Ultimate What?

I had a bizarre life transformation when I switched from fourteen years of karate training to playing Ultimate Frisbee. I had to kick the habits of bowing before entering the field and answering “yes, sir” to my captain, who was probably high as a kite and kept handing me flowers when I got frustrated by my beginner’s ineptitude. I got hooked in college and played every chance I got after that. I found a threshold to adventure and instant community and when I hopped on teams in China, Mexico, Argentina and Brazil, Knoxville and right here in the mountains.  My family was supportive when I started out (my mother’s tender counsel was “whatever keeps you in shape and out of the pregnancy ward”), but seemed to be more concerned with our attire and alternative lifestyles than the fundamentals of the game. I invited my aunt to one Maryland tournament during college. Whenever we get together, she still asks me if I play that sport where the boys run around in skirts. Yes, yes I do. Although, as we get older and wiser, we…well, actually, never mind.

Last weekend I went to a tournament in Versailles, Ohio (pronounced Ver-sales). The tournament is called Poultry Days, and was superimposed onto the town’s annual chicken festival. Every team has a chicken name (PeepShow, Free Range or Die, Party Fowl, etc.) and the showcase all-star game invites the lovely winners of the local Miss Chick pageant to join. The hodgepodge team I played with, known outside of Poultry Days as Yard Sale, toted an array of wild clothing, dirty novels, bacon and a couch with us to sell (with fake money) at the festival. I’d say skirts were on the tamer end of the fashion spectrum we encountered that weekend.

There is some magnetic force stronger than fried chicken and beer that draws hundreds of people from all over the country to a bumpkin town where local shoppers take advantage of the detail that the “no shirt, no shoes, no service” doesn’t mention pants. There is a powerful pull drawing athletes ranging from 16 to 60, from two-bum-knees-and-only-here-to-party teammates to those training for international competition. Just replace the baseball diamond with an ultimate pitch and Kevin Costner  for a drunk man in a chicken suit and you’ll start to grasp the power of this sport.

Fowl puns and debauchery aside, Ultimate Frisbee is a sport that has not only transformed my own life (i.e. providing me with friends and coordination), but the entire athletic kingdom. I’d say it’s revolutionary, but it actually builds its foundation upon the fundamental principles of innate social dignity (relatively speaking). It’s a self-regulated sport that is built upon the spirit of the game, meaning you’re responsible for making your own calls and maintaining an amicable attitude. With ever so many more rainbows and unicorns than hockey, fights are settled with flips of the disc or do-overs, and pretty much every player leaves the field with a full set of teeth. Contrary to popular belief, this sport is not for sissy hippies or flying dogs; it is not the same as disc golf and we do not catch the disc in our mouths. It’s akin to soccer with similar cutting techniques and a demand for physical tenacity. Instead of scoring a goal, players have to cross the end zone like football. All of the running is done to catch the disc, but once you’ve got it in your grasp, travels are called like basketball. Seven players on defense pull (kick off) to the seven players on offense to start the point. We don’t have cheerleaders (except for the new professional league, but don’t get me started there), but the sidelines are usually packed with good-natured hecklers.

Asheville Ultimate has a pretty solid community of followers – a very welcoming cult, some might call us. When all of the flower children start to turn grey and cling to their youth like cicadas to the dusk; when the UNCA kids graduate and decided never to leave Oz; when the on-call doctors get a few minutes to break free from the hospital; when the new mom wants to kick back into shape; when the gangly misfit gets cut from the basketball team; when the professional ultimate player finishes his practice and heads back up the mountain; when the overworked professional is just looking for a workout, a cold beer and a belly laugh – they all show up at Memorial Stadium for a game of ultimate. There’s a literal vibration in the air on Wednesday nights – and whatever negativity you were harboring moments before gets swept away by the warm summer gusts and the subtle pulsation of the community’s simple bliss.

The numbers are intimidating at first – so many attractive people all in one place – how had you not known about this before? We’re a few weeks in to summer league now: there are 150 people on ten teams that play in hour-and-a-half slots at 5:30, 7 and 8:30. We also have recently started three new leagues on Monday nights – men’s competitive, women’s and a rookie league for those who have mastered running and ducking, but want to give their game a bit more finesse. Co-ed league sign-ups are closed until the fall, but we welcome you to come out, toss, watch, heckle and get to know us on Wednesdays. If you’re down to play, grab your cleats (or sneaks if you haven’t got cleats yet) and join us for the leagues on Monday night or pickup games on Sunday afternoon. All of our games are played at the fields behind McCormick Baseball Field off of Broadway Ave in Asheville. There is no signup required for the Monday leagues or Sunday pickup. If that was all too much information and your head is spinning from the options – take a gander at the Asheville Ultimate website!

We hope to see you out on the turf.   Many of the photos in the slideshow are courtesy of  of ultimateers and photographers extraordinaire, Forrest Samuels and Ethan Burns. Check out our Flickr site for more of their awesome snapshots.

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