Day: May 11, 2008

Forget the Past

/ chollaball / 2 Comments

i’m pretty sure i think about Ultimate every day, though I no longer have anything to do with it. Just happens. i don’t try to think about it, just happens. Reminders of places and people and things and feelings and smells, friends who are busy with a game next Tuesday, Byron sends me some scores, a t-shirts, discs. Addiction.

i got into a discussion the other day with a friend who is a casual player in Spring League, and he asked if i would change my mind about playing. i will change my mind about playing when i change my mind about walking, or when microfracture becomes easy and affordable. all that is left is the addiciton.

He suggested I just go out and walk, and he is not the first. But that is not how i can play. Its not that I can’t go slow, I tried it, it sucked. I went 40%, and it was totally and completely no fun being out there and holding back cause once you start holding back why bother ever going hard? Are you out there to make a few great plays and get burned repeatedly on commonplace ones, and if so, what kind of shallow selfish prick are you? Are you out there to just have a casual run and break a sweat? and if so, you are not me, and did not play competitive ultimate for 15 years.

Go ho or go home.

The last league I played…after 2 years post surgery #2, then a few leagues, and then foolishly running 4 practices with Ironwood in ’06, and then taking another year off since 4 practices of real running made me ache so bad…our team was horrendous. Sam drafted me and i figured semis for sure but flukes and injuries and a 1-8 record and i never played for a team so bad in 20 years. and I was still running hard and throwing my body around every point, still helping total newbs who were just out to have a few beers cause their friends signed them up, still thinking i could change a game, and still feeling the high in those moments when i still could change a game. It is how I play, and it was wonderful, or so it seemed at the time. And so it seemed every time. There is nothing like the rush of body and mind working together to attack! attack on O, attack on D, attack the disc, go ho or go home. Its why i have one knee and suffer shoulder and collarbone achiness and my middle finger on my right hand just feels harder to bend from throwing thousands and thousands of forehands. The pain has finally gotten through to me what no adversity or frustration or grassburn could: stop.

What’s left is dealing with the addiction.

I wish I could find a way to find balance that did not involve pretending I never went to Albuquerque, or could read the reports from Nationals without my heart skipping a beat and a tingling in my cock to run. I can not play, i can not play, and i still can not move on.

The easiest and only solution that has not driven me crazy with desire to play is to stay completely away. My shoulders and hip and knee mostly feel great, which is quite nice. And I do not have the constant restlessness and stress of trying to be a hardcore player in a team sport. The most stress you get on a bike is about sucking, or a stupid hiker, or a car…moments otherwise sealed off in the joy of playing. Ultimate stress and politics did not always blend well with the aggression i brought to playing. Too much stress and aggression; the price for the rush.

All that argues the merits of staying away. i accept this as there being no alternative and not being in constant pain. But it does not address my fundamental dissasociation from myself. I have to not think about things when they come up, and they always come up, and they always trigger memories that only grow less passionate as i stay away from the game.

I must abandon my memories, in bad times kill them off and in good times hold them at bay. How can i look back on these influential once-in-a-lifetime moments and feel their power over me and my history but not be moved to resume the course upon which they were found? How can I abandon my own history? How can I not take pride in who I am today and not see the influence of team sports, the reliance on hard work, and the confidence great plays gave me? If I deny who I am, will i change who i am?

The last time i touched a disc was taking my collection of them down from the walls in the gear room in preparation for the painter. They’ve since been sitting in a hefty bag in the garage. I want to remember my history, i want to write down memories of things i will never do again, the stories behind the discs and the great plays that you never forget. I really want to throw. but i can only barely manage that in moderation. And i wonder if when i am finally able to write down these memories, their resonance will be gone.

a taste in moderation:

The Callahan in 2003: I was captain of Ironwood, we had a great chance to go to Nationals, and the pain and sweat and adversity of all season came down to the backdoor game against Never Nice Guys from San Diego. And everything you could want to have in the game-to-go for us was there: homefield advantage, they played the harder previous game, legs…and we were up 5-3. And then the wheels fell off and so many little things misfired and all that ever was weak about Phoenix Ultimate became exposed in the biggest game of the year against a superior, more-experienced team. And it was 12-5, and then our O finally scored. And I was the D captain, playing in front of hundreds of my local friends, and a great pull that hooked downfield exactly 90 yards in front of me. And a big sprint upfield that became faster as i saw where the pull was landing, and then the realization that they were setting up right in front of me, and then i turned on the jets, and layed out, and was 4 feet in the air and totally horizontal and catching the disc for the defensive score. We lost 15-10.

my first t-shirt in 1989: it was Spring Regionals my freshman year. The team was good, not good enough for Nationals but good enough to come close. I just began to taste what being good was about, I bought a UNCW Seamen t-shirt, an original Toad-Dye – shirts from Toad Leber who was a local fixture in the Wilmington, NC scene. It was the longest road trip I’d ever done, the biggest tourney I’d played in, the best night of post-travel drinking and camaraderie I’d had with the older players during my lonely freshman year. still have the shirt.

picking up with Houston at Centex in 1999: I got plugged in through a friend that I had met through a friend at a tournament in Tucson and impressed enough to get on the team. I had a very solid, very solid weekend with a Nationals team. I played better in the earlier games, but still came on strong in the harder games. I ended the tourney something lke +15, 3 turns all tourney, and 2 goals in the finals which we lost to another Nationals team 19-18 at hard cap. I remember proudly scoring those goals late in the game, in short spaces that were suited to my ability to get open, when the team needed an open cut and another weapon and i came through when the game came to me, and realizing how I could be an effective middle on a Nationals team. I was an Observer at Nationals in San Diego later that year, and some of the guys on that team asked me why I didn’t come out to play with them that fall…cause I didn’t think I could make the roster as an out-of-towner, cause I was mind-fucked by living in Tucson to give up on a chance at a real team, cause i…cause i was stupid and blew my best chance at an Open Nationals appearance. but I could have — i outplayed some of the guys they took to the Show with them that year. I could have. and that is what must count at the end of the day, after 10 years of playing in the desert of Arizona left me nothing to show for it but coulda-beens and never-weres. I could have.

New Orleans Trip

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Life can be stressful, even in the best of times. But if its success that makes the pace so unforgiving, its hard to complain about a free trip to New Orleans.

Less than 4 hours sleep and i was extremely jittery in the morning getting ready for my 7am flight, even before the coffee. i flailed and flumbled in my exhaustion and early-morning haze, barely managing to clip my keys and bottle opener to my backpack as i grabbed my gear for the shuttle to the airport. These are 2 important things not to lose track of in New Orleans, and it exhausted me menatally do deal with such responsibility after so little sleep. then i ran into a guy on the van i vaguely knew from work 2 years ago, then getting off the van i ran into a girl i vaguely knew from ultimate 2 years ago. then i ran into the mass of humanity everpresent at the SW security gate at Sky Harbor. This was all to much stress for me so early in the morning after so much stress working to get away for a few days. Booking Sam to babysit overnight for G (a first for all involved), packing, tieing up the chaos at work. So i went around the corner, ie to the next set of gates, to US Airways to slip through the short security line and avoid the stress. No worries…I was about to have 2 days to cram as much etouffee and Turbo Dogs down my throat as humanly possible. The fat guy at the TSA started asking me where i was going – New Orleans, no Dallas first, shit – and then why i was getting on at US Airways instead of Southwest. ummm…cause there is no line, and I really don’t mind walking if it lets me avoid, yknow, stress. He seemed bitter, like most US Airways employees.

then i went in to the ladies room, thinking it was the men’s room, and was so relaxed and sleepy i did not notice until on the way out a woman saw me and thought she was in the wrong room. Wow, did not occur to me. does that say women are less confrontational about where they pee? Clearly my New Orleans mood was already on.

we finally took off and flew out over the McDowells and i could just make out the Sunrise trail. that was cool – i’ve never quite figured out from the view of the mtns where Sunrise is. I first had to triangulate on 124th St. and Hidden Hils. Work on the plane, finish a book, and then before we knew it the Albuquerque airport, the ghetto bus is filling up and i pull my shit off the middle seat after those are getting plucked, and the dude in the aisle goes “is this open” and the woman on the end actually goes ” well, um, i guess so.” What do you mean “you guess so?” you had to be there, she actually didn t want to commit to her final answer. A few bloody mary’s took the edge off things. SouthWest business class includes drink tickets when you print out your boarding pass, but nothing stops you from xerox’ing the tickets, so armed with 4 I was prepared to enjoy my beverages and be a polite passenger.

EVENTUALLY arriving to my hotel ~3:30, then as soon as possible it was off on a walk to the Quater! Stopped for the essentials: sunscreen, eyedrops, and beer.

The Quarter is a fun walk when there is nowhere to be and a backpack full of beer. And it actually appears to be somewhat bike friendly, as I’ve seen gobs of bikers working their way down the streets.

One guy was locking up at what was obvisouly his work, and I almost offered him some $$ to rent for an hour, but urban riding requires 2 hands, and what would i do with my beer? So i walked,
and I took photos. I started down Bourbon street, which is what it is, but between then shitty bars and shitty strip joints and 1st beer and daylight, all i could do was smell the waft of piss and puke and shit and and beat-down strippers. Not like I remember from my last Mardi Gras. Maybe I’d walk it on the way home.

Moving through the Quater to Royale Street and things were much more copasetic. I meandered for a
few hours, and eventually camped out on a curb listening to a fun live band that mixed jazz, reggae, rap and some flutes. I got drunker, and more melancholy missing G and even more missing B. there are women everywhere in the Quarter and they all look good, be it the beer goggles or the N’awlins lubricant. The curb I am sitting on and writing from offers a perfect view of asses.

Eventually after many beers and much wandering I ended up at Coop’s Place based on my sister’s recommendation. I was getting pretty drunk and pretty hungry, so anyting sounded good, especially a suggestion. It was perfect. A loud, casual rock bar. I ordered the Jambalya Supreme, which came out almost instantaneously and had clearly been scraped from the bottom of the pot. Whatever. It was still good, at least to my untrained palate. They played Aerosmith, they played the Stones, they had wireless internet. what more could i want? a few Abita Purple Haze’s.

The night wound down and I walked up to my hotel just as two of my coworkers were arriving, poor choosing on their part if you ask me.

The next day we got up at 8 to head to the JazzFest, but realized breakfast and a nap were still feasible since we didn’t have to be there til darn near 11. Other than the dehydration and direct sun, i had no complaints. Nina and I were the only ones to bring hats, and I the only one to buy sunscreen. weird, shoulda suggestedd it to everyone. But i did worry that my 40oz of water would soon be gone, and for the ~3 hrs we worked watching the kiosks debut i was hot and tired and had some fabulous butt-crack sweat developing.

The kiosks were doing fabulously, knocking out sales and willcalls faster than tellers. We found a few bugs and a few usability erros, but mostly was a great time watching our baby in action. One of the developers Kevin who wrote the UI just had a blast talking to the crowd and getting their opinions, and i have to say it was cool to watch. Software is business, but it is creative, and its great to be on project where you and yoru teammates really take pride in what your build.

We took a lunch break, and while overpriced and long lines there is food everywhere at JazzFest. So much of it is so good and looks so good as people are walking by you. The trick is finding the lines from which the food that looks the best actually originates, which is no small feat. Lunch accidentally became a poyboy with shrimp, not bad, but i could have done so much better.

Back to the kiosk, a few patterns we identified in the problems, some notes regarding log messages we need to check. Its always neat to watch when we turn around fixes and the team hums along in good order – you see a problem, we all hit it hard and own our shit, and thousands of something-goers are happy again. But seeing it up close was becoming cooler and cooler the longer it happened. I could see our team knocking all this out in a day or 2 and imagine the improvements! In fact, mid-week the next week that is exactly what happened in the space of one day (and night) we fixed 50% of the total errors we were getting which was 10% of users. One night – 5% improvement, that sounds small but it is huge.

This good feeling about my work led right in to us getting cut loose for the day. Kevin, his friend, Nina, Dave and I split off and walked about the Jazzfest. It was stages and arts and crafts and beer tents and food. We eventually settled in on a spot on the lawn near the main stage to see Robert Plant and Alison Krauss. It was great, crowded, but great. One cool thing about JazzFest is it does not seem like so many other concerts with their posing and their mosh pits — this was like a giant picnic where everyone was out ot have a good time. Hence, the people’s whose fold-up chairs we were sitting in did not get mad when they showed back up to see us sitting in them.

But it was crowded, and we could barely see the stage and had to watch most of the concert through the monitors. Robert Plant sounds great, but looks awfult. Still it was so cool to hear him play old songs like Black Dog and new songs in the same set. He has always moved forward, and you can see that in his works for almost 40 years now. I’ve been lisenting to Led Zeppelin 4 and his newest Enchanter for 2 straight weeks.

After Robert Plant, Sheryl Crow was due on the main stage. It was just me and Nina by then, and she wanted to see Ozomatli. I had one of their albums Street Signs and liked it a lot, and was tired of the crowds, so off we went. It turned out to be a much better call. Easy beer, easy port-o-lets, easy food (seafood-stuffed mushrooms…yummy), and a great vibe where everyone was dancing and cheering and smoking big fat blunts 10 feet from the New Orleans cops. I wanted a hit so bad, it was the first contact high i’ve gotten since going to see Bob Dylan at the Spectrum in Philadelphia my junior year in high school.

A $10 ride on a school bus dropped us back at canal street and a 15 block walk from our hotel. I levelled with Nina, something I try to avoid with co-workers: we needed walking beers, and i needed to buy a gift for G. It was cute, it had frogs, and they squeaked, and it cost me $12!!!! I’d show my c@#k any day for $12!!!!

We ate a shwanky dinner at Commander’s Palace

It is a 5-star restaurant, the likes of which i have never eaten and will likely never eat again. The service was impeccable, the food was exquisite, the ambience was divine. Ifelt so dirty just being there. I had Turtle Soup that exhumed a delicious dirty meat flavor in every sip, Sheep’s Head – which apparently is an actual fish – and it tasted beautiful, and a bread pudding that was air wrapped in sweet dough, all while sipping Wild Turkey on the rocks.

The next day i got up just late enough to catch breakfast and drink the last of my Turbo Dogs and Dixie’s Blackened Voodoos before my flight. Breakfast, even biscuits and gravy made out of yesterday’s sausage, was delicious. A mellow flight where I used the rest of my drink tickets and watched Into the Wild again and read Do The Right Thing by SouthWests’s own James Parker. Back at 4, Sam bolted, Beckie was in Big Sur for 2 more days. Barely a break to recover from my hangover before diving full-fledged into my tinyHuman.

I like the double-fisted, New Orleans spirit she exhibits.

Civilized People Eat on the Couch!!

/ chollaball / Leave a comment

Now that G has developed skills, and the ability to connect them together logically and with purpose to perform great deeds and feats, her gaping amoral void yawns before us, and we must fill it or suffer dire consequences!

In almost as little time as it took her to render our house unfit for living, she moved a stepstool up to the exact spot on the counter above-which sat an icing-covered brownie and proceeded to harvest great troughs of sweets for herself. Over and over again. I’d go check my email and come back to see a scene from Hersheypark gone awry. This is just an example, only seemingly more graphic because there is chocolate involved.

She extracts herself seemlessly from the carseat, only to run across the parking lot.

She selflessly tries to mop up her own spills, knocking over plateware while she wields a broom twice as tall as herself.

She puts on her own clothes and gets stuck, she takes off her own clothes and gets stuck, she climbs through the dog-door and gets stuck, she notices the cat getting stuck in the travel cage on the way to the vet and wants to help cause “Turtle stuck, daddy!”

The innocence with which she filthifies and terrifies me makes it clear that i can stop holding her upside down and looking for 666 beneath her hair. more that she can now put moves together and wherever a third or a fourth move is ambiguous she will extemporize or panic. Sometimes it is good and evil, sometimes it is beyond good and evil and simply her will to power.

She has no fear of new dogs if they are moving slow, and goes up and pets them correctly, leaving an actual evaluaton of their personalities to me. She shows up to daycare and a procession of children toddle by and give her a hug and they all greet eachother by name, leaving an actual evaluation of how snotty they are to me. She has finally grasped the vague and fuzzy concept of garbage, sorta, thus that we are pretty sure she threw out Beckie’s cell phone. With great power comes great respoinsibility. I cannot allow her to carry a plate of food and storm across the house and into any bed that feels comfortable at the moment. Society needs rules!! The alternative – anarchy!