When we first moved here, "going to ultimate" involved throwing the dogs, cleats, water bottles and "light and dark" shirts in the car and heading to a grass field. We'd arrive in the parking lot and wait for the cars to start filing in. At first, we were the newbies, and we noticed the tight-knit group of friends that made up the rest of the group, with all their sexual inuendos, heckling and good hearted jabs at each other. This was the group that eventually comprised our entire group of friends here in Bellingham. This was the group that after 5 years helped Miguel and I make the decision to stay here, rather than move back to Oregon as first intended.
For several years we lived it up, travelling to frisbee tournaments all over, within about an 8-hour drive. We were awesome as a team, and almost reached ultimate victory for a local squad; one point away from heading to regionals. That glory lasted for about 3 solid years. Thing started changing about 2 years ago when couples on the team, who brought us our experience and stability, started having children, college players, who brought us our sass and young legs, started finding jobs and higher education in other towns, injuries put people on the sidelines, and we lost our umph.
For the last 2 years it's been difficult to get a real game going, even in good sunny weather. We're especially struggling to find women that want to play. Pick-up has turned more into a teaching exercise to try and "build the community", rather than a good, gut wrenching workout. This summer, however, we did have an influx of a few motivated players that have taken on the organizational aspect of the community game. This is what we've been lacking; someone willing to put it all together. So we actually had a successful fall league this year, with 4 teams! That's pretty good, considering the last several leagues we've had have dwindled from 4 teams to 2 pick-up teams.
Since we've lost the original field we used to play on due to development, we now put our shoes, water bottles and team shirts in the car, and head to the turf field. We pull into the parking lot, never sure of who is going to pull in after us. There are several unnamed faces throwing discs around on the field, sprinkled with a one here and there who used to play. I'm always delighted to see one of those "veteran" faces again, but I've come not to expect them anymore. The game has changed, and I still have a glimmer of hope that we'll again play on grass where the dogs can chase a disc on the sidelines, with all that heckling and grab-ass that made the ordeal so much fun. For now, however, I'm glad to be playing at all, and to have the opportunity to help new players learn the game.