Bacta Tank and Ultimate Frisbee

It’s 2009, where’s my bacta tank already. OK, I’ve pretty much given up on the idea of a personal jet-pac for this year, but how about my own bacta tank?

I’m pretty sore after running around in my second ultimate tournament of the year down in Wilmington, NC. I think there was only one other Asian guy out there and he was sporting the most spectacular Fu Manchu moustache. Actually, he was some sort of a stockier bizarro David Lo Pan. It didn’t really matter cuz I totally annihilated him with a flying elbow to the eye when I jumped to D the meatball pass. Foul! No contest. How the hell did we even win the Spirit Award? Our team didn’t even make it out to the party to rawk out... but I was ready to jam. Instead, I just drank and fell asleep... .f-ing lame.

I forgot where I read about how winners and champions play through aching, burning muscles and never show anything less than confident intensity during games. Whoever said that never followed up with Monday at work. The bruises on the forearms like a smack addict, cuts, scrapes, blisters, and the limping. That is if we make it into work on Mondays. I’m not talking about the good ole college days where your body would heal within 48 hours... when the healing X-Factor still flows strong throughout. No one at work knows what ultimate frisbee is all about so they just see this banged up person sitting in the office... occasionally creeping towards the water bottle for a drink.

I’m just really trying to bump that last post down. Hmmm, I remember AK mentioning that he was going to write more blogs this year. Too bad he would’ve incinerated right on the spot if we had some Ben’s half-smoke during his Passover visit.