Deep

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From Ultimate Glory:

If my throws could be erratic, there were things I could trust. Jumping and catching a disk was something I knew I did well and no one could tell me otherwise. I always felt that anything up in the air was mine. Felt that I could go up and get it and do so in the most direct way possible (which may have occasionally involved collisions with other players). A direct line from what I wanted to what I got, so unlike the other areas in my life. I had read my transcendentalists in college and what was this if not transcendent? The moment of leaving the ground—leaving the earth behind! The unthinking moment. Of uncertainty, of risk and reward.

The best I felt during those early years was when I was deep in the Hostage zone. As the deep, I played a kind of centerfield position, hanging back and guarding against the other team’s attempts to huck. For once in my young life, I was in command, standing back there, daring the other team to throw, even baiting them to throw. Certainly there were taller players and better jumpers, but I defended my turf with rapacity. It was my responsibility after all. Other people—other Hostages—were depending on me.

Since I was behind everyone else on defense, my position also served as a kind of command center where I could yell and tell other Hostages where to go. I loved the feeling of mastery, of seeing the whole field and moving my teammates around like chess pieces. The deep in the zone is very much an individual position—and that suited me—but just as important as being an individual was the feeling that I was part of something. When we were playing really well it was as if we were all part of a vast network or nervous system, connected not just verbally but synaptically. I could yell to Neal to dive right and suddenly he had a block or Jimmy, at side middle, could warn me that someone was running deep on my off side. At our best we were like one connected whole, a single being.