You’ve seen a frisbee before right? Little disk that’s fun to throw around, sometimes you make a game of it. Yeah. Today I learned that some people take the art of the disk very seriously. Scene opens on my indoor soccer complex. 3 fields with walls, 6 plexiglass warmup rooms, and one giant wraparound upper balcony with a restaurant and bar. Really quite a cool place to play. Today it wasn’t. I entered the balcony from the outer door, and what the hell, I am in a pop up record shop. The spacious balcony is lined with tents (we are indoors?) and tables, all covered in rows of boxes of records. No, not records, frisbees. Thousands of frisbees in variety of shapes and sizes, lining the length of the complex. But that wasn’t all. T-shirt with cute gatekeeper quips about being a frisbee player, headbands, pins, socks, fingerless gloves, protective arm gauntlets (for FRISBEE) and I’m not sure why, but funko pops. The complex was hopping. This must’ve been the biggest night of the year for frisbee because the sea of people was overwhelming. Like Woodstock but for unathletic nerds. Now boys, judging people by their appearance is wrong, but I will do it anyways unapologetically. These people were all popped from the same biscuit tube. Shirt with goofy quip or Star Wars reference, poorly dyed hair slicked down with grease, basketball shorts that fall midway down the shin, and the most disgusting “beards” to ever penetrate your eyes. These people were in no way “athletically built” either. I don’t know that any of them can run for extending periods of time. Allow me to anticipate your “Grifflehorp is being mean, let people have their hobbies!” Shut up. This was no hobby to them. They had special backpacks SPECIFICALLY for frisbees, of which they carried probably 30 each. Lots of them had custom printed jerseys for their team. They had their own CHEERS. None of this would bother me, I simply wouldn’t care. They’re here for their event, I’m here to kick some teenage girls in the shins. Ok. Not my problem. Except that they became my problem very quickly. I guess they weren’t happy to have booked the complex on a night with a few soccer games (every gotdam night) so the natural thing to do is to make a big stink about it. Because you, a fully grown 27 year old jabba the hut, don’t like that the soccer complex is being used for soccer, and the world must feel your unrest. Like thirty of the two hundred frisbee cultists stood under the balcony, behind my goal. They were waiting for our field. They waited the entire 60 minute game standing right there, behind the goal, COMPLAINING BITTERLY that we HAD to play tonight. While I dive and block and destroy my kneecaps on this awful turf, they show no relent to their wailing. For 60 gotdam minutes. They even talk about ME like I’m not standing there listening to every word. Games over, great. Won by a lot, blocked plenty of goals, played well overall. But now I must wait another 30 minutes to leave, otherwise I will return to a locked up house in this crippling winter weather. I sit on the balcony and watched these chumps play their ultimate frisbee. Wasn’t very ultimate at all. In my previous observations I predicted that running was nobody’s strong suit. I was right. I watched them huff and luff about the tiny little field, flinging their stupid little disks. Turns out it doesn’t take a whole lot to get onto a frisbee team. You’d except people to invest this much time and money into the sport to be at least good at catching and throwing right? I thought so too. This is the saddest sport I have ever watched. To hell with frisbees