East Ultimate

In the beginning, there was nothing, save a few foolish upperclassmen throwing a poopy disc (Wham-O 200 gram, if memory serves) on the south lawn.

The proud history of competitive Ultimate at Denver East High School began on an otherwise unremarkable day in the class of East English Department Matriarch Flo Wagner, who, unknowingly (we hope), invited a certain Derek Gottlieb to student teach a freshman course called simply “Introduction to Literature and Composition.” Derek held up well in his initial class interrogation, but spoke with devotion of a certain entity, Ultimate, to which the vast majority of students responded: “Whuut? You crazy, foo!”
Fortunately for East Ultimate, Derek’s unique demeanor, virtuoso banjo technique, and endless stories of life in Minnesota tended to endear him to freshman girls (who either felt sorry for him or liked young married guys). Derek and his kind-hearted but ultimate challenged student teacher friend-of-necessity Mr. Coyne (was his first name Robert? Roger?), also succeeded in recruiting a few freshman boys by means of video, the prospect of being cool, and, perhaps, getting girls and big money playing pro-ultimate. They were hooked, especially because Derek promised to fail any student who did not come to practice.

Among the attendants of the first East Ultimate meeting were such diverse elements as a Mr. Danny Giller, who brought his trusty but flight-challenged Wham-O, two wrestlers who lived a car and weren’t allowed to eat doughnuts, and a poop-ton of freshmen, who in later years proved to be hella nerds, but also fairly good ultimate players, all things considered.

Despite the fact that diversity and Title 9 were on its side, East Ultimate experienced some problems in its early days. The first practice was not particularly promising, and ended when Brenna (accidentally) caused her longtime acquaintance, a silly little freshman called Sasha, to bleed all over most things in City Park (a favor that has since been “accidentally” returned many times, most recently while warming up for RMI 2006). Adding to these problems was the fact that only about three people could throw a forehand, and those some people were the only ones who could catch and remember which end zone we were supposed to go toward at the same time. It also didn’t help that their first co-coach, the aforementioned Coyne, was not quite sure how to play Ultimate himself.

Upon realizing that locking the team in Ms. Wagner’s closet and chanting “The disc is gold; do not drop it!” was not as effective as it had been at Carleton College, Derek realized he had to drop his grudges and appeal to the locals for help. This help arrived at practice one day in an old blue Chevrolet Blazer or Ford Bronco (I can’t for the life of me remember which), expertly piloted by fellow Johnny Bravo player, Mamabird captain, and thrower extraordinaire Steven Rouisse. Steven, with the help his friend and similarly awesome ultimatier (now wife), Tina McDowell of Rare Air, quickly got to business and told Derek that the problem was largely that nobody on the team could throw or catch. Enlightened by this expert appraisal, Derek set about drawing a graph of exponential growth to illustrate the level of skill he hoped to imbue in his team in the following months. Inspired by the steadiness of his hand as he held red marker to portable whiteboard, things began to happen, although not very quickly.

In the following weeks, East Ultimate was crushed by numerous teams of questionable merit, but showed what Derek, Tina, Steven, and, to a lesser extent, Coyne (because he was busy working on his own forehand) hoped was promising improvement. Notably, however, first real glory came on a snowy day at Veteran’s Park (perhaps the very same day Mr. Giller was apprehended by police for not coming to a full stop at a stop sign entering the parking lot), when Steven showed up to what appeared to be a snowy but otherwise routine loss to Cherry Creek Ultimate. However, as half was called with Creek ahead by some ungodly large number of goals, Steven dispensed with the goods: the East Ultimate jerseys had finally arrived! Donning their new maroon jerseys (for Patagucci did not make jerseys that were really red at the time) to startle Cherry Creek with their good looks, if not stellar skills. East Ultimate proceeded to stage an immense comeback, resulting in unfounded optimism and happiness; most of the rest of the season was to be summed up by the letter “L.”

For some reason, perhaps the prospect of playing real ultimate with Bravo at 2004 Nationals, Derek abandoned his team at states, but left them under the able command of everyone’s favorite coach, Tina. Of course, East was no standout at its first tourney and the most notable happening of states was most likely Batsford’s “Sha-Bu-Ya” cheer: “His name is Mike/He is the man/The girl he likes/gave him the hand.” East inexplicably made its way (by hook, crook, or maybe even luck) to a surprisingly competitive loss in quarters, resulting in a tie for sixth place in a field of nine or something dumb like that. It was not a particularly promising start, but that was okay because everyone was to return for the next season, except Giller, who decided it would be more fun to play for Emory and talk to hotel attendants while smelling like poop. So it goes.