Page 30 of Capturing Perfection

"Welcome to the ultimate in Ultimate—where athleticism meets confusion, and sweat meets sunscreen. Teams you have two minutes to huddle and remember, no food on the pitch. That means you Jack! I see that snack pack."

"All right folks. Huddle up." Rick said.

Rick was the de facto captain of their squad of misfits. The weekly recreational league comprised men and women from around the greater Boston area. Since a lot of the league members had full-time jobs or young families the roster changed as often as the turbulent spring weather. Clay thought the different combinations of players kept it fresh and friendly. Experience varied widely. Some players had taken part in organized sport before and others had never seen an official field. Out of their group, Rick, Conor, and Ethan had played soccer for Boston College. Ryan played for an alphabet agency hockey league over the winter. Clay and Logan did high school sports and Clay did some intramural stuff in college, but that was a long time ago.

"Alright team, remember—no actual tackling. Or screaming. Or crying this time, Ethan."

"Hey! That goose came out of nowhere! I’m still in therapy."

"Yes, I know that foul, fouled you."

"Ye'r prowess on the pitch is renowned, Grapenuts. "

Ethan flipped off Conor.

Clay snickered, and Logan glanced at him with a look of confusion. "Later," he mouthed.

"We're going to run a mailman."

"Can I be the grandma?" Ryan asked.

"Sure, you've got the best long range accuracy out of the group."

"Logan, you're the mailman. Use those Ranger skills and run to the end-zone like your ass is on fire."

Logan nodded, and Clay gave him a wink. Logan made a kissy face back at him.

Rick snapped his fingers in front of Clay. "Canoodle on your own time. Right now, your ass is mine."

"Your wife might have something to say about that." Clay looked at Conor. "Or Maybe Conor might like to take a walk on the wild side."

A silent, meaningful look passed between Rick and Conor; then Ethan shot up from the huddle, his mouth opening, only to be yanked back down by Ryan's swift, silencing hand. "Kindly proceed."

"Thanks, Ryan." Rick looked right at Clay. "You, Conor, Ethan, and I will be the grandkids. Conor you start the call out. Use as much Irish nonsense as possible to confuse the hell out of them."

Conor rubbed his hands and cackled. "Aye, de feckin’ eeeeejits won't know what ta do."

"Players take your positions!" The ref called out.

They lined up in a vert stack. Logan in the front, and Clay got right behind him, followed by Ryan and the rest, lining up single file.

The ref blew his whistle and Logan took off. His legs and arm pumping with a diving force as is he were competing in the Olympic 100-meter sprint.

"Run ye' deaf bastard! Ahh, g'wan! G'wan, g'wan, g'wan g'wan!"

One player on the opposite team whipped around and scowled at Conor.

"What?" He yelled. "He is deaf. Canny ye see them antenna sticking out of de side oh his head? Don't shame me for shaming the gammy gobshite!"

It took everything in Clay not to bust out laughing at the indignation on their opponent's face. Of course, heknewConor was trying to distract them and rile them up.

"Go Logan! Get to the end-zone, here it comes!" Rick yelled.

The others on the team kept yelling out encouragement, but remained in the stack. The play aimed to convince the other team Logan was going straight to the end-zone to score. But Clay watched as Logan screeched to a halt and looked over his shoulder. Ryan flung the disc, then took off toward Logan. The other team scrambled as they tried to intercept the slicing plastic saucer. Logan cut toward Ryan and snatched the disc about ten yards before the goal line as the defensive men for the other team ran right past him. Clay, Rick, Ethan, and Conor all took off and blitzed the end-zone in different directions. Now the opponents did not know where the frisbee was going. Logan flung the disc directly into Clay's hands.

"Point!" the referee yelled out.

Clay ran over and jumped into Logan's arms. "Brilliant, baby."

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