Battle for the Bible Belt

I feel that a post about my ultimate frisbee team, the Boys Named Sue, is simply necessary due to it's part in defining most of my status at UCA as "the Ultimate guy" and for taking up such an inordinate amount of time and energy of the last 3 years of my life. I can't even begin to go into the history of it all, so instead I'll just write about the tournament we played at this weekend in Oxford, MS: the Battle for the Bible Belt. I think the weekend was a pretty good microcasm of my ultimate experience so far, so it's all good. And since we were in the home of William Faulkner, I see it only appropriate to give my recap in the best stream of consciousness I got (which will probably turn into more of a list of sorts as I go on, but hey, I'm no Faulkner).

Pre-roadtrip beer at James' apartment. 1-40 Eastbound flat and like the back of my hand. Nic, music, catching up and talking 'bout everything important (women, music, ultimate, in no particular order). Nice to have good friends, the ones that last, the ones taht have seen you at your best and your worst and like it that way. Waffle House - nothing better to feel at home and full. Nic passed out, me driving to with my music, getting tired from a long week, almost there, not quite, road too straight, not curvy or requiring focus, is that a dinosaur? What? Wake up. Follwing directions to the apartment where 14 of us would crash on the floor. Open the door - drunk. No more sleep - must swig Wild Turkey. 5 Turk and Cokes later, pass out on the floor clothes on, no cover, Lex's pillow (he's mad, but it was meant to be this way I'm sure) don't we have to play tomorrow? Wake up, routine: jersey, skirt, socks, shoes, hat, contacts, brush teeth, energy bar, water. Fields, waking up, bagel and banana. Bring it in Sue. "One, two , seven...MY NAME IS SUE HOW DO YOU DO NOW YOU GONNA DIE!" Four games, win them all. No problem, we're good (but sloppy, it's offseason, and the other teams
really not good at all.) Haven't run this much in a long time, knees are twinging but more ibuprofen helps (or maybe it's the sideline beer.) All in a day's work - couple of beers before we go to the gas station to buy more. Showers (14 of them), Chinese buffet (another ritual - must have the carbs), then a nap with the Final Four on TV. The game's on TV at the bar where the party is - enough to get us up. We're the only ones at the party really - we're staying at the Tournament Director's house. So, what to do? Drink up and play dominoes until the alcohol kicks in, or until the girls show up...never did, rarely do, doesn't really matter anyway when there's ahhhh...karaoke and more beer (a whole keg for the 20 of us long gone by the time we get to "Paradise City"). Bathroom to pee, and back to more music...whose the old woman dancing with Phil? She looks just like him. Outside - drinking discs...4 1/2 beers into an upside down frisbee, drink it without more than a 10 second stall and you're an ultimate player. Puking is okay, even encouraged for entertainment unless you can drink fast. Oh, that guy definitely just puked into his hand. Nice. good performance. Pat on the back, yells of "Yeah!" from the crowd. Back inside, more singing, spinning, is Evan in his falsetto for "Total Eclipse of the Heart"? Classic. Out of beer? Jack and cokes. Not covered? No, no, don't worry. Just bring them to us. We know the guy paying ofr everything. We're staying at his house. Peter! Oh, c'mon Peter just one for us! Yeah, Peter, attaboy. 3 Jacks later has all of us pleading for everyone else not to call us Waylon Jennings, YOU DON'T EVEN CALL ME BY MY NAME! Oh yes karaoke. Thank you for saving this party. A round of Boy Named Sue just for good measure, then back to the apartment. Phone calls, passing out on the steps, who's taking pictures? Shit. Another night of clothes on, no cover.
That's called drinking away a tournament victory. Merle called it Sunday Morning Coming Down. Never been this sore, never this tired. Routine - dirty jersey, dirty skirt, socks, shoes, contacts, brush teeth, no energy bar - might puke. To the fields, bagel and banana sound good. Run around, stretch if there's time, bu tno time for drills today. Let's just play. Thank god this team sucks. But we're screwed if we play like this the next game.
And we do. Down 7-2 at half - lacking enthusiasm, but know we are better than this team. We beat them 13-6 yesterday, and they know they're not as good as us. Let's play like it. 2nd half rally...now we're feeling it, laying out, nice passes, still though we're not quite connecting, and our defense sucks. Getting beat deep every time. Late rally, 11-10 game to 12, oh we're so close, just tie it up, throw it catch it yeah that's it nice work patience chilly chilly no no not that pass - "turn". don't get beat deep...huck, score, game over. 12-10. We lost? That was our Bible Belt. Ours. Oh well. Next year maybe we won't drink so much. A few more beers and we heckle Memphis in the finals just for the hell of it. Rain, pouring rain, let's go. El Sombrero = burnt quesadillas and a bad aftertaste for the ride home. Pack up, clean up, see you soon. Nap in the car, this drive wasn't as long on the way there. back at home. Laundry tomorrow, sleep tonight. Life ain't easy for a boy named 'Sue.'