February 20, 2009

Posted in Uncategorized at 3:02 am by Iain

I’m not a leader.

As much as I wish I am, I’m not. I’m not charismatic or likable, I’m not magnanimous or inspirational, nor am I flexible. I’m just a guy that has dabbled in frisbee for the last five years of his life. Other than that, there’s very little that qualifies me to be a captain.

And I was able to recognize that – after a year. (I guess you could add ignorant to my list) But since attempting to quit in the fall and subsequently coming back this spring, I feel like serendipity has given me the chance to try to make sense of it all. To try to see what happened.

In great part, it has to do with how I play. God, when I’m on the field, everything I have is focused on the next play, the next fake, the next d. Time shrinks to only the now, nothing but the now. All my drama, my objectivity, and most notably my humor melt away into a confused mess of ironic liberation. Kill-mode is what I think the Hodags call it, as utterly ridiculous as that sounds.

But for the past year I’ve somehow overlooked the fact that kill-mode frisbee isn’t what UNI wants. Yeah, UNIPUC (ammUNItion now technically) has as its players some of the best athletes I’ve played with, and unimaginable potential, but neither of those makes its players want to submit themselves to the divine comedy that is competitive masculinity. In that I’m only guilty of being egocentric and oblivious, but in the process though, I’ve made a lot of bad decisions – yes, bad decisions, that ubiquitous currency with which every moment in college life is paid – but decisions nevertheless that I wish could’ve gone differently.

For a lot of people I made frisbee something that it should never be, and for that I feel like I should apologize to all the guys that played with me last year. Unfortunately though, I don’t think it would be appropriate to say in person. As much as it could set everything right, I feel like it would be better to just keep it all in the past, I mean, there are like four cliches about forgiving and forgetting, right? One of those has got to have it right.

So why write this? Why write something that I’ll immediately regret posting once I wake up tomorrow? That feeling of literary catharsis is long gone and so too is that hour of sleep that I could’ve been enjoying – why? I don’t know. Maybe somebody, well, probably Albright, will find this. And through all the jokes about me being too emotional or too dramatic and all those cutting remarks about my terrible grammar, at least in the end he’ll know that I’m sincere.

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