Or, “How I rocked the house and nobody noticed because they were all horribly embarrassed for me”

Day 2 of Nationals. We’re playing against Smell My Mule from Ottawa. I’m on the field and we are on defence.

I’m trailing behind the player that I’m covering as he runs towards the thrower, keeping pace but trying to to let him “appear” open.

It works. The thrower sees him coming towards him and throws the disc to him.

I take one more step and then dive alongside him, arm reaching out to knock the disc away. He also dives, trying to get to the disc before me.

I get there first, knocking the disc to the ground.

Objective achieved, I proceed to slide along the turf, underneath the other player, whose dive has sent him on a trajectory parallel to mine, but about half a foot higher.

A second passes and then I come to rest.

With the other player lying completely on top of me.

I can see the thought bubbles that appear in the air above us for the next few moments:

ME: Anything hurt?… No! I’m good!

HIM: Anything hurt?… No! I’m good!

ME: Did I foul him?… No! Yay me!

HIM: Did he foul me?… No! Crap!

[Pause.]

ME: Hmmm… why is he still lying on top of me?…

HIM: Well… I better salvage something out of this debacle…

And then, with great deliberation, he proceeds to thrust his groin against my backside one-two-three times.

[Ed. Note: Oh yeah, that's gonna get me some great Google results.]

Everyone loses it — guffaws, giggles, and belly laughs all round. I shake my head and give him his moment. He gets off me and then I stand up. The point starts back up again and we go on to score the point.

Stepping off the field, I expect to get hand-slaps and hear lots of “Great D, man!” or “Sweet layout!” or stuff like that.

Instead… I get head shakes. And pity.

And “Oh man, he violated you!”.

…

I don’t know as I really have a moral for this story.

Maybe… “Look for affirmation from within”.

Or “Some days, it just doesn’t pay to step on the field”.

Or “Don’t put out on the first date”.

Hmmm. I’ll get back to you on this one.

…

I need a cookie.

Although considering Britney’s mental capacity it’s a wonder she wears clothes at all and doesn’t just wander around dressed in pudding.

- The Superficial

Heh. “Pudding”.

From the ages of 9-14, every summer I went to summer camp. My dad would take me to the Y, the bus would come, and off I’d go to spend 10 days at Big Cove Camp. 10 days, away from all friends and family. I loved it. It was my other world. A whole community of friends, totally separate from my everyday life. My regular life dropped away and I immersed myself in the “camp life”. I hung out with my friends, played the camp games, went on out-trips, canoed, swam, basically had an all-round blast.

And then, 10 days later, I’d pack up my backpack, get on the bus, and we’d drive back to Halifax. My Dad would pick me up at the Y and drive me home.

And then I’d cry.

It’s been a over a week now since Nationals ended. I spent most of 2006 working as the Communications Director and training for the Masters team. Meeting every week, practices twice a week, training runs three days a week. My Lovely Wife and I went to Newfoundland for a wedding at the beginning of the month and returned 3 days before the tournaments was set to begin. We landed back in Halifax and I hit the ground running. 7am directors’ meetings, meetings with vendors, assembling team packs, setting up registration, loading vans, unloading vans, last minutes practices, laundry, a few short bouts of sleep, and the tournament began.

The days started at 5am for me, having to go to the fields first thing in the morning, to either head out with the shuttle buses or help the never-ending Tetris game of loading and unloading the fleet of cargo vans, filled with bananas, water, bagels, barricades, cones, Vector bars, peanut butter, and too many other contents to remember.

And then it was off the play with the Masters team (go Scotch!). 9 games in three days, both ankles taped every day, one hamstring cramp, every protruding joint scrapped and scabbed, approximately 16-20 liters of Gatorade drank, jersey soaked with sweat, snot, sunscreen, and grass stains, 4 wins and 4 loses in our double round-robin (we lost to every team in our division, but also beat every team in our division), to finally play for third place… which we lost. Sigh.

(Sidenote: Watching everyone walk around wearing t-shirts, hats, sweatshirts, jackets, playing with discs, all adorned with the logo that I designed was little on the surreal side. I held back from running around screaming, “Fools! You’re all fools! I’m not a designer! Fooooooolsssss!”)

Then came the party at Citadel Hill. That’s pretty much a blur. Ordering your beer two at a time can do that to you. Good times though. The dance floor being filled entirely with shirtless dancers is a standout though.

And then it was home, shortest sleep yet, then back to the fields to disassemble the main fields and set up the finals at Huskies Stadium. Set-up done, it was time for the finals for the Open, Mixed, and Women’s divisions, which I found myself actually falling asleep while watching — not that the games were boring, just that I was completely wiped.

And then the finals were over. And we got to disassemble everything one more time.

And then, we got the word that it was done.

I drove home myself. I had a shower. Threw some stinky clothes in the wash. Had some food. Went to bed.

I didn’t cry.

But I felt like I just got back from camp.

It’s taking me a little time to get myself into the swing of life without Nationals filling my days. I’m trying to catch up at work. I have chores to do around the house. My Lovely Wife is pleased as punch that it’s all over, but even she’s not used to having me around this much.

I’m trying to catch up on blogs I haven’t been able to read… but some of you write so freaking much. It’s daunting. So, I promise to try and catch up. But it might take me a little while.

You see, I just got back from camp.

I’m back. With many a tale to tell. And several impressive scabs.

No, I’m not picking at them.

(That’s a lie.)

It may take me an indeterminate amount of time to awaken my atrophied blogging muscles, so please be patient. Cookies may help.

(That’s a hint.)

But, in the meantime…

Is this true?

• Cute Overload: “Snoy-yoi-yoi-yoi-yoing!”

VS.

• Married to the Sea: “Booty Hole”

Both please me. But differently.

And thus, the miracle of the human condition.

…

“Booty hole”. Hee.