Actual IM's I've received in the last week (names changed to protect the...uh...innocent):
Jim Bob: justified or no: if you're trying to get out of your seat on the BART and the person between you and the aisle doesn't stand up to let you out...you fart in their face as you get up
Candy Sue: haha yes. i'm no longer drinking the kool aid because the kool aid is urine
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Dear Mischief
First things first: it has been one of the greatest honors and privileges of my life to have had the opportunity to play with you these past five years. Way back in 2001, when I first decided that, hey, I'd like to give competitive club ultimate a try, the loftiest goal I could muster would be to one day play for a team that might make regionals. Regionals! Ha! I never dreamed that one day I'd have the opportunity to go to Nationals, win Nationals, and compete in a world event as a representative of my country.
For giving me those opportunities and those experiences, I will always be grateful. I know that there are players better than me who have never had the chance to compete on the lush fields of Sarasota, and players far better than me who never had the chance to drink Guiness from a trophy. I feel lucky and blessed that I was in the right place at the right time and I managed to hang on this long. Not bad for a fat, slow, nearsighted kid with a short wingspan, huh?
As strange as it might sound, I'm also grateful to the tryout committee, both this year and in years past. I know that I've always been at the bottom of the roster, and while I'd like to think that there are some things I do better than anyone else (work hard off the field, help from the sidelines, mental focus, strategic adjustments, have a really hot wife), realistically, those aren't things a team needs to spend a roster spot on. I'm sure that, especially at this time of year, the committee is faced with many difficult and painful decisions, and it's the kind of job that's heavy on crap from people who didn't make it, and light on thanks from people who did make it. So, Warren, Pete, Shwu, Giz, Adam (and those on committees in years past): thank you guys for your time, effort, consideration, and willingness to do what must at times be an unpleasant job.
Over the years, I've seen plenty of really nice people and good friends get cut, and in the end it always proved to be the right decision. I have little doubt this will be similar; let's face it, anyone who knows anything about ultimate has to agree that replacing Wes Chao with Justin Safdie is a massive, massive upgrade. There's no question. And with all the talent that might be floating around in the next couple of months, with potential cuts from Revolver post-worlds, cuts from Wolf still to be announced, and college players sorting out their plans for the summer and beyond, a team would be crazy not to leave a roster spot or three open to pick up a potential superstar. I guess what I'm saying here is just that I understand the decision, and that understanding has left me free of bitterness.
Besides, I realize that this isn't the only way this could have gone down. With Jam breaking up, there were a lot of very talented players looking for teams; a more pragmatic, ruthless team might have been justified in simply cutting players like me at the start of the season, if it made it easier for them to sign younger, faster, more skilled players. After the way last season ended, for the team and for me in particular (stat line for what could have been my last game in a Mischief uniform: 1 point played, 1 throwaway, 1 getting-beat-deep-for-a-goal), I very deeply appreciate the chance to play another tournament with the team. It's not quite the storybook ending I would have written, but I'm very proud of the way I played this past weekend, and going out on a tournament win, on double game point no less, is at least more satisfying than some of the alternatives.
I don't know what the future holds for me. At the beginning of the year, when I answered the survey question, "How committed are you to Mischief?", I replied, "I will do whatever the team needs to get back to Nationals; if nothing is needed, I will likely retire." So far, my answer has not changed: I love this team and I love you guys, and I'd like nothing better than to see you get back to The Show. I don't know that I could stand on the line in a different uniform, trying to take from you the very thing that we've worked so hard together to achieve. It wouldn't feel right. Maybe I'll change my mind in a few weeks when I'm feeling less nostalgic and melodramatic, but for the moment, that's where I stand.
I think I've rambled enough for one post, so I'll wrap up with this: we've laughed together. We've cried together. I've been to your wedding, and you've been to mine. We've shared beds and food and drinks and shenanigans, and I've loved every minute of it. I don't yet know if this is the end of the road for me, but if it is, it's been one hell of a ride. Thank you.
For giving me those opportunities and those experiences, I will always be grateful. I know that there are players better than me who have never had the chance to compete on the lush fields of Sarasota, and players far better than me who never had the chance to drink Guiness from a trophy. I feel lucky and blessed that I was in the right place at the right time and I managed to hang on this long. Not bad for a fat, slow, nearsighted kid with a short wingspan, huh?
As strange as it might sound, I'm also grateful to the tryout committee, both this year and in years past. I know that I've always been at the bottom of the roster, and while I'd like to think that there are some things I do better than anyone else (work hard off the field, help from the sidelines, mental focus, strategic adjustments, have a really hot wife), realistically, those aren't things a team needs to spend a roster spot on. I'm sure that, especially at this time of year, the committee is faced with many difficult and painful decisions, and it's the kind of job that's heavy on crap from people who didn't make it, and light on thanks from people who did make it. So, Warren, Pete, Shwu, Giz, Adam (and those on committees in years past): thank you guys for your time, effort, consideration, and willingness to do what must at times be an unpleasant job.
Over the years, I've seen plenty of really nice people and good friends get cut, and in the end it always proved to be the right decision. I have little doubt this will be similar; let's face it, anyone who knows anything about ultimate has to agree that replacing Wes Chao with Justin Safdie is a massive, massive upgrade. There's no question. And with all the talent that might be floating around in the next couple of months, with potential cuts from Revolver post-worlds, cuts from Wolf still to be announced, and college players sorting out their plans for the summer and beyond, a team would be crazy not to leave a roster spot or three open to pick up a potential superstar. I guess what I'm saying here is just that I understand the decision, and that understanding has left me free of bitterness.
Besides, I realize that this isn't the only way this could have gone down. With Jam breaking up, there were a lot of very talented players looking for teams; a more pragmatic, ruthless team might have been justified in simply cutting players like me at the start of the season, if it made it easier for them to sign younger, faster, more skilled players. After the way last season ended, for the team and for me in particular (stat line for what could have been my last game in a Mischief uniform: 1 point played, 1 throwaway, 1 getting-beat-deep-for-a-goal), I very deeply appreciate the chance to play another tournament with the team. It's not quite the storybook ending I would have written, but I'm very proud of the way I played this past weekend, and going out on a tournament win, on double game point no less, is at least more satisfying than some of the alternatives.
I don't know what the future holds for me. At the beginning of the year, when I answered the survey question, "How committed are you to Mischief?", I replied, "I will do whatever the team needs to get back to Nationals; if nothing is needed, I will likely retire." So far, my answer has not changed: I love this team and I love you guys, and I'd like nothing better than to see you get back to The Show. I don't know that I could stand on the line in a different uniform, trying to take from you the very thing that we've worked so hard together to achieve. It wouldn't feel right. Maybe I'll change my mind in a few weeks when I'm feeling less nostalgic and melodramatic, but for the moment, that's where I stand.
I think I've rambled enough for one post, so I'll wrap up with this: we've laughed together. We've cried together. I've been to your wedding, and you've been to mine. We've shared beds and food and drinks and shenanigans, and I've loved every minute of it. I don't yet know if this is the end of the road for me, but if it is, it's been one hell of a ride. Thank you.
What do you do when there are no more tears?
I always knew this day would come.
As of yesterday evening, after five wonderful, glorious years, I am no longer a rostered player on Mischief. I had intended to update my status with some pithy message about it, but when you get right down to it, there's too much that I want to say to fit that format. So I did what any modern angsty teenager would do: I started a blog.
Enjoy.
As of yesterday evening, after five wonderful, glorious years, I am no longer a rostered player on Mischief. I had intended to update my status with some pithy message about it, but when you get right down to it, there's too much that I want to say to fit that format. So I did what any modern angsty teenager would do: I started a blog.
Enjoy.
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