Winning one

This past weekend I played with my third handball team this season. After playing in the UNC Invitational with the Atlanta Metro Condors, and then playing in the USOC National Tournament with the New York Athletic Club aka Garden City aka the Evil Empire, I played this past weekend in the Falcon Cup at the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs, For the Condor's crosstown rival, Atlanta Team Handball. ATH and the Condors are big rivals, but practice together often at the Georgia State rec center, so I knew all the guys on the team, and am friends with some. I think rivalries are great for clubs to get excited, and a fantastic part of sports in general, but I'm willing to play for ATH and Garden City because more than anything else, I just love to play.
So down to the Springs we went to represent the ATL, and came away champions. I actually really enjoyed playing for ATH because I understood our basic gameplan, and enjoyed carrying some of the scoring load. I think every tourney I play in I learn something, and get better at handball. If I can just cut back on dribbling and bonehead moves, I might be half decent someday. One thing in particular about playing for different teams, is experiencing different coaching styles. While Darrick Heath is reasonably quiet during games, Chris Cappelman (ATH) is, to understate, quite vocal on the bench. I knew just what I was doing wrong right as I was doing it, and I could hear Cap everywhere on the court. While this would probably be tough for a younger athlete to bear, I appreciate his willingness not to sugarcoat things, and say exactly what he thinks. Garden City is like a whole team of coaches, because most of them have been playing since I was in middle school. Their strategy is no turnovers, period. And since the other team gets the ball after missed shots, you're not allowed to miss. Which is a pretty tall order, but when you're a team of past Olympians and National players, I guess you can have ambitious expectations.
At any rate, this was the first tournament I've ever won, and it feels good. It's nice to win one, finally.

Easter in Newark

This past weekend, which happened to be Easter weekend, I travelled to Newark, Delaware for the National Championships of Team Handball. My Atlanta Club, the Condors, didn't make the trip, because A) it was pricey and B) many of our better players and our coach were in Chile with the National team, competing for the last slot in the Pan Am Games. I was elected as an alternate for the Chile trip, which means I would fill a void if another player had to drop out before the trip. No one did. The coaches wanted me to play in the national championships to add to my experience, and Coach Cappelman set me up to play with the two time defending national champion NYAC team, aka Garden City, aka The Evil Empire.

On the court, Garden City has the reputation of being the meanest team in the nation, measured largely by penalty minutes and red cards received. They are also a very veteran team, anchored by a number of former olympians, and the only team to my knowledge, with a full blown sponsor. The New York Athletic Club sponsors the team, and gives them a budget for tournaments. This allowed them to pay for my travel costs and for team hotel and entry fees. That was a great blessing, because airplane tickets can be expensive.
We got to the semi finals, and found ourselves down three goals with four minutes left when I got into the game against New York City, a largely foreign-born team, and in three minutes I managed to score three consecutive goals to tie the game. We ended up losing by one in the closing seconds, but it felt good to make an impact for a veteran team. We ended up taking fourth place overall, referred to as "the wood" as opposed to Gold, Silver or Bronze, but it was a fun tournament.

I spent some time alone Sunday in reflection. I don't really enjoy missing Easter with my wife. Ultimately, it is most important that we are aware of the great gift given to us all, a gift that is worth more than anything we could attain ourselves. It is moments like this, during opportunities to live fully and richly, to play a game I love, that I'm so thankful for all the blessings in my life, and for my Lord, who died for me.

Dead last is a good thing.

So the other day my buddy Matt McNair, a friend of mine from church, called me up to see if I wanted to go golfing. Does anyone ever really NOT want to go golfing? Because if I ever decide not to go golfing, it's not because I don't want to, but rather, because something else has precluded my opportunity. In this particular case, Matt wanted me to go golfing during a shift of mine at Starbucks, and I wasn't sure whether I could get it covered. Then he told me we'd be golfing for free. I've never gotten a shift covered so quickly in my life.

What Matty didn't tell me was that we were playing in a charity golf tournament at St. Ives Country Club, one of the nicer golf courses I've ever seen. Matt and some of the other church musicians had been given a foursome entry by someone at Perimeter who wanted to support the cause, WellSpring, a program that helps women who are victims of abuse. The ticket price: $1200 per group of four. Safe to say, this was a rare opportunity.

When we got to St. Ives that morning I noticed that everyone else on the driving range was much better at golf than we were. They were driving out of sight and I was still getting used to having free range balls.



We had a blast golfing, and I think I did pretty well for me, considering I was the only person at St. Ives who forgot their putter. I was lucky we were playing a variation of best ball where you get to play from the best drive, because I'm confident that I hit more houses than fairways (Houses 3, Fairways 2). I'm not sure why they live so close to the golf course anyway; just asking for trouble. House hunting has a whole new meaning at St. Ives.

So after our round we went into the clubhouse for lunch and the awards ceremony. They posted the scores for the 30 different foursomes, and we noticed ours was the only one in black, the rest listed in red. I soon discovered this was because our score was the only one over par. They also announced the awards for closest to the pin and longest drive holes. Apparently you can't win closest to the pin from a sand bunker, and when they say longest drive, they're not talking about the amount of time in the golf cart looking for your ball. I should've gotten an award for most balls donated to the local habitat...

So the Winners of the golf tournament got new Golf Bags, which looked amazing, and second and third place also received some amazing prizes, and then they decided to call up to the front the group that got dead last. I figured they had a right to have a chuckle at our expense, which they did in good fun, and then came the greatest part of all: Last place got a prize! To encourage us to improve our game, so as not to come in next year with such abysmal scores, we each got 6 free golf lessons!
I've never had a lesson, so I'm really excited to learn about all the things I'm doing wrong. I think it's safe to say this is the first time I've ever enjoyed being dead last.

Fishy Fishy Fishy

Wilder and I both took today off to go to the Georgia Aquarium. We have heard so much about it and I know that I was very excited to go. We woke up early this morning, 6:30, to try to get there before the crowds did, which turned out to be a great idea. We were there for a little over an hour before all the school kids and other people became a factor. I could write a whole page trying to best descibe everything we saw but pictures are better than words so we'll show you some of our favorite shots. Are favorite parts were by far the huge salt water aquarium with a lot of the big fish and the jellyfish.



This is a Largetooth Sawfish.




These are Moon Jellyfish. They were pretty sweet. They changed color from a white, to a light blue, to a yellowish-green.


SHARK!

We had a great day! Worth taking the day off from work. I only wish there was more time and money to get to do things like this.
April

The Burning Building Next Door

So today April and I went for a stroll, because it was such a beautiful day outside. We walked down to the mailbox, around the little pond in our apartment complex, and then headed back to the apartment, when we heard those magical words, yelled from a balcony; "Call 9-1-1!"
We paused, and looked at each other, as if making sure we heard right. Call 911? Why, what was happening? So we peeked around the corner, to find out where the yelling was coming from. That's when I heard the crackling. The next building over from us has someone on the top balcony, trying to put out a fire on the outside of the wood chimney with a fire extinguisher, but the fire was resisting, and starting to grow. I got out my phone to call 911, but was told by a fellow onlooker that they had already been called, and April and I watched from below as a small chimney fire turned into a small rooftop fire, which turned into a large rooftop fire. The crackling sounds that once used to remind me of calming summer night campfires were evoking totally different emotions in me as they slowly turned from little crackles to a dull roar. As I watched and quickly debated my own role in any attempt to help was my poor selection in footwear for the outing, and that I wouldn't be much good to anyone trying to help fight a fire in my floppy sandals. I swear everytime I wear shoes that have poor stability, I miss a chance to fight a fire, outrun a bear, or save the world. Frickin sandals.
So we yell to anyone who might be left in the building, telling them to get out as the fire works its way down into the upper apartment, with us watching helplessly. The 5 - 10 minutes it took the Fire department to get there seemed like forever. The smoke plume was like a sky scraper. We were amazed by the up close and personal look at the destruction that can be caused by a tiny fire.

(Thank goodness no one was hurt)
I felt so helpless in my sandals as we watched the building burn, in a crowd of onlookers, nothing to contribute. And ulitmately, even if I hadn't been wearing sandals, I'm not sure there was anything I wouldn've been able to do to help save that builing. The realization that there are things in life that I can't stop from happening, situations I can't save others from, is a sad one, but probably one that I best learn sooner or later. There will probably be more days like this one, when I'm on the sideline, in my sandals.
Does anyone else remember when they were kids in sunday school class and someone asked them, "if your house was burning down and you only had time to grab one thing, what would it be?" and everyone was like, "my Bible." And I guess the point of the conversation is to think about the importance of God over everything else, which is great, but if you asked me today, it wouldn't be my Bible. I can get another Bible for ten bucks. I'm grabbing the iMac, because insurance never covers you the way you're hoping.

It's amazing how a small flame, if left unchecked, can destroy your whole world. Just a little space, a little air to get it going, and before you know it, it's too strong to put out on your own. Before you know it, a small problem can become fatal.

-Wilder

Cheering for Grey Duck

Yay for the first post on our Blog! As it explains in our "a look at the team section" April does numbers and Wilder does words. And, as one can imagine, a blog is mostly words, and therefore will be written mostly by Wilder. But to prevent any confusion, each post will be accredited to the author. But I digress.

This past sunday, we had the pleasure of spending the day at the polo fields of Cumming, GA watching Terminus, a large Ultimate Frisbee tournament. And we went to support our friends Joel and Jerod Johnson, who play for the University of Minnesota club team "Grey Duck". Where does such an interesting mascot come from, you might ask? It comes from the fantastic children's game, duck duck grey duck.

Wait, isn't it Duck duck Goose? The debate has gone back and forth, but history is on the side of Greyduck. You see, "Duck Duck Greyduck" was originally inspired by the popular children's story of the Ugly duckling, who doesn't look like the other ducklings, and is singled out for being such an odd grey color. Hence, the calling of a Greyduck is an affront which inspires chasing around the circle. Over time apparently it has been adjusted by a lack of understanding of the roots of the game or possibly by improper storytelling. Because at the end of the story, the ugly duckling doesn't turn into a goose, he turns into a swan. Hence the moral, don't make fun of ugly kids becaue they might turn out to be hot. Anyways.

So Minnesota Greyduck drove down to "Jojah" and found themselves in an underdog position. The tournament director had put them in "the Power Bracket" meaning the most competitive one, and there were a lot of people upset about this, nay sayers quick to pipe up about how garbage Geyduck was, how they didn't deserve to be in the bracket, and how they wouldn't win any games. Playing as an unranked underdog against all the big tough teams who don't think you're good enough? Grey Duck didn't mind, and Team Freed wouldn't want it any other way.

Grey Duck went 3-1 on the first day of the tournament, beating three teams that it wasn't supposed to have a chance against. And Sunday we got to be their number one fans (1 and 2? Where's April when I need her?) as they entered the tournament playoffs. And with Jerod leading the way with a collection of aerially impressive points, Grey Duck dispatched with relative ease the Michigan State Burning Couch (which needs a better mascot) and the Dogs of War before finding themselves in the semifinals. Ah the smell of haters, eating their words. In the Semis they met UGA, who prevailed, but Grey Duck played them in a great game that was tight through the second half, losing narrowly at the end. But hey, what do you do, right? Third place in a bracket that you weren't supposed to have a chance in, with an overall tournament record of 5-2? Bravo.

What I love about watching (and playing) Ultimate is the way the disc floats. Every now and then, there will be a toss into the endzone, and two players are there, just waiting to try to snatch it out of the sky. And the disc just floats, slightly out of reach, as if building suspense, demanding your complete attention, before it drops just enough for both players to leap for it, and the result is either a fantastic point, or a fantastic defensive play.

The other thing I love about Ultimate is the chanting. As I hear one player yell, "Duck Duck!" and the rest in an adrenalous mob cry out "GREY DUCK!" and the pattern repeats three times, I get tingles. It feels like they're going into battle. And I love it. Hopefully some of the game footage I got will be online soon.

So after Ultimate was done for the day, we took the Johnson brothers to Fat Matt's Rib Shack, a staple Barbecue restaurant of the ATL. If you're ever in Atlanta, eat at this place. The line is out the door, the tables are packed, and it's not a fancy place, but if you want barbecue ribs or chicken, this is the place. We tore into a bunch of ribs and some potato salad as we caught up on life, and I felt like a messy carnivore, tearing into it's dinner. That's the way Barbecue needs to be eaten. (I got a hard time for not being messy enough, but it was so good I needed to get as much as possible into my mouth, and so I kept licking my fingers clean.)

And we talked about how we're going to have to get together sometime this summer and grill. I'm looking forward to it already.

-Wilder