The parent of one of the above girls took this pic just about exactly two years ago, at the end of the Middle School Ultimate Frisbee tournament in St. Paul. I spent this weekend in Blaine watching them play in the high school state tournament, and it didn't occur to me till just now that I should have made them pose for me in the same formation. That would have been "cute." And their smiles might have come easier, since a couple years ago they lost all five of their tournament games, whereas this year, after going 5-0 over the weekend, their team, Minneapolis Washburn, advanced to the championship match Wednesday evening against archrival Minneapolis South. When those two teams battle it out, the parking lot is jammed with hybrids and EVs.
I'm slowly slipping into Ultimate Frisbee aficionado-hood. The game has a little bit of a hippie vibe. South has some tall, athletic girls who remind me of Randy Moss playing football—the frisbee gets tossed deep down the field, they race after it, then pluck it from the air above the reach of the defenders. Score! I remarked admiringly to one of the other frisbee dads that if the South High basketball coach knew anything about the frisbee team, she'd want to introduce these kids to a new sport. He pointed out that they might have started playing basketball and at some point switched to frisbee, "the superior game." As you can see, there is between us only one real "frisbee dad."
Sad to say, it's the sportsmanship code that I can't get past. There are no referees in Ultimate Frisbee. The players just resolve their own disputes, and then play on. Nice, but as with everything else here below, imperfect: a team more willing to call fouls, and insist upon them, can gain an advantage, no matter the merits of the case. Washburn is the #4 seed in the tournament. On Sunday, we had an exciting game against the #1 seed: stormed back from a 6-3 deficit to go ahead by two points near the "time cap." The other team was now in a somewhat desperate situation and suddenly started calling fouls after unsuccessful plays. Gimme a break—I shouted something sorta like that from the sideline. Yes, I'm that dad, trash-talking the teens on the other team. Apparently it is not against Ultimate Frisbee's "spirit code" to call imaginary fouls when you're in a tight spot, but it is against the code for anyone to complain about it when you do. Anyway, I was reprimanded by my daughter afterwards:
Her: Dad, you can't do that. Everyone could totally hear you out on the field.
Me: Cool.
Her: The girl guarding me was like, "Tsk, there's always someone like that, it's so annoying."
Me: You say anything to her?
Her: Nope. Shoulda told her she wouldn't wanna watch a Gopher game with you.
After the game, there is a "spirit circle": the players stand around in a big ring and say nice things about one another before passing out "spirit awards"—crackerjack-box type trinkets that supposedly recognize the skills and good sportsmanship of opposing players. Lydia says it's cringey, fake, embarrassing, and that she hates it. That's my girl!