Over the decade or so I’ve been playing ultimate at tournaments I’ve played on a pretty big variety of teams, from teams which drilled set plays and called lines to teams that didn’t exist a few days before the tournament. Honestly, the latter is more my speed – I’m not an elite athlete and never will be. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t done alright, and my first real experience with winning was only a few years ago at a tournament in the north of England, Fishbowl. It taught me a lot of lessons about how teams win.
Fishbowl that year was about 20 teams, and I responded to a university club team’s open call for some pick-ups. I rocked up to find 4 club members, 2 local pick ups, a French club player and moi, for a grand total of 8 players for a two-day tournament. There was a basic competence at throwing, cutting, etc, but no “A-Tour” players on the team. We were seeded 20th, and that was the smart money. Before the first game we all sat down on the grass and chatted about what we liked to do, what our strengths were, and we developed a plan: first look was a break-throw from me to the front-ish of the stack, second look an open-side cut from the back. Reset at the first sign of trouble: no heroics. I never hucked the disc, there were no layout bids, I don’t recall even any dramatic hand-blocks. Some people might call that “boring”, I called it “winning” and we finished just outside the top 8 having mangled some teams who left the field looking decidedly confused. Without a doubt, the most successful tournament team I’ve played for so far, and I’ll probably never manage such a big gainer again.
The big lesson that Fishbowl taught me was that teamwork wins team sports. It’s a simple lesson, but one which I think is far far too infrequently considered by teams and coaches. Coaches just love to drill basically individual skills, and beyond a certain skill point elite players all think they’re like Muhammed Ali and none of the rules apply to them. As much as I get a kick out of super-stars doing super-heroics, Fishbowl proved to me that a commitment to fundamentals can take a team of nobodies and terrify anybody.
Especially since then, I’ve got a set of guidelines that I deploy when I find myself the senior member on a team of unfamiliar players. At nationals over the weekend I had a chat with one of my alumni from the Mashugenah school of How to Play Good who lamented that our basically scratch team at a previous tournament had more structure, cohesion, and success, than their drilled and training team of the present day. So, my arrogance having overtaken my humble acknowledgement that I’m a mediocre talent, here are the things I do to win Ultimate with pick-up teams.
Pre-game
The initial get-together of the team can make all the difference: get everyone on board with the idea that however it’s come about – Hat, Happy Circumstance, Unlucky Selection – this is the team, and that everyone needs to play for the team.
Do Warm Up Drills
The worst hat tournament experience I’ve ever had was my first trip to Durham Hat. The team collated at the first game venue, and I suggested we go for a run. Another player said “fuck that, this is a hat tournament”, and I knew at that moment we would never win a single game. The team one field over went for a run together (see “Pre-game”) and then ran a few basic drills, and they won every game that weekend. It’s really not complicated: you need to do running/throwing/catching together to switch on your brain and to gauge speed. Completions are the goal, no matter how. My favourite drill for this is the Seattle Drill, but basically anything down to the Box Drill will help.
Do Not Huck the Disc
In all my experience playing ultimate at all levels, and taking stats for games at high levels, hucking is a much lower percentage play than Big Disc Players believe it is. I tracked one game I was playing in at Nationals last weekend and the completion rate for half-field or longer throws was less than 10%. How can you win a game throwing it away all the time? You can’t. Hucking works when you’ve got a thrower who’s thrown in all conditions to a specific receiver, who’s trained to read that thrower’s action and timing, in all those conditions. It doesn’t work any other time.
Pick-up teams rarely have the chemistry for hucks to work, rarely have the vision to see or create the clear space that it requires, and so the percentage completion is unsustainably low. There are two very serious consequences beyond the immediate turn-over which erode team-spirit and the belief that a team can win:
Hucking unsuccessfully erodes a team’s willingness to play Defence. I have seen on more than a few occasions a whole team slump as the inevitable turnover happens, and take an extra few seconds to pick up their mark and get onto the chase. I often find myself thinking “why should I play defence if Handler Huckster won’t play Offence”?
Secondly, Hucking causes the under-cuts to dry up and the field to bog down. I’ve watched this vicious cycle so many times, where a handler throws it away trying for the glory-hound single-throw-score, only to see the rest of the cutters lose interest: why make a cut, when you know what’s going to happen is the look-off followed by playing Defence for a bit? A lot of games which are going badly have the Captain call a time-out and ask for the downfield to be more active when the real problem is the handlers not rewarding that activity. In a drilled team you can do this, because it’s what people trained for and signed up for, but it’s a death-sentence for a pick-up team.
Hold the Force and Mark Honestly Downfield
I was on the winning team for my first Taupo Hat. We had lost a few early games, and the senior players on the team called a time-out and just laid out the most important thing in ultimate: Hold the Force. It wasn’t at all that anyone was confused about what the force was, but some players were trying to put pressure on open-side throws too, and consequently were getting broken. As a broken vicious cycle with the force getting weak, downfield players were trying to hedge their bets, not taking away open-side options because they were trying to take away break-side options too much. This cripples a team’s ability to play cohesively and must be swiftly rectified. Hand-blocks, layout-bids to get that intercept, “take away everything” – these are all myths sent by Beelzebub to destroy your team’s ability to win.
The same thing applies to super-stars trying to poach in the lane, or mark everyone downfield. For every amazing intercept they get, they create 10 easy passes to free players. Just stick on your target unless someone is actively calling for help, and if you’re the best player in the world and your opposite recognises that and just goes and hangs out somewhere useless to take you out of the game: guess what, your player isn’t getting the disc so your job is done. Don’t be a hero, don’t try and poach, because the chaos you’re trying to create has an even worse effect on your own team.
Play a Zone Defence
Playing with or against a zone defence requires team-work as a fundamental part. Not only does it need all the players on the field to work together, but it needs the sideline to be active in helping the team. See (“Pre-game” above). By engaging everyone together, you also make the result a collective one: Bob wasn’t beaten long, the team was beaten long. If you use a reasonably forgiving zone, such as the basic Cup 3:3:1, which has a hierarchy of information flow from the back to the front, you can teach players to be effective in a matter of one game.
Playing against a Zone Defence is also a team effort. There are lots of theories on this, but most that I’ve seen are stupid. What needs to happen is that you need to forget about handlers and receivers; instead, play a 7-man weave if you can. And for the love of all that’s good and beautiful in the world, leave the Zone’s Deep-Deep cover to hang out alone and unloved by themselves in the deep.
The Carson Rule
AKA: the lynch-pin of good ultimate.
The one exception to everything is the Carson Rule, which was explained to me by Carson when I first started playing competitively. In essence, it’s to be pragmatic with whatever team you have, whatever capabilities you’ve got. The rule is this:
Try anything you like once. If it works, you can try it again with impunity.
If something has failed, you can try it again. Pick your moment, make sure it’s what you want to do. If it works, you can think about it again.
If something hasn’t worked twice, you can try it a third time if you are absolutely convinced it will work and is the best option. If it fails, never do it again, no matter how tempting/on/open/good/righteous/divinely appointed it may seem.
If you’re honest, this rule will inexorably lead you back to seriously, really honestly, do not huck the disc. But it will also show you how your team can win games. For Fishbowl, that was my ability to break a succession of markers like so many dry twigs. That was certainly not the case in some other tournaments.
Super-star players will always talk themselves around to the idea that it was some bizarre quirky particularity of this specific throw or poach or attempted layout-block which meant that it failed instead of succeeded. That arrogance is perhaps what drives them to be good players, but it is also what makes them a liability if for some reason the magic dries up. If the team believes in the Carson Rule, they can help those people who’re too good for their team’s good to pull their heads in and play ultimate at the right level.
Play Lines
Most counter-intuitive of all my rules, it is imperative that for the first game of the tournament you play lines. We tend to think of lines as a commentary on skill – I remember that awful discussion before Lecco about how the “O” line would be the cream of the crop while the hoi poloi would be stuck on “D” where any under-performance was irrelevant since all things being equal the O should always score anyway. If your O-line never turns it over, worst case is playing to Universe Point, right? I personally think this line of argument has almost no value anyway, but the point of the lines is not about skill at all – I think I’ve already proved that the quality of individual players is by far not the most important factor in winning. What’s important is: teamwork.
It’s much easier to build teamwork quickly if you’re getting to know the play-style of only half the team. So I tend to just divide the halves completely arbitrarily: if one half ends up stronger, that doesn’t matter, because if they’re strong on O they’ll score (keeping you in the game) and if they’re strong on D they’ll turn it and then score (keeping you in the game). After the first game, start blending the teams so that by the end of the second game there’s just one team. Of all my tricks, this one has paid the most dividends the quickest.
The Circle of Love
After a game with a scratch team, it is super-important that you reinforce the good things that happened, whatever they might have been. For tough tournaments where things are hard I try push this every game, for tournaments where everything is humming along splendidly I might just wrap this up at the end of the day. Recently at Chalice City, the vibe with my Nelson-oriented pick-up team was so jazzed that I didn’t bother for the first time in many years.
At the Circle, as quickly as you can (before Spirit Scores etc if possible), each player and every player in the team must go around and say one positive thing they took away from the game from their team. One is the perfect number, because everyone can think of one thing – but if you let someone go on and on for twenty minutes with a blow-by-blow account of what they liked they’ll suck up all the atmosphere and leave others in the team grasping at straws for something to say. One thing allows a good contribution, but doesn’t demand an overwhelming one. Ideally, this will dovetail with the Carson Rule, helping the team identify the things that are going well, that should be the basis of future victories.
Summing Up
Follow these simple rules and… they may work for you, or they may not. But they’ve worked for me and for teams that have let me talk them into playing this way. Of all of the things I’ve said, the hardest to accept for you will be my firm rule against hucking. Ultimate players love to put that big disc up, watch some tall and athletic person streak down the field and grab the hell out of it: I prefer winning.
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