I don’t know what the final score was, but we won. Handily, I believe. In ANOTHER frigging wind storm.
This game saw the return of Biggie; and the emergence of Sally as a deep threat; and a Wheeler hat trick (I think); and two super nice spares who, if you squinted, looked just like Hammers anyway; and another one of Armsy’s ha-ha-thought-you-had-the-disc-but-I-reached-in-and-took-that-shit-right-from-in-front-of-you, play of the year-type catches – sending the sidelines, rightfully, into hysteria. Bender, Captain, Honey, Bunny – thumbs up, everyone. Way to run out those long long loooong (long) points.
FYI, our opponents won this month’s HURL Spirit award – and in general, I’d have to agree that they were mostly cool, give or take a sideline drill sergeant and a cranky, beefy guy who thought he was JJ Watt (Dan knows who I mean). And they had a tiny guy called Bruno (!?), which I hope (dear god I hope) was not an ironic nickname.
The Lower Deck Parking Lot Patio Beer player of the game would have to be Colleen/Wheeler for her offense, and her ability to maintain tight d-coverage while keeping a bird flipped to her own sideline (lol). An additional tip-of-the-cap would have to go to Armsy’s aforementioned disc robbery (I think that guy is still looking around for it… somebody check the field), and a fantastic save from Biggie (albeit one for which she did not have to lay out, unfortunately).
Thanks again to everyone who came out! I can’t help but notice that our numbers are dwindling, somewhat… Hammer Men, let’s get those knees and ankles wrapped up – playoffs are upcoming, and I’d sure like to be able to field a team *pouty face*
*forced smile*
Many kisses,
AA
Friday, August 26, 2016
Friday, August 19, 2016
Really, Everything Is Okay
Tension. Compliments forced through tight smiles. Quiet contrarian cheers. Empty displays of spirit. Internalized screaming. Fck, there was so much subtext to this game (at least in my mind) that it could have been scripted by David Lynch, which I suppose would make me (or Cruddick) the dancing midget, Tim the stoic police sheriff, and Wheeler’s Uncle D this guy?
Maybe? Where was I?
True, we lost. But trust me when I say it could have gone so much worse. Despite my pre-game pleas for spirit, I couldn’t help but sarcastically shout along to our opponent’s crazy loud “UP!” calls, drawing immediate side-eyes from my mark and regrets from my inner Ultimate hippy (typically suppressed). Thankfully, shit didn’t continue to devolve from there – really, the only “incident” was Pelch’s uncontested sideline foul that drew a snotty retort from its recipient. I like to think that both sides were trying to avoid the relative unpleasantness from our last meeting. I won’t lie – I really wasn’t looking forward to this game, but it was fine. IT WAS FINE! Fun, too.
Despite all of the above, and frankly – the final score, I think we played quite well. Sans handlers Coach and Bender, we still managed to move the disc really really well, and mounted something of a comeback before half to make it close. Tim and Armsy were on fire, Bunny and Pelch were everywhere, Sally and Captain handled like pros, Honey and Wheeler really took advantage of the weak female coverage, and Cruddick continued to kill it on those initial cuts. Apologies to everyone whom I missed with my wonky throws (WHY DO I KEEP TRYING TO HANDLE?!).
Wheeler’s near circus catch (with her eyes closed!) scored her a Mike’s Hard Spirit Cran – right out from under Captain’s expecting hands, lol! I’ll award the Hal-Con Final Fantasy Cosplay Photo Booth Player Of The Game to both Bunny and Tim, who frankly killed it. Honorable mentions to everyone else. :)
Kisses, everybody. Sorry for the weak, disjointed blog – all of this pretending to be nice is exhausting!
Also, go check out Mulholland Drive. It’s awesome.
-AA
PS: Get well soon, Coach Dan!
Maybe? Where was I?
True, we lost. But trust me when I say it could have gone so much worse. Despite my pre-game pleas for spirit, I couldn’t help but sarcastically shout along to our opponent’s crazy loud “UP!” calls, drawing immediate side-eyes from my mark and regrets from my inner Ultimate hippy (typically suppressed). Thankfully, shit didn’t continue to devolve from there – really, the only “incident” was Pelch’s uncontested sideline foul that drew a snotty retort from its recipient. I like to think that both sides were trying to avoid the relative unpleasantness from our last meeting. I won’t lie – I really wasn’t looking forward to this game, but it was fine. IT WAS FINE! Fun, too.
Despite all of the above, and frankly – the final score, I think we played quite well. Sans handlers Coach and Bender, we still managed to move the disc really really well, and mounted something of a comeback before half to make it close. Tim and Armsy were on fire, Bunny and Pelch were everywhere, Sally and Captain handled like pros, Honey and Wheeler really took advantage of the weak female coverage, and Cruddick continued to kill it on those initial cuts. Apologies to everyone whom I missed with my wonky throws (WHY DO I KEEP TRYING TO HANDLE?!).
Wheeler’s near circus catch (with her eyes closed!) scored her a Mike’s Hard Spirit Cran – right out from under Captain’s expecting hands, lol! I’ll award the Hal-Con Final Fantasy Cosplay Photo Booth Player Of The Game to both Bunny and Tim, who frankly killed it. Honorable mentions to everyone else. :)
Kisses, everybody. Sorry for the weak, disjointed blog – all of this pretending to be nice is exhausting!
Also, go check out Mulholland Drive. It’s awesome.
-AA
PS: Get well soon, Coach Dan!
Friday, August 12, 2016
SUCK IT, SHARKEY!
Don't let the title of this blog fool you. That was arguably the most fun and most friendly game of ultimate! AA -- you would have thoroughly enjoyed yourself. Were they not the nicest, most polite bunch? I was asked by 3 different female players whether my stuffed finger was ok. One even pointed out potholes in the field so that I wouldn't misstep and hurt myself. Who does this? The inDISCtructibles, I guess. It's always good times playing Sharkey's team. And it's even better times when we waste them. Suck it, Sharkey. Ok, perhaps some bitterness lingers from him leaving our team to forge his own - and he's not even good to boot...but I digress.
Anyway, enough about them, let's talk Hammers!
We were AAAAAAAMAAAAAAAAZING! We were on fire while on D. Greg's insane air-defying leaps to smack down that disc were sick. Jenn played some solid D as per usually. And we musn't forget Honey and Cruddick's awesome throw downs themselves. Offensively, props go to Greg and Chippy (did i just give myself, props? Why yes i did) for running out all of those nice long passes and for adding some always fun screaming to the mix. Cruddick, Honey and Bunny for advancing the disc up the field so well with those short passes. Lots of great one-handed snatches by Becks, Scott, Jay and others.
The Sweaty-Mess, Crunchy-Grass Playa of the game goes to Zoe Watson, the cutest and most chill baby fan we've ever had watch our games! Was that a cop out? Sorry gang, you were ALL fabulous out there. So the cute baby wins.
xo chippy
Friday, August 5, 2016
28 MINUTES LATER
Twenty-eight minutes.
It took twenty-eight minutes to play the final “point”, which ended sans score, with Coach laying prone on his back with a twisted ankle, being stared down by two armies of swarthy soccer studs and their whistle-happy referees. Somewhere in those 28 minutes there was a contested defensive foul (?!) which led to some confused sideline shouting over the wind, wherein everyone was trying to say the same thing, loudly. Yes, the wind. Obviously it was the wind – blowing our passes and their passes all over the goddamn place, interrupting our admittedly SOLID disc movement for most of the game with a sudden upward gust reminding us who the EFF is in charge (but not quite drowning out the sideline shouting from their shouty sideline coach).
Defense. Last night’s game saw a ton of awesome D. I was kind of distracted by my kids, but I’m pretty sure everyone had a chance to reject SOMETHING. Bender, Tim, Coach, Sally, Chippy, Armsy, Froggy, Greg (etc etc etc) – I’m pretty sure I saw all y’all bat down a few errant passes with authouritae. And our no-brainer zone defense, vocally championed by Colleen, wonderful. I’d have to think that on a less unsettled night, we’d have torn through that team by 10 points.
The Patrick Swayze Memorial She’s Like The Wind Player of the Game goes to Scott/Froggy for several games worth of perfect cuts, and for a near circus rescue catch that, if successful, surely would rival Greg’s two face catches for play of the year. From my side of the field, it almost looked like Scott was trying to reproduce the Ace Ventura rhino birth scene, but y’know, with a frisbee. Great game, dude.
And now – a tangent! This is, I think, the most Cape Breton story I’ve ever heard. Terri was traveling home from a CB funeral yesterday when her Mom lays this one on her: her Great Uncle Neely passed away about a decade ago. At Neely’s funeral, a Great Aunt approached Neely’s son (let’s call him Little John, as a regionally accurate nickname) and said that Neely wasn’t his father, as his Mom was pregnant when they were married with someone else’s child. Let’s call him Big John. Stunned, Little John decided to get in touch with Big John, but Big John denied that he was the father, “impossible, it’s not me”.
Several years pass, and Big John passes away. Still kinda shaken by the thought that Neely wasn’t his Dad, Little John reaches out to Big John’s son. After something of a discussion, Little John sends along his photo. “Holy jeez, you look more like my dad than I do!” was apparently the reaction. Excited that he may have confirmed his lineage, Little John and Big John’s son agree to have their DNA tested, only the tests came back negative, because… BIG JOHN’S SON WAS NOT REALLY BIG JOHN’S SON, because his mother was ALSO pregnant with someone else’s kid before they got married.
Rural. Cape. Breton. Folks.
(As an aside, turns out that DNA tests with Big John’s daughters confirmed that Little John was his son, whereas the actual lineage of the other “son” remains a Nova Scotia mystery).
Kisses,
AA
It took twenty-eight minutes to play the final “point”, which ended sans score, with Coach laying prone on his back with a twisted ankle, being stared down by two armies of swarthy soccer studs and their whistle-happy referees. Somewhere in those 28 minutes there was a contested defensive foul (?!) which led to some confused sideline shouting over the wind, wherein everyone was trying to say the same thing, loudly. Yes, the wind. Obviously it was the wind – blowing our passes and their passes all over the goddamn place, interrupting our admittedly SOLID disc movement for most of the game with a sudden upward gust reminding us who the EFF is in charge (but not quite drowning out the sideline shouting from their shouty sideline coach).
Defense. Last night’s game saw a ton of awesome D. I was kind of distracted by my kids, but I’m pretty sure everyone had a chance to reject SOMETHING. Bender, Tim, Coach, Sally, Chippy, Armsy, Froggy, Greg (etc etc etc) – I’m pretty sure I saw all y’all bat down a few errant passes with authouritae. And our no-brainer zone defense, vocally championed by Colleen, wonderful. I’d have to think that on a less unsettled night, we’d have torn through that team by 10 points.
The Patrick Swayze Memorial She’s Like The Wind Player of the Game goes to Scott/Froggy for several games worth of perfect cuts, and for a near circus rescue catch that, if successful, surely would rival Greg’s two face catches for play of the year. From my side of the field, it almost looked like Scott was trying to reproduce the Ace Ventura rhino birth scene, but y’know, with a frisbee. Great game, dude.
And now – a tangent! This is, I think, the most Cape Breton story I’ve ever heard. Terri was traveling home from a CB funeral yesterday when her Mom lays this one on her: her Great Uncle Neely passed away about a decade ago. At Neely’s funeral, a Great Aunt approached Neely’s son (let’s call him Little John, as a regionally accurate nickname) and said that Neely wasn’t his father, as his Mom was pregnant when they were married with someone else’s child. Let’s call him Big John. Stunned, Little John decided to get in touch with Big John, but Big John denied that he was the father, “impossible, it’s not me”.
Several years pass, and Big John passes away. Still kinda shaken by the thought that Neely wasn’t his Dad, Little John reaches out to Big John’s son. After something of a discussion, Little John sends along his photo. “Holy jeez, you look more like my dad than I do!” was apparently the reaction. Excited that he may have confirmed his lineage, Little John and Big John’s son agree to have their DNA tested, only the tests came back negative, because… BIG JOHN’S SON WAS NOT REALLY BIG JOHN’S SON, because his mother was ALSO pregnant with someone else’s kid before they got married.
Rural. Cape. Breton. Folks.
(As an aside, turns out that DNA tests with Big John’s daughters confirmed that Little John was his son, whereas the actual lineage of the other “son” remains a Nova Scotia mystery).
Kisses,
AA
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