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Another Letter to Commissioner Gordon

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  Hey Commish Gordon, it’s been a while.  Over three years at this point. Approaching 3½ as I write this. The last I wrote to you, it was about the recent announcement of an AUDL boycott, and sharing my thoughts on the situation ( 1 ). That proposal obviously never came to be. Not that I really thought it would. I had a nice chat with Tim Debyl after that letter too. But I thought I’d share my thoughts about my own proposal, the AUDL, pro ultimate as a whole, and talk a bit more about myself.  Alright, let’s talk about my own proposal. It’s complicated, would require some pretty intense logistics, and pretty ambitious. It’s also kinda dumb. At that point I had only ever played in the open division as a man. I’ve since played a couple of seasons of mixed ultimate, albeit only at the YCC level and seen the disrespect that the division gets first hand. I’ve also become more aware of who gets attention and respect in the ultimate division. The problems with coverage of both Women’s and Mix
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10. Hibernation

Tuesday, September 13th Jason sat on his bed, gazing out the window at the rising moon. The sun had not yet fully set, but a gibbous moon rose into the darkening sky. His eyes were swelling with frustrated tears as he looked at the message on his phone again.  Had our first practice today, wasn’t the same without you . The message was from Winston, who had taken over the helm of captain from Stav. It had been a long day for Jason before he had gotten the text. The simple message was enough to     bring Jason to the brink of a  breakdown. Less than a week into the school year and Jason was already tired. He wanted to feel like he belonged in Madison, but he also wanted to go home to Vancouver and see his friends. Above all else, he wanted things to be easy. Being away from home was hard, making friends was hard, getting up and going to school each day was hard, having to put on a happy face for his family and the people at school was hard. Jason wanted his older, simpler life back whe
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9. Restarts

Monday, September 12th The first week of school for Jason was one of those weeks that went by incredibly quickly and painstakingly slowly at the same time. Before he knew it, the weekend had arrived, but each individual day of classes was horribly slow. He always looked forward to his class X and Frederick and the time he spent with Terry and Aafa. Still at the end of the day, he found himself missing Vancouver, thinking about what his friends back home were doing without him.  He never checked up on them though, Jason reasoned that he didn’t want to burden his friends with keeping him up to date. At the end of each day he felt stuck, not wanting to be a burden to his friends back in Vancouver, but not yet willing to accept Madison as home. Monday during lunch was the club fair for Madison North High School. Jason wanted to avoid it, but Terry and Aafa convinced him to at least walk around the fair. The trio made their way to the gymnasium where dozens of tables were set up to allow
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8. Fresh Starts

Wednesday, September 7th Jason walked into his first class, arriving at the room about 15 minutes before class was scheduled to start. Jason arrived early to everything that had a set start time, mostly because he feared the embarrassment that came from being late. Jason’s first class was AP English Language and Composition with Mr. Johnson. According to Anya, Mr. Johnson was one of the most laid back teachers in the school. As Jason entered the room, he was greeted by the teacher who was sitting behind a cluttered desk in the corner.  “Hello there! The seating chart is on the stool at the front. What’s your name?” Mr. Johnson smiled as he spoke to Jason. Mr. Johnson was a teacher that always seemed to become energized by teaching, no matter how chaotic or intense his life was. Mr. Johnson was effectively bald, the grey horseshoe of curled hair that remained was cut short. The lights of the room shone against his exposed dark scalp. Jason struggled to find his voice, eventually squea
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7. The Offseason, Part 3

  August 17, Madison, Wisconsin, just before noon Jason reread the email one more time, confirming that he was in the right place at the right time. He glanced up at the sign that read “Madison North High School” and figured that he couldn’t be too far astray. He took a deep breath, letting the air fill his lungs and taking a moment to focus himself. Jason walked up to one of the many doors that formed a long row across the face of the building. As he approached the door, he prayed that it was unlocked and that he wouldn’t make an absolute fool of himself as he tried to open it. As his hand wrapped around the handle that was warm in the humid midwestern heat, he closed his eyes and pulled. A huge sense of relief flowed over him as the door swung open and he walked into the brightly lit entranceway. Looking down at the email again, he followed the directions to a room that connected to several offices. There Jason was greeted by a middle aged man sitting behind a massive desk full of pa
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