Kansas Summer

Good News

“Grayson has it! He passes it down to Harpfield in the endzone, but McNabb is there to knock it down! He finds King wide open! King catches the Frisbee and absolutely—bombs it down to the endzone! Yadav goes back! He goes back, makes a leaping catch—and he's got it! The timer sounds! And the Goodland Cowboys have won the thirty-second Kansas All-State Ultimate Championship!” Red Evans, the famous announcer calls the final score of the game.

All of my teammates rush off of the sideline and from on-field, mobbing Sid and the Frisbee in a huge dogpile. I even feel Coach Schroeder dive in amongst the fray, but out of the corner of my eye, I see that Coach Kenner just stands there, clapping his hands, and egging us on as if he wants us to get hurt. I figured that he didn't care what happened to us; the season was over, and since when did Kenner care about anything, really?

We are all in chaos for about thirty seconds before Coach Schroeder pulls us off of each other, and forces us to stand up, dust ourselves off (actually, it had rained the night before, so the field was more mud than dirt, and so were we), and shake the other team's hands.

“Great game,” I tell everyone, and I mean it. The Derby Panthers were a formidable team. They made it to the championships, hadn't they? The score was pretty close too—fifteen to seventeen; our defenses were evenly matched.

“You played terrifically,” a player by the name of Drennon congratulates me.

I looked over the young man, covered in mud. I grin. “I saw you lay out for that one touchdown. Hope you brought a change of clothes!” I slap him on the back, then retreat to the quickly constructed podium, where the rest of my team is gathered.

“On behalf of the Kansas High School Athletic Association,” Red Evans rambled in a Texas accent—he had descended from the announcer's booth and stood in front of all of us, “it is my special honor and privilege to present Coaches James Schroeder and Mike Kenner, and the Goodland High School Cowboys Ultimate Frisbee team with the First Place trophy for the Nineteen-Ninety-Eight Kansas High School All-State Ultimate Frisbee Championship!”

There is much clapping and cheering from the stands. Mr. Evans takes a large trophy, probably four feet high, and hands it to Coach Kenner. It is big, like I previously stated, with three tiers, the top one is set with a sculpture of a Frisbee being thrown, and a person diving to stop it. I grin at the sight.

“Furthermore,” the white-bearded Texan continued, “the KHSAA would like to present medals to the Goodland High School Ultimate Frisbee Team. When I call your name, please step forward to receive your medal. Elliott Stutler.” Claps and cheers. “Cody Williams.” Claps and cheers. “Christian McNabb. Ethan Brennan. Chad Curran. Jovian—son, I'm gonna butcher this badly—Wirasakti? Kenneth Smith. Sid Yadav. Gunner Jacobs. Adam Eliasen.” The cheers and claps continued, and almost louder than Mr. Evans can talk through the microphone. He finally turns around and waves his arm, signaling for the audience to be quiet.

“And also, the KHSAA gives great pleasure in presenting the Season's Most Valuable Player award to Colin King.” I have never heard so much applause for me in my life. I'm almost crying when I reach the podium. “Here you go, son,” Mr. Evans tells me, lightly pushing the trophy and medal into my palm. “Between you and me,” he says off the microphone, “you are the gutsiest player I've seen in a while. And the only player who I've seen throw backwards in order to go forwards.” I blush at his compliment. Mr. Evans turns me around to face the crowd, and I hold my trophy up proudly, grinning from ear to ear, and covered from head to toe in mud.

“Hey Jen, you wanna hug?” I ask my girlfriend playfully as I walk down to the fieldhouse with the boys. She wrinkles her brow in disgust.

“Eww, no! You're dirty!”