Mixed Nationals
Week 4:
Adelaide.
Since the last entry, I've been caught up in a whirlwind of activity with too little time to worry about emails much less blogging. I'm back now, or at least in an expensive "Internet Cafe" that caters to the gamers. I may be the only individual in here to have seen the sun in the past month; pasty complexions, bleary eyes, and whirring fingers are in bountiful supply, though women, coincidentally, are not. Still, I'm grateful for the high speed state-of-the-art computer station: God bless the nerds (and their plethora of pirated MP3s, Movies, TV shows, and software on their local server).
Mixed nationals-
Since my arrival Down Under, I had been looking forward to mixed Aussie nationals (men and women, together!) in Adelaide. Perhaps a bit more eager than the rest of the team, I left Townsville a day early, heading up to Cairns (yet again on a bus*) to catch a flight out the next day. I had every intent to explore Cairns, though I succeeded in seeing little more than the gaudy tourist shops choking the city streets. Originally, Cairns was much like Townsville, though with the addition of an international airport a few years ahead of Townsville, it became much more dependent on the tourism industry. Now I have a stunning variety of low rate souvenir shops to chose from.
I have had bad luck with arriving at airports early, the counters have yet to be open, and so I'm stuck not only guarding my luggage, but other passengers routinely ask me to watch theirs while they head to the washroom. Maybe next time I'll sneak some Milk-Bones into their luggage for my entertainment (and of course that of the drug-sniffing dogs).
I was mercifully granted a reprieve from my airport boredom; Team Juggernaut (our mixed Nationals team name) was slowly snowballing. A few members met me at the Cairns airport for the flight out, a few more joined us when we arrived in the Adelaide airport, until finally all had arrived by the time we were settling in at the hotel. With 17 players we had one of the largest squads at the tournament, though a large untested squad, never having played together (with the full team), is not necessarily a bonus.
Adelaide is a unique city, it is entirely surrounded by parklands. The parks I had a chance to visit were all clean and well planned, with green space for equestrian, archery, football, rugby, a botanic garden, and even a zoo. Somewhere in the northeast quadrant of the parklands, Mixed Australian Nationals staked its claim for three days of tough competition.
Despite its proximity to the city, there was little in the way of spectators. No cheering sections, journalists or local news anchors covering the action. Aside from the players themselves, the only adulations we elicited were the roars from the lions and hoots from the monkeys echoing from the nearby zoo. When the winds shifted, we were treated to more than just their cheers and jeers with a full aromatic compliment. Some things are better left unsmelled.
Given our untested status, it was for the best our stands were vacant. In particular, our 3rd game against a well practiced, 3rd seeded Bootius Maximus proved embarrassing to say the least. Rather than relive the disappointment and report to you the score, I'll just say it guaranteed room for improvement.
And we did just that. Progressively, we played better as we grew more familiar with each other (imagine what full team practices would have done), though it wasn't exactly a Hollywood rags-to-riches epic. Winning only 2 out of 5 pool play games and loosing our crossover, we were out of the running for grand Champions. However we were in strong contention for the Chumpionship title.
Breezy and overcast with occasional showers for the first two days was downright blissful when compared to the final day's whipping gale and sporadic downpours. Stuck on a field with a strong headwind (as opposed to a a crosswind field) for the first two games, it assured horrible stats for anyone who took the field (its incredibly difficult to throw upwind in such conditions, let alone catch an erratically flying disc).
Our team actually had improved; the defensive team managed to score upwind in both games, a considerable feat that assured victory in those two games. Those two wins pit us in a rematch (we lost the first time) for the coveted Chumpionship title. Even with a nearly full squad, 3 days of ultimate had taken its toll, apparent by the pace of the last game. Both teams battled, with the score remaining within 1 point for most of the first half. But in the second half, the experience and depth of the enemy was just enough to pull away.
10th place, the slightly less coveted Chumpion runner-up, was Townsville's rank. And while the final rank was less than awe inspiring, it was an improvement over our rank entering the tournament. That, of course, means that we broke seed (or did better than expected). Not bad for the first Ultimate team Townsville has ever fielded, and hopefully, a good start for a bright future.
But what is an Ultimate tournament without a party? A pajama party no less. Robes are back in fashion it would seem, with myself and several others from the team sporting a range from dragon embroidered silk wish-it-less-revealing robe (mine, of course), to full length terry cloth and everything in between. With the theory that less is more, Matt opted for an "unfurnished basement" (if you catch my drift, or draft in his case) . Imagine his surprise (pleasure?) when several local ladies dared to inspect, lifting the tail end of his robe while he was crossing a street. And that was just on the way to the party. Additionally, we were ogled, interrogated, cheered, leered, and applauded (finally).
Monday morning was the scheduled departure for most of the team, though there were a handful of afternoon departees, with just one other spending an additional night (like myself). With a lot of ground to cover and ambitious plans, it was clear no bus would suffice. Budget Rent-A-Car is severely lacking in the "Detroit Steel" department. No Hemi's or Super-Duty to be found, a mid-size Mitsubishi was my consolation.
The the few remaining male teammates (the last Sheila was taking a nap), we struck out for the
Haigh Chocolate Factory. The self guided tour was more of a walk down a glass hallway; no oompallopas, no glass elevators, no fun. Lest there be any doubt, chocolate is meant to be eaten. What their tour lacked in entertainment, their chocolate made up for in taste. And before you ask, the chocolate will melt before I could bring it back for you.
Not content to just smell and hear the zoo beasts, a quick trip before the afternoon departure was coordinated. Wallabees, kangaroos, croc-a-roos, koalabees, wallaroos, kangabees (or something like that) and a variety of other typical zoo fanfare were lounging about their pens. One deceptive tiger had me convinced of her lethargy, though as I turned my back it bolted from the tall grass with its eyes hungrily fixed on me. Nice try, but I doubt even a tiger, even a Tigger for that matter could clear the 25 ft wall- Nick 1, Tiger 0.
After exchanging departees for Heather (the other, now rested teammate), we headed off for Handorf, the oldest German settlement in Australia (1839). Garbed in my German camouflage (socks and sandals), I was ready to explore the quaint town. Unfortunately with the late start, most of the shops were close, with only the Gem shop still open. You can hardly walk into a gem shop in Australia without tripping over opals, and this was no different. Hundreds of thousand of dollars worth of opals, cut and uncut were scattered over all corners of the shop. I could even buy a jar of uncut opals for 4k and possibly turning a 50k profit. I do need a job...
In a round about way (I'm still not sure how it happened), we spent the night at the tournament director's girlfriend's family's house. Though it was only one night, the comfort and welcome was a panacea for a weekend's worth of ultimate pains and aches.
My earliest morning yet: 4:40 AM. Heather needed to be dropped off for an early flight. For the first time, I was alone behind the wheel. Without passengers' gasps and screams, there was nothing to keep me in check. Fancying myself a Mad Max, I covered some 350 km of scenic drives, vistas, and dirt roads around the famed Barossa wine valley (though much to my dismay, I didn't have time to hit two spots on the map that I was looking forward to- "Worlds End" & "Cold and Wet"). In all that time, I was only driving on the wrong side of the road twice.
Now that brings you mostly up present. And there's a networked Quake 3 deathmatch game about to start, and I'm going to bring the pain. You wouldn't understand, its a nerd thing.
Pics to follow. And forgive any erros, I don't have time to proof.
*This time I had a new book with me, Bill Bryson's "Mother Tongue". Ever wonder about the evolution of the English language, or the etiology of your words and phrases? Bill Bryson explains it all with the unique humor and thoroughness one would expect from him. My favorite thus far: "myoclonic jerk". Despite its resemblence to a scathing insult, it actually describes the twitch one experiences just as you are falling asleep when you have that vivid falling sensation. I still might use it as an insult.
The Atlanta contingent at Mixed Aussie Nationals
Our team captain, Matt. See Matt run.
Team pajama pre-party. Due to various states of undress, a post pic was not taken. Mind you I was in bed resting up by the time debauchery had taken root. Honest.
A wine vine from the famed Barossa valley.
View from a scenic route in the Adelaide Hills.
Adelaide.
Since the last entry, I've been caught up in a whirlwind of activity with too little time to worry about emails much less blogging. I'm back now, or at least in an expensive "Internet Cafe" that caters to the gamers. I may be the only individual in here to have seen the sun in the past month; pasty complexions, bleary eyes, and whirring fingers are in bountiful supply, though women, coincidentally, are not. Still, I'm grateful for the high speed state-of-the-art computer station: God bless the nerds (and their plethora of pirated MP3s, Movies, TV shows, and software on their local server).
Mixed nationals-
Since my arrival Down Under, I had been looking forward to mixed Aussie nationals (men and women, together!) in Adelaide. Perhaps a bit more eager than the rest of the team, I left Townsville a day early, heading up to Cairns (yet again on a bus*) to catch a flight out the next day. I had every intent to explore Cairns, though I succeeded in seeing little more than the gaudy tourist shops choking the city streets. Originally, Cairns was much like Townsville, though with the addition of an international airport a few years ahead of Townsville, it became much more dependent on the tourism industry. Now I have a stunning variety of low rate souvenir shops to chose from.
I have had bad luck with arriving at airports early, the counters have yet to be open, and so I'm stuck not only guarding my luggage, but other passengers routinely ask me to watch theirs while they head to the washroom. Maybe next time I'll sneak some Milk-Bones into their luggage for my entertainment (and of course that of the drug-sniffing dogs).
I was mercifully granted a reprieve from my airport boredom; Team Juggernaut (our mixed Nationals team name) was slowly snowballing. A few members met me at the Cairns airport for the flight out, a few more joined us when we arrived in the Adelaide airport, until finally all had arrived by the time we were settling in at the hotel. With 17 players we had one of the largest squads at the tournament, though a large untested squad, never having played together (with the full team), is not necessarily a bonus.
Adelaide is a unique city, it is entirely surrounded by parklands. The parks I had a chance to visit were all clean and well planned, with green space for equestrian, archery, football, rugby, a botanic garden, and even a zoo. Somewhere in the northeast quadrant of the parklands, Mixed Australian Nationals staked its claim for three days of tough competition.
Despite its proximity to the city, there was little in the way of spectators. No cheering sections, journalists or local news anchors covering the action. Aside from the players themselves, the only adulations we elicited were the roars from the lions and hoots from the monkeys echoing from the nearby zoo. When the winds shifted, we were treated to more than just their cheers and jeers with a full aromatic compliment. Some things are better left unsmelled.
Given our untested status, it was for the best our stands were vacant. In particular, our 3rd game against a well practiced, 3rd seeded Bootius Maximus proved embarrassing to say the least. Rather than relive the disappointment and report to you the score, I'll just say it guaranteed room for improvement.
And we did just that. Progressively, we played better as we grew more familiar with each other (imagine what full team practices would have done), though it wasn't exactly a Hollywood rags-to-riches epic. Winning only 2 out of 5 pool play games and loosing our crossover, we were out of the running for grand Champions. However we were in strong contention for the Chumpionship title.
Breezy and overcast with occasional showers for the first two days was downright blissful when compared to the final day's whipping gale and sporadic downpours. Stuck on a field with a strong headwind (as opposed to a a crosswind field) for the first two games, it assured horrible stats for anyone who took the field (its incredibly difficult to throw upwind in such conditions, let alone catch an erratically flying disc).
Our team actually had improved; the defensive team managed to score upwind in both games, a considerable feat that assured victory in those two games. Those two wins pit us in a rematch (we lost the first time) for the coveted Chumpionship title. Even with a nearly full squad, 3 days of ultimate had taken its toll, apparent by the pace of the last game. Both teams battled, with the score remaining within 1 point for most of the first half. But in the second half, the experience and depth of the enemy was just enough to pull away.
10th place, the slightly less coveted Chumpion runner-up, was Townsville's rank. And while the final rank was less than awe inspiring, it was an improvement over our rank entering the tournament. That, of course, means that we broke seed (or did better than expected). Not bad for the first Ultimate team Townsville has ever fielded, and hopefully, a good start for a bright future.
But what is an Ultimate tournament without a party? A pajama party no less. Robes are back in fashion it would seem, with myself and several others from the team sporting a range from dragon embroidered silk wish-it-less-revealing robe (mine, of course), to full length terry cloth and everything in between. With the theory that less is more, Matt opted for an "unfurnished basement" (if you catch my drift, or draft in his case) . Imagine his surprise (pleasure?) when several local ladies dared to inspect, lifting the tail end of his robe while he was crossing a street. And that was just on the way to the party. Additionally, we were ogled, interrogated, cheered, leered, and applauded (finally).
Monday morning was the scheduled departure for most of the team, though there were a handful of afternoon departees, with just one other spending an additional night (like myself). With a lot of ground to cover and ambitious plans, it was clear no bus would suffice. Budget Rent-A-Car is severely lacking in the "Detroit Steel" department. No Hemi's or Super-Duty to be found, a mid-size Mitsubishi was my consolation.
The the few remaining male teammates (the last Sheila was taking a nap), we struck out for the
Haigh Chocolate Factory. The self guided tour was more of a walk down a glass hallway; no oompallopas, no glass elevators, no fun. Lest there be any doubt, chocolate is meant to be eaten. What their tour lacked in entertainment, their chocolate made up for in taste. And before you ask, the chocolate will melt before I could bring it back for you.
Not content to just smell and hear the zoo beasts, a quick trip before the afternoon departure was coordinated. Wallabees, kangaroos, croc-a-roos, koalabees, wallaroos, kangabees (or something like that) and a variety of other typical zoo fanfare were lounging about their pens. One deceptive tiger had me convinced of her lethargy, though as I turned my back it bolted from the tall grass with its eyes hungrily fixed on me. Nice try, but I doubt even a tiger, even a Tigger for that matter could clear the 25 ft wall- Nick 1, Tiger 0.
After exchanging departees for Heather (the other, now rested teammate), we headed off for Handorf, the oldest German settlement in Australia (1839). Garbed in my German camouflage (socks and sandals), I was ready to explore the quaint town. Unfortunately with the late start, most of the shops were close, with only the Gem shop still open. You can hardly walk into a gem shop in Australia without tripping over opals, and this was no different. Hundreds of thousand of dollars worth of opals, cut and uncut were scattered over all corners of the shop. I could even buy a jar of uncut opals for 4k and possibly turning a 50k profit. I do need a job...
In a round about way (I'm still not sure how it happened), we spent the night at the tournament director's girlfriend's family's house. Though it was only one night, the comfort and welcome was a panacea for a weekend's worth of ultimate pains and aches.
My earliest morning yet: 4:40 AM. Heather needed to be dropped off for an early flight. For the first time, I was alone behind the wheel. Without passengers' gasps and screams, there was nothing to keep me in check. Fancying myself a Mad Max, I covered some 350 km of scenic drives, vistas, and dirt roads around the famed Barossa wine valley (though much to my dismay, I didn't have time to hit two spots on the map that I was looking forward to- "Worlds End" & "Cold and Wet"). In all that time, I was only driving on the wrong side of the road twice.
Now that brings you mostly up present. And there's a networked Quake 3 deathmatch game about to start, and I'm going to bring the pain. You wouldn't understand, its a nerd thing.
Pics to follow. And forgive any erros, I don't have time to proof.
*This time I had a new book with me, Bill Bryson's "Mother Tongue". Ever wonder about the evolution of the English language, or the etiology of your words and phrases? Bill Bryson explains it all with the unique humor and thoroughness one would expect from him. My favorite thus far: "myoclonic jerk". Despite its resemblence to a scathing insult, it actually describes the twitch one experiences just as you are falling asleep when you have that vivid falling sensation. I still might use it as an insult.
The Atlanta contingent at Mixed Aussie Nationals
Our team captain, Matt. See Matt run.
Team pajama pre-party. Due to various states of undress, a post pic was not taken. Mind you I was in bed resting up by the time debauchery had taken root. Honest.
A wine vine from the famed Barossa valley.
View from a scenic route in the Adelaide Hills.
posted by Vit-One at 9:23 AM
2 comments
