digital diarrhea

the rest of perth:

we played joyride first. they were supposed to cream us, but we hung with them...i don't remember much about this game except that one of their men tried to layout thru me for a disc that was already on the ground (we were on O, i was popping, the handler turfed it). he hit the small of my back at just the right angle to dig my already skinned knee hard into the ground, and that's when i started bleeding thru my tights. throughout the tournament, many many men would try to layout through me, and my knee always came away the worse for it. for those of us who are too old to remember, skinned knees hurt like a mofo.

we really really kicked the honey badgers' asses, which is good, because we were aiming to win one game within our pool.

the next day, we lost badly to bad larry, but the wind was incredibly strong. i think i winged a couple of points on the side that they were trapping, but my handler kept looking away from me so i couldn't dump it right back to her. she also managed to drop at least three passes off the pull...it's kinda hard to do your job as an offensive player when you're continually trying to play transition d at your own endzone.

the next day went much better. i had no idea who we were playing, and i didn't care. if you're ever on the same team as me, please don't try to give me info about the other team unless it's strategical stuff (like keep your left hand low on that girl). i don't care what her name is, i don't care what her dog's name is (i didn't realize this was a pet peeve until manila this past weekend where one of our girls kept trying to introduce me to all the girls on the other team. line conversations went like this:

me: "i've got pink shorts."
her: "oh, that's sol. you've got sol. ok, so then i'll cover maddy, and christina, you can cover wilma."
xtina: "which one's wilma?"
her: "she's the one next to sol."
me: "they're both next to sol."
her: "yes, but xtina knows which one maddy is, so then she can figure out which one wilma is."

no joke. and later, she kept saying things like "i've got brandy." to which i would reply, "which one's brandy? nevermind, i've got long braid.") anyways, we played endzonis first. down 9-3 at half, then down further, but somewhere along there we starting playing a trapping cup and they never figured it out. we came back to win it 16-15 or 17-16 or something. terribly exciting stuff, but up to this point in the tournament, i wasn't really in it. i wasn't invested, i didn't really care. none of the girls had really challenged me, and even if i played amazingly, i kinda felt like i couldn't change the outcome of the games...i guess this comeback made me believe in the team. accordingly, i drank a cup of coffee for our next game and cranked up the eminem.

we played limited express (from ny) next. this may have been my best game of the tournament. i popped a lot, and guys would come flying from across the field into me, but i'd catch the disc anyways. after the game, one of our guys told me i played like a man, which i took as a compliment. oh, i also caught a tough hammer. like i had to jump to catch it cuz a guy was bearing down on me. i scored about half of our points, i think. halfway thru the game, they moved me to handling because our handler girl kept dropping pulls and passes. most vividly, i was her wing, and i was calling her name to let her know i was open for the swing, she drops the pass, and they score immediately. on the way back to the line, she tells me not to yell her name while she's trying to catch. like it's my fault that she dropped the disc. hmm. people who don't take responsibility for their fuckups really irk me. and the thing is, it's not like she practices throwing and catching during warmups. it's like she doesn't care. sigh, we couldve been such better friends if only she were good at frisbee.

we didn't win a single game after this one. we played a bristol team that made the worst calls i've seen to date (since then, i've met some asian teams that make worse calls...ahem, taiwan). most notably, i told a small italian man i'd kick his ass if he laid out into me one more time, but i said it in such an even tone of voice that i think all the people around me thought i was joking.

i spent many moments in weird chemical states crooning to myself as cathychu. like sometimes i wouldn't eat breakfast, would drink two redbulls and play the day...maybe consuming some ibuprofen along the way...by the end of the day i'd be a pulpy mess and i'd feel like crying...so then i'd pretend cchu was holding my hand and saying, "it's ok baby it's ok." it sorta became my mantra. i bet the others all thought i was batty.

i've learned that if i want to make a difference in coed, i've got to learn to bait/poach more. too many teams don't use their girls at all.

last weekend i went to manila (in the philippines!). they have terrific american fastfood chains, but not much else. i felt like i stepped into the set of the first karate kid or something. i didn't get to eat much local food, but at one point i bought some fried flourescent balls on a stick...they turned out to be deep fried robin eggs or something. pretty good. people ride around in converted wwii troop transfer vehicles called jeepneys.

in manila, i played against ben wiggins! i handled in a zone against them, and it was ridiculously easy to break through the cup (they were trying to force toward a sideline). ben wiggins is awesome. he proves that one can play spirited high level ultimate. he's just so chill.