Fiction #13

After moving to Korea in 2012, I made a New Year's resolution to play more ultimate. I fell in love again with the sport and learned so many rules of the game and the spirit that separates ultimate from every other sport. 

One rule is sandbagging. I was not part of this hat tournament but there was a hat tournament where a highly-touted player signed up under a fake name and ranked himself in the middle of the pack. This is sandbagging.  In the end, his team won the tournament and a lot of people in the ROK-U community labelled him as a d-bag. Rightly so. But what about the people who do the opposite and sell themselves too high? Here's a story, it’ll be like reading Chinese if you don’t play ultimate. 

It’s a working title for now.

Trust

The final's hard cap was called at 6-6 and the wind had picked up. The sun was setting and the lights around the turf came on. Our captain never had a trust issue with any team, he always believed everyone on the field would make the right choice. Even if it meant playing a six-person offence. There were strong women who marked well and got open. There were two strong handlers on the field and a solid anchor, Bambi, who always got someone open. It had been a long point before. Our captain made several bids and chased the disc like no one else. He earned that point. No one would argue against that. It was a surprise when he stepped out of the game for Jonesy. We lined up across from the people we had been guarding the entire game. Off the pull, my mark, Dan, caught the disc. Trusting my teammates, I sprinted to force his forehand and he took his chance deep. Gonzo and his man were stride-for-stride chasing one of Dan's better flicks of the afternoon. It had the arc of a football. Gonzo slowed and took a step behind his man and leapt like an Olympian. He caught the disc. That's when anything could have happened. As much as I love Gonzo, he shouldn't catch a disc outside the end-zone. Usually, he'd be chilly and give a dump pass to Caps, Lo, or myself, but this was the finals.

"Toss the disc! I'm open!” Gonzo threw it to the first open man, and Ricky lucked out and looked up the field as he caught the disc one-handed. Without a lapse in the defence, a tight cup covered Ricky. He looked forward pointing. He shifted his shoulders awkwardly, trying to fake out the three-person cup. They didn't bite. He looked cross field at all the empty space. Without even glancing at a wide-open swing pass he threw up a hammer. Even with the wind in his face, he threw something over the top. You could hear hecklers on the sideline calling Ricky's name. Tommy, the mid zone, a man the size of a grizzly bear with arms like an orangutan, snatched it as the disc hooked backwards. I back-peddled knowing Ricky would have watched his throw as his man, Rockwell went deep anticipating the turnover. Tom recognised and respected my position and swung it to the middle to Ann.

"Catch your man, Ricky" I called behind me. The long points were taking their toll.

"I got it, Chip, don't worry," he panted, that's the last sound I wanted to hear.

The disc went deep again. Ricky took five hard strides and fell. Rockwell, jumped into the hair to grab what looked like the final point of our season. Then, as fate would have it, the wind gave the disc the tiniest boost. I stopped running I couldn't even believe it. Gonzo was in hot pursuit and smacked it to the ground this time and gave me the nod as we ran past each other. 

I grabbed the disc and brought it up to the end zone line and tapped it on the ground, patience is not required on universe point. I faked hard to the open side, then threw a blade under my mark's arm to Lo who caught it in stride. I pushed harder than ever to get to that open side, looking at Gonzo bouncing deep off on an in-cut. As I turned to go to my up-line cut Ricky was going there as well with his man in front of him. He planted hard and winced and walked out of the lane. I reset in the middle and watched Tilley grab the disc. 

I waited for Lo to make her move before deciding my route. She caught the disc again, closer to the middle. She wiped her sweaty brown hair off of her forehead and looked up the field for Gonzo.  He was blanketed. She looked at Tilley, then at an open Ricky and pumped to try and shake his defender off of Gonzo.  No luck. She swung it to me. 

Now we were in the end zone drill. The flawless offence we practised time and time again. I put it to the break side to Lo. She tossed it up to Jonesy. He looked up, pump faked to a standing Ricky and dumped it to Lo, who swung it to Tilley who got it to me on the opposite sideline. 

Ricky and I did not get along. I love this game; it is in my heart and my soul. Ricky thinks it's a great co-ed sport to meet women and show-off. I mean, the guy hasn't worn sleeves all season. Bambi found his spot and cut into the middle for a swing. Now, the wonderful, amazing thing about Bambi is he is ambidextrous. If he played it right, and he usually did, he made any throw he wanted. Gonzo was stuck in a bracket.

          “Ricky, you’re poached, go deep” the sideline called.

          Bambi was still holding the disc looking towards the end zone.

          “Ricky, you’re poached, go deep” the sideline called.

          I glanced over my shoulder at the situation. The man was gasping for air. He was stuck on the far wing. I made my cut towards Bambi, he fakes and dished off a push pass over his head. I grinned as I caught the sly pass. I looked up. Lo was running across the field over top of Ricky who was staggering along the sideline. Ricky’s man noticed and backed up.

Fuck he isn’t giving us a chance. Just call injury timeout, you can barely walk, I thought as the stall count climbed. I hit Jonesy on the open side. Looking forward on the opposite side of the field, Lo was beating her person to the side. Jonesy threw a wobbly backhand towards the end zone and the wind slowed it down enough for a turn. 

I exhaled and sprinted back onto D. Checking to see where Ricky and his man were. Rockwell knew the deal. He had known the whole point: he was smoking hot every time on offence.

“No one gets beat deep,” I said. “Call for help if you need it.”

“Stall One…” Jonesy called in his fog-horn voice, “UP!!”

I looked up and saw the disc. I ran even harder than I did for the strike cut (you can always go harder than harder on universe point). The wind was taking over the game and pushed the disc out of bounds, too far for an attempt at a greatest. Lo went for it and tapped it in.

“End-zone!” she called with the heart of a lion.

We set up our system and ran it to perfection. The sideline couldn’t believe it. They started counting after 10 complete passes. We were marching up the field. The variations we had practised knocked our opponents off of their game.  It wasn’t just swing passes to the outside. We opened the middle for a couple to keep them honest. Working it up in the shape of a W.

“Sixteen!” the sideline cheered.

Jonesy passed it back to Lo. She saw Gonzo’s man fall for the in-cut and Gonzo busted for the end-zone and Lo threw a backhand for the ages.

Again with that wind!

Gonzo slowed down and boxed out his man from getting the disc. He leapt and snapped the disc out of the air.  He just didn't land in the end zone.

Everyone was jogging up to reset the offence.

“Chilly, Gonzo” went the sideline chorus.

He stayed chilly and rocketed it back to me. I caught it with my stomach and two hands. The middle of the end zone was a cluster of everyone. My mark was forcing my backhand, I had to respect it and didn’t throw a flick to an open Jonesy.

“Seven” my mark shouted into my ear.

I had to force it. Ricky gave me a nod as he cut in towards the cluster of people. I read the direction and placed it on the open side. Ricky’s gloves parked that disc right in his hands. He screamed as he smashed the disc on the ground, he jumped and hollered as everyone on our sideline ran to the field. I sighed and smiled and laughed as my captain put his arms around me. 

“You did the right things, the whole way up, Chippy.” He said pinching my cheek. “I just didn’t think Ricky would have caught it.”

“Me neither,” I said, “I really wanted to hit Jonesy, but…”

“Don’t say it, just enjoy the night.”

We got into the group-hug and cheered and screamed overrun with exhaustion and adrenaline. We hugged and shook hands with our opponents/friends and discussed applauded the efforts of one another in a circle. I can’t remember how the night ended. I do remember that Ricky and I toasted each other several times at the bar to winning and nothing else.