Small Figure in a Vast Expanse

Before I get into this: Much to the relief of everyone in the world, I finally got the orange/green/yellow/brown tips cut out. Whew. Thought I was gonna look like a douche for the next couple months! Oh wait ...


Summer Bro Nineskis brofficially began for me on Monday evening, and it's been moving along quite smoothly ever since. In the span of three days, I've read two books, slept more hours in one night than I've slept in some weeks, listened to more Ne-Yo than I care to admit (yikes), and eaten solely in establishments that utilize grease as their main ingredient. My Team Stanford Bro Eight Reunion trip didn't quite work out, but that's how that goes, I guess. Team Stanford Bro Nine is looking cooler by the day, with Doc, myself, and FIREBEARD returning, and Sam lives just minutes away, and I'm sure Milan will pop in at least once [CORRECTION: MILAN IS COMING BACK TOO!!!]. Other than the excitement of leaving for another ridiculous summer in about a week, I never have any large plans or events in these parts. I'm not saying I don't like the monotony, but I like when it's broken up by pockets of frisbee here and there. Since I'm going back to Stanford, it didn't make sense for me to sign up for summer league, so I don't get regular disc the way I did last summer. Partially motivated by the thought that I'd actually have to step up next season, and partially motivated by my desire to play real ultimate on a semi-regular basis, I decided to try out for a Chicago club team. Since I don't have much else to write about (and all my Nationals thoughts and '08-'09 thoughts still aren't organized yet), I thought I'd write about my tryout experiences.

I feel like I should start off by saying that, not to sound like a tool, but I don't think I've ever tried out for a team in my life. I haven't the slightest when it comes to tryout etiquette or the dynamics of a tryout. As a kid, you never have to try out for shit. You always make the team, and everybody wins. High school basketball tryouts never felt like tryouts; they were simple. At that point in my life, I had been playing basketball for six years already, so the tryout felt like a practice in what I already knew how to do. There were so few girls that wanted to run cross country that you were basically on the team if you went to practice. It was sort of the same with college ultimate -- there just weren't that many girls, so you were basically on the team. So absolutely no lie, I fretted a lot before my first round of tryouts. What the shit were they gonna make me do? Would it be strenuous? Would I be scared? Was I going to embarrass myself? Was I getting in way over my head?

The first team I tried out for was Chicago's elite women's team, Nemesis, and I have one word to describe that first Saturday morning tryout: Yikes.

We were just a week removed from Nationals, and all the aches and pains that came with that tournament were still lying in my bones. That entire tryout weekend hurt like hell. Even bending over to pick up a disc required a prayer to God and a deal with the devil. So that sucked. I tried to suck it up and just focus my mind on playing. Looking around me, I couldn't help but feel a little out of place. I was going through drills with people who had played with Team USA at Worlds, people who were All-Region status, people who were FOTESKIS back in the day, people who could rip full-field back/forehands with nary a flip of their wrist, people who could Ickey Shuffle backwards faster than I could spell "Ickey Shuffle" ... yikes. I don't know what it was, maybe I was intimidated by the caliber of the players surrounding me, or maybe I was nervous because it was my first tryout of real consequence, but I could feel myself holding something back, not in terms of playing, but in terms of putting myself out there and throwing myself into the experience fully. I feel like anybody trying out for an elite team that routinely goes to Club Champies should be in it fully, taking every opportunity to layout or make a sick grab or just dominate a drill, and I just ... didn't. I was awkward and more self-contained than normal. I fumbled for words to unnecessarily fill silences, and I fumbled with my hands, like I had never held a disc before. I had gotten in my own head and I knew it. Other than the mental game though, straight up, I played like shit. I didn't think it was possible for one person to play so poorly. I couldn't break marks. I couldn't catch discs. I couldn't throw discs. I was getting out of position, getting beat regularly. Hell, I couldn't even do the Ickey Shuffle. It was a sad sight. It was like watching a ship sink within miles of land. You're standing on land and you're looking out at this pathetic boat, gasping its last breaths, and even though you feel sorry for that boat a little, most of all, you can't help but feel glad it's not you out there.

In a nutshell, that was my Saturday -- a wreck.

I wondered if I should even return the next day. I knew I didn't play well. In fact, I'd say that I played the worst of every person there that day. In my mind, I was all but one "We really appreciate you coming out but ..." e-mail away from being cute without the 'e' from the team (shoutout to my babybro). But I went back on Sunday, if only because I didn't want people to think I was running away with my tail between my legs. I do have a little bit of pride, after all. (If you anwered 'false', you are correct!)

Sunday wasn't much better than Saturday. It was much sunnier, which picked up my spirits considerably, and I was a little less scatterbrained, but I still wasn't there. Unlike the day before, I did a few things right, but I had to leave early, pretty much signing and sealing the resignation letter, all I had to do was send it. I think everyone who tried out got invited back for another round of tryouts, because the captains hadn't seen enough of anyone. So by default, I made the first cut (which I get to tell people now). Even though that's sweet and everything, I found myself caught at an impasse. I was almost positive that Nemesis would cut me right away, and everything else could fall into place from there. Nemesis would cut me, and I'd go to Spicy Tuna tryouts. (Spicy Tuna is a new women's team in Chicago). But we all got invited to Round Two, and Nemesis and Spicy Tuna both had tryouts on the same Saturday. I knew that even if I missed Nemesis' Saturday tryout, they were also going to have a Sunday tryout, but I couldn't make it to the Sunday tryout, what with the LSAT looming the next day. If I didn't make it out to Spicy Tuna tryouts, which were only happening that Saturday (and the following Tuesday and Saturday as well, but at that point I was still under the impression that I was going to the Bay) it might have been too late for me to join that team, as their tryouts were starting to wind down as well. BLARGH. Unless I played like I had all the talents and physical capabilities of Apt. 6 (Murrles, Yen, Miss Foster, T-Nasty) rolled into the frame of the least athletic Asian ever to breathe through narrowed airways, there was no way I was making Nemesis. The day carmenychane ceases to make me question myself, is the day I'll make Nemesis. But that day's not coming soon. Welp. An e-mail to the captain confirmed these assumptions, so onto Spicy Tuna, the new women's team in Chicago.

I was decidedly more relaxed about this tryout. To be sure, I was still nervous, but not a wreck the way I was the previous week. It helped a lot to have not only Margaret but Catherine there too. I felt more energized, and more ... light? I don't know, I guess I just felt less pressure on my shoulders. The back hurt, but it was holding up until the huck drill. I was on D and had the disc in my sights. As I started going up, I felt a shock of pain go through the right side of my back. Honest to God, it was one of the most painful things I have ever experienced in my life. Spasms of fuckin' lightning start going through my back, and it even hurts to breathe. I can feel the moisture pooling in my eyes and all I can do is lay on the ground or choke back sobs on my hands and knees. It sucked. Luckily, a little bit of stretching and taking off a few reps of the drill got me back to the point where I could play without falling over. A few reps later, I was on the sucka fool's end of a SICK layout grab -- you know the kind, where you think you're far enough in front of your girl that they'll just give up on the disc, and then she had like, a crotch-high layout grab as I jumped out of her body's trajectory to avoid stomping her, shouting "SICK GRAB!" as I jumped over her glorious body on the ground with the disc in hand. Seriously, I felt salty as hell, but it was a sweet grab.

Anyway, the rest of that day went decently well. We played some 3-on-3, and then two scrimmages to 5. We had a balls to the wall game to one, which was fun. Catherine Doyle and I pulled out the Illinois Tania Reitz play, which was basically a handler picking up the disc, and then the receiver tooling everyone deep for the score. In this case, we decided to trip everyone out, and instead of sending someone fast and athletic deep, I panted and putzed my way to the goal line and Catherine sent a pretty ass huck for me. Since I'm no T-Bagels, I didn't catch it in the endzone (about two or three yards shy), but we did score that point and win. That was probably the closest I'll ever get to T-Baggin' groceries, except the time I fell into a mud puddle while wearing her yellow shorts. The second tryout was fun as well, with the drills geared towards defense. That's what I like to play so it was fun, save for ONE rep that I can't get out of my head. I don't want to talk about it, ugh. Anyway, we played 10 Pull, which was fun except the ground owned everyone else. The best part of the night was closing out tryouts with HAMMA'Z. FANTASTIC. The only thing that could have been better was a relay race with push passes (I DON'T want to talk about the push pass Tracy threw over my head to Margaret for the score in 10 Pull).

So ... trying out for a new team is strange. First there's the obvious -- it's a new team and a new system. For the most part, everyone is new to me, and you have to learn to play with new playing styles and preferences. For example, you have to learn what your handlers like -- do they want the immediate give-and-go, are they particularly strong going up-line, etc. You have to learn the cutters -- who can only catch a perfect pass, who has the speed to catch a disc no matter how far you put it, etc. It's weird, feeling everyone out, but I hope I'm getting the hang of it.

Another thing that's weird is that I'm trying out against girls who play or have played in my region. I'm trying out against girls I've beaten, girls who've beaten me, and girls who I'll play against for the next year. Even though we're trying out for a new team with a new name, those old jerseys somehow always seem to be foremost in our minds, and memories of tournaments past creep up, and instead of awkwardly chuckling them off, I feel like we awkwardly reside in them, and your brain forms this "us" and "them" distinction that clearly doesn't apply anymore.

I'd like to clarify that I harbor no ill will towards any of my opponents off the field. I feel perfectly fine cheering on teams that have beaten me, and there's no shame in admitting that you lost a game when the other team clearly played better than you. Contrary to popular belief, I don't hate any team that I've lost a significant game to, and there's only one team I really, truly dislike, and it's not just that we lost to them -- it's something that is very personal, and cuts deeper than any red on score reporter could ever cut.

So yes, trying out with people who wore college jerseys that didn't say "Illinois" on them is weird. Stranger yet is the notion that we might be on the same team. I guess I haven't played this game or been in the community long enough to have that happen to me, really, where I find myself playing against a teammate or former teammate, or playing with a former opponent. Either way, I'm pretty excited about it all. It will definitely be really, really fun to play with a whole new team of people, and this should be a fun experience.

In my mind, tryouts for Spicy Tuna are going pretty well. I like the group of people trying out, and I feel almost myself, if only because I feel comfortable around my Illinois teammates. I've been more vocal on the sidelines (they mentioned sideline D and my eyes lit up), I've been having more fun with the drills, and I'm bringing the inner douchebag out, little by little. If I make this team, they'll all be d-bags by the end of the series. I've been playing decently well. It's nothing to write home about, but I'm a completely unrecognizable player from the one that showed up at Nemesis tryouts two weeks ago. I've made many a bid, some successful, some gratuitous, but they know I'm not afraid to get myself dirty (it also helps that I dropped a piece of burrito in the crotch of my white shorts just before tryouts, so it's not like I really cared anymore). My D has been alright. Not spectacular, but I'm not a slouch. You know, I'm one of those middle of the road people. I'm not outstandingly horrendous, but I also don't ball out of control. Anyhow, I have one tryout for Spicy Tuna left. Like I said, I feel like I've played well enough so far, but I haven't done anything to prove to them that I'm an absolutely indispensable player that needs to be kept around, so I guess my status is still up in the air. I haven't quite decided what I want to do with this team. I've handled and I've cut, and all of it is great fun, but I'm not superior in one respect over the other. I've been making good cuts and making grabs, but I feel like I'm not fast or tall enough to be a reliable receiver, plus I always feel compelled to move back and be dump. Then as a handler, I've been decidedly more confident and I'm learning to make the cuts the captains want back there, but I still feel ... awkward, like I'm not quite sure of what I'm doing. Welp, guess I'm just gonna have to play balls out on Saturday. I hope it's not raining so I can wear my reversible basketball jersey, or maybe even my Michelle LISTEN shirt, which is only busted out for the most special of occasions (Sunday of Centex, for example). Any time you show your guns, it obviousry shows that you mean bidness.

Well, I guess it's not the end of the world if I don't make the team, but it will sure suck to not get to play ultimate at a somewhat regular interval this summer.

Welp, I guess I'll let you know what happens when I find out.


In the meantime, does anyone want to suggest new music and/or books to me? No lie, but I have been listening to the same four albums for the past four months ("Little Voice" Sara Bareilles, "Blue Boy" Ron Sexsmith, "Year of the Gentleman" Ne-Yo, and ... yikes ... "Chocolate Factory" R. Kelly. I've also been listening to Keri Hilson's solo stuff, but it's meh.) Anyway, I need to do things that aren't napping or watching "30 Rock" over and over.


Oh, and for the record? I miss Tiff a LOT. Quit tiffin' with my heart, girl. Mm.