enough for two complete squads in a couple of long scrimmages on Stanford’s Roble field. I formally introduced myself to the East Bay captains. We methodically distributed the players close to evenly from both teams according to handlers, middles, deeps, defenders, throwers, height, and speed. They had obviously given a fair amount of thought to this beforehand since they had a definite sense of the strengths and weaknesses of most of the players on The Boot. I had a more organic kind of sensibility. I hadn’t been as precise in my categorization of the East Bay players. In fact, there were some of their players that I had little more than a passing knowledge of. If they weren’t fast and relatively short (in other words, someone I would have typically covered), or if they weren’t their big, game-breaking players, I realized that I didn’t have much of an impression of them.

We cycled through the scrimmage, and the skill and intensity level was already beyond most of the practices that we had ever had on The Boot. And this was January. I found myself struggling to cover on defense and having to work hard to get open on offense. While it was not exactly personally encouraging, it was an eye opener. If we could rise to that kind of weekly intensity, what would the game time performance be?

The teams mixed politely on the sidelines. There were a few heckles and cheers thrown out for consideration. Overall, the impressions from my side were mostly favorable. But I still wondered how the potential new team would be picked and worried about the Boot players that would be left out.

Tom was more direct in his assessment. “If we don’t do this, we are definitely going to lose Dave Smith, Seth, Dilly, and Teddy. They are going to play for South Bay or East Bay.” Left unsaid in his accounting was the fact that he, too, would probably jump to one of the top teams. He saw the writing on the wall. I had to be driven kicking and screaming to read the large print.

As a result of that day in early January, it was decided that a team comprised of both East Bay and Boot players would attend the Tempe New Years Fest in late January - early February. It was time to see if we could actually play together in tough conditions against other teams.

If I remember correctly, the roster for that first run was open to all players on both teams. The phone calls (no email back then) leading up to the tourney showed a distinct trend. None of the Santa Cruz kids would be making the trip. The geographic separation that had been stretched taut in holding the Boot together had finally snapped. This new team would be composed of players north and east. South Bay would reap the harvest of the Santa Cruz talent.

The Saturday of Tempe finally arrived. The fields were no more pleasant than ever. The heat was still merciless for so early in the season. The competition was still tough. But our team did well. It quickly became apparent to me what the East Bay contingent brought to the table. They had a better sense of strategy, they had a core of better handlers, they were a little more experienced overall. And they were tall. Very tall.

The Boot group brought our own valuable assets. Fierce defensive intensity, youthful legs and a willingness to hurl our bodies after any disc tended to add fire to the East Bay methodical approach. We also added another intangible but equally important element. We had fun. We knew how to enjoy playing, how to goof around between games, how to liven up a bye time, and how to make most any team dinner or drinking session something to remember - or maybe forget if you were on the wrong side of the jokes.

As Boot players, we may have been a little self conscious of our talent or experience on the field, but in the realm of chapping or joking, the East Bay guys were down right lame. At least most of them. But they were willing to learn, as befitted their generally high educational backgrounds.

I think we managed to win our pool on Saturday, playing under the name of ... Purple Avengers? ... or something equally strange. Sunday, we went into our quarterfinal and I felt the old anxieties from pervious seasons welling up. We just needed to win the game. Battle hard, don’t give in, fight for every disc ... just about every disc cliche was playing on an endless loop through my head. The East Bay guys didn’t seem too concerned. Of course, they had a habit of winning quarters and losing in semis, whereas we generally lost in quarters and watched semis.

We won our quarterfinals match pretty easily, I believe. I know I was a little shocked and also a little giddy. That wasn’t so bad. Our offense rarely seemed to get bogged down mainly because our handlers were a good mix of possession workers and, especially with Barney, a few big throwers. And we had the deeps to win the fifty-fifty discs down field.

Our reward for winning our semifinal ... we got to play New York. Big, bad, legendary New York, New York. While it would not be their full squad, and they would certainly not be in top form, they did not like losing - ever. It would be my first chance to see them, let alone play against them. I knew nothing beyond the fact that they were the reigning national champs, having won the trophy twice in a row, and the fact that they were said to be intense to the point of cheating. I knew nothing about any of their players.

We took the field with an attitude of nothing to lose. It was our first tournament as a team. Indeed, it could very well be our last tourney as a team. They were expected to win while dismissing all challengers with ease. They didn’t know us, many of us didn’t know them.

The game was surprisingly tight. Early on, I remember lining up against them on defense and taking the shortest guy on their team. Seemed logical to me. Height for height. I think either Dave Barkan or Andy Gould said something like, “You sure you want him?” Of course I was sure. He may be thick, but I’d run him into the ground.

I sprinted down on the pull and it became clear that he was one of their main handlers. NY was feeding him the disc and I was surprised by how quick he was. As the disc moved down the field, he was lengthening his cuts and their throwers were getting a little less precise. Finally, after having been beaten for three or four completions, I saw my opening on a swing. I closed, launched, and snuck in for the block. The sandpaper Tempe fields greeted my arms and chest, my teammates cheered wildly. Energized, I bounced up and sprinted down field. We scored the point.

Later in the game, the score was tight and New York was making some shaky calls. Tempers were rising as it became clear that we were not going to back down and they were going to loose only over our dead bodies. The game was beginning to feel more like regionals than the second day of New Years fest. There was a small crowd gathering as our game lasted longer than others in the round. People were migrating over to see New York getting challenged.

I had been alternating covering a few of their handlers, but the shortest one, Kenny, was giving me the biggest trouble. He was dangerous with the disc, but he would also bust deep if I fronted him too much. He caught a couple of scores on me and made sure I knew he relished the moment. I was determined to make a play.

I think the situation was something like this: they were in a stack, the disc had stagnated near the middle of the field, the count was getting up. Kenny faked out and cut back on the break side. I had stayed home on his out cut because I could see I had tall help down field. As soon as he cut in back towards me, I turned and launched for the disc. They had been throwing most of their passes before or immediately as a cut was started. The down side, as a defender, was you had no time to react. As Worm has told me countless times, “You can’t be reacting out there. Either you know where the disc is going, or you’re going to get burned.”

I heard the “UP” call after I was in the air and had already seen the inside-out disc heading for me. The simple act of reaching out and knocking it down was almost anticlimactic compared to the difficultly of being in a position to get the disc. The block got a big response from the crowd, but we lost the game.

Afterwards, Kenny introduced himself and congratulated me on getting a couple blocks on him. I appreciated his sportsmanship, but I remember thinking to myself, “I get a couple blocks on a lot of players.” Which was true, way back then. I just didn’t realize that I got these two on Kenny Dobyns, whose talent and intensity I would come to both hate and admire in the coming years.

Yes, the new team had not won the tournament, but we had made a good accounting of ourselves. And, maybe more importantly, we had fun together. It wasn’t quite as wild and goofy as being with the Boot, but then again, winning games does compensate for some things. It was beginning to look like this group might just fit together.