Development: An insight into my growth as a player

Several years ago, as I searched YouTube for its infinite wisdom, I was amazed by the Ultimate videos. I was just starting out in Ultimate and couldn't imagine a game at higher levels than what I was exposed to in the high school league. Hearing of teams like ROY, GT, and GOAT made me feel very small and fragile. That was my way of marvelling at their greatness. I was putting them on the proverbial pedestal, if you will. Looking at those videos brought up several questions in my head. How are they all so good? Where'd they learn all those throws? How are they able to create so much space? How are they not clogging up all the lanes like in all my games?

GOAT players. Photo by Jaleel Paje.

In the high school scene, as long as one is able to throw a flick, they are considered a superstar. That's understandable. The lower the level of game, the greater the distribution of skills amongst players. Think of it like the IQ for the measure of intelligence. British psychologist Liam Hudson wrote, "It is amply proved that someone with an IQ of 170 is more likely to think well than someone whose IQ is 70." "But," wrote Hudson, "the relation seems to break down when one is making comparisons between two people both of whom have IQs which are relatively high." He concluded that, "A mature scientist with an adult IQ of 130 is as likely to win a Nobel Prize as is one whose IQ is 180."(Gladwell, 79-80).When we compare this concept to the skill level in Ultimate players, we can safely say that a GOAT player is more likely to play better than a high school player. However, an entry level GOAT player is just as likely to bid for a disk as is one of his more experienced teammates.

Throwing a low release flick. Photo by Heather Gilmour.

As a handler in my high school team, I focused mainly on mastering my low release flick (albeit it was more of a flick bounce). In my senior year, I continued to develop my throws and discovering new ones. My teammates were somewhat captivated by my ability to bounce all my throws (this is bad, especially in windy games!). It came to a point where I had lost the ability to throw a normal backhand and resorted to air bounces for my backhand and flick. It wasn't until I was properly coached in university that I gained a quicker release and a less obvious bounce.

Another low release flick to "green space". Photo by Ed Kung.

As I progressed further in my games and leagues, a question of spacing became more and more relevant. After learning the HO (Horizontal Offence)-stack, knowing where the cutter will cut became a lot more obvious to me. I banked on my ability to break the mark (usually forcing me flick) with an I-O (Inside-Out) flick.

A vertical stack in one of my high school games. Photo by Vivian Shan.

"Throw to green space!" yelled my coach from the sideline. Green space? But there's no one there. Why would I intentionally turnover possession?

Spacing was a big issue for me. It took me a long time to understand why I, even as a handler, had to clear out and create space for others. Handler cuts in high school league consisted of running in circles around the player with the disk. When I started playing for my university team, I made some of the worst decisions as a handler. Often and unknowingly, I would cut off other handlers from making throws to the open cutters.

"Get the f--- out of there! Clear that space!" I'd hear from the other players.

Space? Not that again! What am I doing wrong?

Me (5) with my team, Tundra. Photo by Gavin Thompson.

My bad habits followed me into the touring scene. While playing with Tundra, even in practice, I would make the wrong cuts. We had probably ran through the dump-swing drill numerous times already, so I knew what cut I had to make. But in the heat of the moment, I'd forget there are other players on the field and just make my cut to no avail. In games, I noticed a large "sag" or poach on my position as the far handler from my defender. In order to engage my defender and move him away from the cutting lanes, I would yell "Poach!", but nothing more.

"You have to move to where you can be a threat." said a veteran of Tundra as he positioned bottles on the ground to show me which cuts were feasible options.


It came down to discipline and focus for me. "You have the throws, but you don't have the timing yet. Clear your mind of all distractions. Throw to where they're going, not where they are," was one piece of advice that stuck with me. Another was, "You have to hustle on defence and what ever you do, DON'T GET BROKEN!"

"Remember the three rules of defence," I'd hear every time I was beat on defence. "One, don't get beat upline. Two, don't get beat force side. And three, don't get broken."

It was with Tundra that I found these simple and effective concepts. I figured, those teams I look up to so much, they're just doing the same thing that they've done countless times before. It's consistency and completion. Efficiency and execution. 

I'm not saying I've stopped looking up to these teams, rather I've developed even more respect for them. I no longer feel small and fragile, instead I look forward to my games against tougher opponents. This is the only way to learn and my appetite for that will probably never be satisfied.

Performance is as much a mental game as it is a physical one in this sport, or any for that matter.


References:

Gladwell, Malcolm. Outliers. Toronto: Penguin Group, 2008. 79-80. Print.