A (longish) footnote

Yes, I was in a bad mood yesterday. Yes, I feel much better after an awesome practice today. But I'm not recanting my very frustrated testimony. The frustration I felt yesterday is very real, and exposes itself when I am not happy with the way things are going. Today I enjoyed myself, so I'm willing to put up with the little things. Ultimately, though, I still believe I should not have to put up with such crap.

Admittedly, a lot of my frustration was directed at one person, who probably doesn't read this anyways. I am obliged to make a qualification of my earlier statements, however, in the interest of not being a jerk. It's kind of long, but hear me out.

I only invest my time in a small amount of people. The majority of people I interact with on a daily basis are cool, but honestly, I just can't/don't/won't bother with most people. Maybe it's being egotistical or whatever, but these are the facts.

So, take this person I ragged on yesterday. Much of what I wrote (but certainly not all...) is about him. He is one of these people in whom I willingly investing my time. He's a good ultimate player, even in his first full year of playing. Much farther along than most kids are at his age. He is also smart, funny, and just generally pleasant to be around. I have had several intelligent, nay, even intellectual conversations with him. Unfortunately, it seems like going out and drinking several nights per week is more important than studying in his life. Thus, his grades are not where they should be for his level of intelligence and his parents are on him like white on rice -- resulting in complications for attendance at tournaments and things.

This is infuriating to me on several levels. First of all, nothing pisses me off more than a waste of talent, especially of the athletic and academic variety. Smart people who willingly choose to sacrifice their academics for an insane overblown social life are a perfect example. And the fact that this particular situation is resulting in a dampening of athletic talent as well... now that just makes it doubly infuriating. To top it all off, this is one of those people I've chosen to let into my close circle of friends, and so that just multiplies my frustration, allowing it to reach blog-worthy levels.

It's just that you CAN do it all. You can go out a few nights a week and get schwasted, while simultaneously making Dean's List and even watching your favorite show/sport on TV with regularity. But sometimes, my friends here trade other more beneficial parts of life for the ephemeral happiness of the beer pong table. I think that I had an excellent and full college experience during my time at GW. I had a kickass social life, and still balanced everything. I did it, and while some people may think differently, I am not that smart. Really. I'm not. I have figured out the Dumber Monkey Theorem, I have figured out what I need to do to get A's, to get good SAT/GRE scores, to get on my professors' good sides. But that's about it. Sure I can use pretty words and b.s. my way through an essay -- but honestly? I don't read everything I am assigned. I have never stayed up past 3:30am doing school work because fuck, I need sleep! There is no reason why anyone else should not be able to do what I have done. Hell, look at my personal life. Complete disarray! Utter mayhem! All of my own doing, too. But I make things work because I know it's possible and there's no reason why I shouldn't.

So I guess what I'm saying is that I get frustrated when people can't handle it all, because I've handled it all and I don't think I'm any different from the average clown suffering through finite math. Along with that at the core of this issue is the whole idea of "wasted potential." More than anything, more than smoking pot in-season, more than Ted fucking Kennedy, more than screaming babies on airplanes or people who walk their dogs in sweaters, it is wasted potential *especially among my close friends* that pisses me off to no end. Maybe that's narcissistic, maybe that's unjustified, maybe it's just unrealistic for me to think that way, but the fact of the matter is... I think that way.

I'm not angry because a person can't come to a tournament. Fuck, I've played a full Saturday of games with nine dudes before, I don't give a shit. I'm angry because sometimes people make conscious decisions in their life that preclude them from reaching the apex of their abilities. And they know it, too. They know they could cut back one night a week of partying and get better grades. That's a waste, and it pains me to see such people shoot themselves in the foot so needlessly.

Rants of a captain on a young team

I want to begin by saying that I love my team. I get frustrated (and this is one of those times) with a lot of things, but deep down I do want the best for them and I do enjoy being together. Furthermore, the problems I am about to rant against are not pervasive -- there are certainly people on the team whose level of dedication meets my standards.

But god damnit there are times I feel like the team dad whose belligerent progeny are pushing him dangerously close to sending the whole lot of them to military school.

Right now I'm trying to set up a tournament. I have thirteen people confirmed, and I sent the initial "are you coming" email yesterday afternoon. Never mind the fact that our team has reached its numerical nadir, with 20 players and no B-team. I've always thought that 21 players is the ideal number for a team, but let me give you the breakdown of ages:

1 graduate student
1 senior (who will be gone for April and May)
3 juniors
4 second-year sophomores
3 noob (or very close to noob) sophomores
8 freshmen

I have the honor of being one of our two elected captains, so I find myself in a position to be giving orders and administering the logistics of tournaments and whatnot. Every time I have to organize a tournament, the same crap happens: I have to pester people in person to get responses that should be submitted via email, getting a response of any kind takes forever, and always always always someone's parents won't let them go.

Now admittedly, my parents had a lot to do with my life when I was a freshman and a sophomore. Thank the various gods (and my parents) that they let me do my own thing and rarely demanded anything of me (visits home, regular phone calls... you name it and I didn't have to do it). That isn't to say it was smooth sailing -- I still resent their decision to prohibit me from joining ROTC. That aside, even when I was older, I never had to deal with this shit from our younger players at g-dub. Why is it that people who go here have parents breathing down their neck the entire time? Not making practice because your parents are in town? Even after you spent all of Spring Break at home? Man. In this case, I don't fault the kid at all, I just feel bad for him.

The other end of the spectrum also exists. At some level, the way that all of our guys act has to have a lot to do with the level of parental involvement. People who receive daily anal probes from their parents will actually brag about "drinking every night" the week before tournament week. Then tell me they are questionable for the tournament because their parents won't let them go! And then, not five minutes after telling me this, start talking about plans to get drunk that (Monday) night!!! Never mind the fact that I was in the car the entire time while they all talked about this get-together and not a word of invitation was spoken to me. Never mind that fucking unforgivable rudeness. The question isn't just "why don't these parents let my players run their lives," but also "why should these parents let my players run their lives?" In most cases, I think the latter is actually more pertinent.

Even as I sit here right now, I can't believe I'm writing this. I never thought I would be defending strict parents in any way shape or form. I refuse to buy into the idea that I'm at a state school and thus people are dumber. And I never thought I would be saying, well, it's gotta be just because they are so young and they don't get it yet. I think, generally speaking, young people get short shrift in terms of knowing how to run their lives. But that's the most plausible thing I can think of right now. And the worst part is that there is NOTHING I CAN DO ABOUT THAT.

I can't be a babysitter. I can't be the fun police all the time. I can't not to tell them to drink Monday... and Tuesday... and Wednesday... and so on. But I also can't force them to be more mature. I can offer to proofread papers and accompany them to the library -- I can offer these things until I'm blue in the face... but what can I do if people are unwilling to recognize that there is a problem?

Well, I can write my blog. I can go to practice and hand out sprints like a mall kiosk. I can go to tournaments with 2/3 of my team, get 100 touches per day, and exhaust myself playing point after point after point. Ultimately, this is why I feel like I'm in exile out here in Indiana. My main social grouping is a team that is so far removed from me in terms of mentality (which may or may not be attributable to age) that I feel completely isolated. I'm always the one yelling about people missing practice and smoking in-season. Worst of all, I get smartass answers every time I suggest something small people can do to make themselves a better player, or to make us a better team. The mentality just isn't there -- it's okay to drink instead of doing school work. It's okay to get C's on exams, and to miss practices because you spaced on a group project. It's even admirable or worth bragging about if you get wasted during the week.

It's not okay dammit, and this is how I get to end my career -- being the crazy old man on the team. Yelling about the olden days when people didn't think tournaments were fucking optional. Trying to get people to adhere to antiquated methods like phrenology, leeches, and hard-nosed fucking work ethic. It doesn't matter if the old man is talking, we'll just talk over him, or just not listen at all. "Right, right, grandpa... you have to step out when you throw... yes, yes, I see you gesticulating wildly trying to tell us where to cut but sorry! I know better because I've had a whole (0.5/1.5) year(s) of experience, I know what I'm doing!" That's how I feel at practice. And always... always hearing murmurs of "next year we're gonna be sooooo good..."

God bless you Microsoft Word

Dear Microsoft Word,

I know we've had our troubles in the past. Your maddening habit of inserting blank space at the end of text right before footnotes, that smarmy paperclip you always hang out with, and your constant insistence that my last name is misspelled. But you are my rock.

After having a few drinks, it is pretty much inevitable that I will come home and spend a few minutes basking in the glow of my computer screen before turning in for the night. On most nights, the long walk home results in some deep thoughts, of a personal nature of course. And of course, upon returning home and using the computer, I am overcome by an irresistible urge to publish said personal thoughts. Why this phenomenon occurs, I cannot say.

But once the monitor is powered on, there's that hussy GMail. All glitzy with its colored labels, chat utility, and superorganized way of presenting my email. It beckons. "Go ahead," it says in its best late-night singles telephone service voice, "you've been thinkin' all night... let's start... a conversation..." No, GMail. You are nothing more than a tart looking to make my life miserable. Sure you're pleasant and helpful when I'm sober, but now you're just trying to take advantage of me. Shame on you.

A thought occurs. It might be a bad idea to write emails while inebriated... but since I'm thinking so damned well thanks to all the screwdriving I've done tonight, I convince myself that I've at least got to write down all the awesome things I think I've come up with, in order to use them when I'm sober. Enter: Microsoft Word.

I can say anything I want to you, Microsoft Word. You won't judge me. Sure you'll correct my drunken keyboarding with your ostentatious red lines, but in the morning, all I have to do is drag the document called "more thought.doc" into the trash bin. I don't even have to look at it. Nor do I even want to, because I know that even though I thought I was being super-smooth and doing myself a favor in writing down deep drunk thoughts, what I was in fact doing was drawing up my own social death warrant. But you, Microsoft Word, provided me with a safe haven for my drunken thoughts -- where they will never again see the light of day. Just drag into the trash bin and poof! gone. End of discussion. No damage control, no awkwardness. Microsoft Word, you just smile and say, "you were pretty drunk last night."


Keep doing what you do, Microsoft Word,
-Your biggest fan