Argentine Ultimate Part I

I’ve been amiss on this blog to do little more than add one photo of my ULTIMATE FRISBEE experiences here in Buenos Aires. Now that our formal league is sadly coming to its close, I’ve reflected a lot on what my experience with this new sport and new friends has meant in three months, but first to tell an intro to the tale.

Once upon a time, two American students arrived in Buenos Aires – bright eyed and anxious to explore one of the world’s ten largest cities. Their names were Will and Brian, and they didn’t have beards, weren’t 21, didn’t know what classes they’d be taking, or what activities they’d be doing, but they knew one thing: they’d be damned if they didn’t play a sport while here in Argentina.

At the end of July, Brian enthusiastically cajoled me into coming to the Argentine Ultimate league’s pick up game that weekend – the field they use is located just a few kilometers walk from where I live in the city. So that Saturday, Brian and I make the walk there together, after twenty minutes or so of walking and estimating we were getting close we saw the looming of the enormous River Plate football stadium (where Argentina won the world cup in 1978). The building impressed us, but as we kept walking our ears detected something out of place: the pop, pop of gun shots from all different calibers was creating a dull roar along with the cars from the highway we were approaching. No big deal, we were just walking by the Tiro Federal – a shooting range surrounded by fortress like walls that were over fifteen meters high, from which gunshots were ringing this Saturday morning. After crossing the massive Panamericana highway via a narrow pedestrian walkway we’d arrived at the league’s field. Nestled near this massive stadium, gun range, many lane high way and a swath of pubic university owned athletic fields is our field. Field nine, nestled in this urban jungle.

Like nervous new kids at their first day of school, we smiled nervously at everyone around us speaking fluent Spanish and greeting old friends. The players had jerseys, were organized and looked comfortable with each other. We just stood off to the side and threw Brian’s disc, trying not to draw attention as we tried to scope the situation. Looking back, those first passes were pathetic - I hardly had an appreciating for how much finesse the sport has a capacity for.

Eventually, a player Brian and I suspected was the anonymous Ian whom Brian had contacted about the league, came over and introduced himself to us Gringos. With a big smile atop his small frame of strong legs and gangly arms, he explains in a combination of English and Spanish that we should just hop in and play!

And that was our first day meeting Argentines, Colombians, Venezuelans and other Americans like us that live, study, work and play here in Buenos Aires and love Frisbee as much as Catholic Justice and Hucking Foyas seem to. For me, my experience with Ultimate was just beginning. Little did I know how great of friends Ian, Brian and I would become, nor how many more Saturdays full of ultimate and Spanish were in store for us.