old head

It isn’t often that I am called old, but that’s what I was this weekend at the Party Hat Ultimate Tournament. The tournament was great. My team tied for second, narrowly missing first place by two very hard-fought points. There were crazy hats galore and beer on the fields. Everyone was super excited about laying out into puddles and cheering enthusiastically. It was how a good ultimate tournament should be.

I didn’t feel my age until the following three events:
1. I was sitting at the truck taking off my cleats when two girls staggered in my direction. “You are so ripped!” one said. “Yeah, you are so good. How long have you been playing?” I told them eight years. “Whoa…We’re going to Nationals in a few weeks. Could you give us some tips? We’re really nervous.” Well, I’ve never been to Nationals. But apparently, eight years and some arm muscles makes me an expert at ultimate. I don’t know how they thought I was any good, because they were running me up and down the field…

2. The tournament ended at 4:30pm. The party wasn’t supposed to start until 9pm. Sam and I had a three hour drive ahead of us. So we gave up waiting around for beer, and drove home exhausted. You know you are old when you put sleep over a rockin’ party.

3. An hour after we get home, my phone rings. “Is this the old people from the green team?” Yep. That’s us. “We’re just heading to the party with six kegs, and wanted to make sure you guys knew how to get there…” Darn. We are the worst party poopers ever. Not only are we known as the old people, we skipped the party just like old people do.

But going to sleep at 10pm felt awfully good.