The FTB Blog (now with new poll!)
Had a fantastic session today. Mainly because it was with the famous Eric Siegel. That old man still has some great game. He went on a 35 contact solid run after being out of it for a good portion of a year. Hopefully there will be more sessions to come.
"...You have to get, really, practice, like eight hours every day. Then you get good level and then you can compete....There is no money, so players are like big family and that is what I -like" -Vasek-
Reid Strellner
Reid Strellner
Dude, like, OMG I'm like SO excited to see the totally tubular FTB, chyah! (I've worked hard to learn to talk like a cool californian, impressive, huh?)
You guys wanna carpool to NYJ on Saturday?
You guys wanna carpool to NYJ on Saturday?
"I contend we are both atheists, I just believe in one fewer god than you do. When you understand why you dismiss all the other possible gods, you will understand why I dismiss yours."
Emily Kulczyk
Emily Kulczyk
37 two ball juggling with the left.
53 with the right.
drilled paradox drifter paradox whirl
worked ps whirl, baroque, highopplanes drifter, paradox blender.
Will ask eric about ride.
53 with the right.
drilled paradox drifter paradox whirl
worked ps whirl, baroque, highopplanes drifter, paradox blender.
Will ask eric about ride.
"...You have to get, really, practice, like eight hours every day. Then you get good level and then you can compete....There is no money, so players are like big family and that is what I -like" -Vasek-
Reid Strellner
Reid Strellner
Alright, so people don't like my additions to the blog because they lack descriptions. I'll try to make this blog not so lame.
NYJ
Night before day 1.
Emily calls me wondering by what means we will make it to the event. I don't know. I call my brother; he says call my father. I do so. My dad says he will drive. Excellent!. I call Emily back. We decide on our rendezvous for the next morning.
Day 1- early
Nine in the morning is too early for the snow to break a sweat. Don't ask me why. My father and I arrive at the Highland park train station in the white pickup. Diesel only. The humidity from the light precipitation erects the downy hair on the nape of my neck and riffles the ragweed on my chest. Emily is supposed to arrive at 9:10. I illuminate my front screen to my phone and see it is 9:12. I open my phone to call Emily, but there is no need I already have her on the line. Coincidence? I think so. Emily spots the truck and I spot Emily. I leave the vehicle and am greeted with a friendly hug. I help Emily with her bag, and place it in a tote in the back of the pickup. Emily and I secure the lid with some rope. Her knot bests my knot. I leave my own bag out in the open in the back. After all, there is nothing in there that can't handle a light drizzle. We leave the train station. Rain pours from the heavens. Emily nor I is wearing a seatbelt. A tinge of worry is visible on Emily's face. A few miles on the road without the drenching ceasing I ask my dad to pull over. Under protection from a bridge, I avoid the rain and climb into the back of the pickup and put my bag in a tote as well. My hands check the bag for moisture and luckily there isn't much. Emily has found her seat belt by the time I return to my seat. My seat belt finds its way secured as well. Our trio continues into the city in search of cheese and catching up all the way.
Cheese will not be found. We were lead astray, but received an excellent tour of parts of the city. I could not tell you which parts. Time passed, and NYJ was in our nostrils. Though not yet at the event, the smells of sweat, bird-shot, children's vomit, deep dish pizza, and burning Laver bottoms penetrated our olfactory systems.
McCormick Place enters into our vision. Stop. Red light means stop. Left arrow. We turn. Orange cones. No ice cream. Door opens. "Thanks dad." Bags out of the truck-bed. Walk a little. Enter McCormick place. Huge and inviting. Up. Up again. Steel stairs that move. Turn right. Walk 150 paces. Stop. Wave to Erik Chan. Familiar strangers. Notice look of awkwardness from Chan. Begins New Years Jam!
NYJ
Night before day 1.
Emily calls me wondering by what means we will make it to the event. I don't know. I call my brother; he says call my father. I do so. My dad says he will drive. Excellent!. I call Emily back. We decide on our rendezvous for the next morning.
Day 1- early
Nine in the morning is too early for the snow to break a sweat. Don't ask me why. My father and I arrive at the Highland park train station in the white pickup. Diesel only. The humidity from the light precipitation erects the downy hair on the nape of my neck and riffles the ragweed on my chest. Emily is supposed to arrive at 9:10. I illuminate my front screen to my phone and see it is 9:12. I open my phone to call Emily, but there is no need I already have her on the line. Coincidence? I think so. Emily spots the truck and I spot Emily. I leave the vehicle and am greeted with a friendly hug. I help Emily with her bag, and place it in a tote in the back of the pickup. Emily and I secure the lid with some rope. Her knot bests my knot. I leave my own bag out in the open in the back. After all, there is nothing in there that can't handle a light drizzle. We leave the train station. Rain pours from the heavens. Emily nor I is wearing a seatbelt. A tinge of worry is visible on Emily's face. A few miles on the road without the drenching ceasing I ask my dad to pull over. Under protection from a bridge, I avoid the rain and climb into the back of the pickup and put my bag in a tote as well. My hands check the bag for moisture and luckily there isn't much. Emily has found her seat belt by the time I return to my seat. My seat belt finds its way secured as well. Our trio continues into the city in search of cheese and catching up all the way.
Cheese will not be found. We were lead astray, but received an excellent tour of parts of the city. I could not tell you which parts. Time passed, and NYJ was in our nostrils. Though not yet at the event, the smells of sweat, bird-shot, children's vomit, deep dish pizza, and burning Laver bottoms penetrated our olfactory systems.
McCormick Place enters into our vision. Stop. Red light means stop. Left arrow. We turn. Orange cones. No ice cream. Door opens. "Thanks dad." Bags out of the truck-bed. Walk a little. Enter McCormick place. Huge and inviting. Up. Up again. Steel stairs that move. Turn right. Walk 150 paces. Stop. Wave to Erik Chan. Familiar strangers. Notice look of awkwardness from Chan. Begins New Years Jam!
"...You have to get, really, practice, like eight hours every day. Then you get good level and then you can compete....There is no money, so players are like big family and that is what I -like" -Vasek-
Reid Strellner
Reid Strellner
most ridiculous reid blog post eversorry to put you on the spot Mr. Chan.
Day 1 - Daytime
Life begins with a single cell that multiplies through the process of cell division. Cells differentiate to begin their roles in organogenesis and tissue construction. The cell is the functional unit of life. The functional unit of the footbagger is not the foot, but the cell as well. A footbagger is a living entity with it's own cells full of genetic print. Just as DNA has changed over time and made it possible for different species to occupy this earth, it has also shaped footbag players into their own unique selves with different styles and personalities.
The entrance of Emily into a footbag site is something to behold. Emily knows everyone, but that is an understatement that does not reference upon which terms she know everyone. The smiles on footbaggers faces as Emily approaches gives an idea to what extent her friendship and great qualities are appreciated.
As Emily embraces her friends with a hug, I stand back for an introduction to the people I do not know, and say hello again to those I already do know. Waylon is the first. I extend my hand. He extends his. We are introduced. The meeting is brief and formal as both of us seem to have our first day jitters upon us. As the three days pass Waylon and I will interact more.
Erik Chan is the next person I'm officially introduced to. Meeting Erik Chan is scary for me. Not because he is a scary person, he is not, but because I'm worried about the impression I will make on him. From the beginning of my footbag career I have seen numerous videos of Mr. Chan and seen the respect he receives from the community. When I finally felt my skills adequate enough to submit videos to the forum Erik has always been one of the first to respond with praise and feedback. Upon finally meeting him, I'm confirmed of his great character, but find myself a bit restrained.
Hoping to relieve some tension and allow me to open up more, I decide to footbag. I put my shorts and footbag shoes on, say hello to the CIC and Scotty D, and then go warm up. Footbag..Footbag.... Blah.Blah.Blah.
more write up soon[/i]
Day 1 - Daytime
Life begins with a single cell that multiplies through the process of cell division. Cells differentiate to begin their roles in organogenesis and tissue construction. The cell is the functional unit of life. The functional unit of the footbagger is not the foot, but the cell as well. A footbagger is a living entity with it's own cells full of genetic print. Just as DNA has changed over time and made it possible for different species to occupy this earth, it has also shaped footbag players into their own unique selves with different styles and personalities.
The entrance of Emily into a footbag site is something to behold. Emily knows everyone, but that is an understatement that does not reference upon which terms she know everyone. The smiles on footbaggers faces as Emily approaches gives an idea to what extent her friendship and great qualities are appreciated.
As Emily embraces her friends with a hug, I stand back for an introduction to the people I do not know, and say hello again to those I already do know. Waylon is the first. I extend my hand. He extends his. We are introduced. The meeting is brief and formal as both of us seem to have our first day jitters upon us. As the three days pass Waylon and I will interact more.
Erik Chan is the next person I'm officially introduced to. Meeting Erik Chan is scary for me. Not because he is a scary person, he is not, but because I'm worried about the impression I will make on him. From the beginning of my footbag career I have seen numerous videos of Mr. Chan and seen the respect he receives from the community. When I finally felt my skills adequate enough to submit videos to the forum Erik has always been one of the first to respond with praise and feedback. Upon finally meeting him, I'm confirmed of his great character, but find myself a bit restrained.
Hoping to relieve some tension and allow me to open up more, I decide to footbag. I put my shorts and footbag shoes on, say hello to the CIC and Scotty D, and then go warm up. Footbag..Footbag.... Blah.Blah.Blah.
more write up soon[/i]
"...You have to get, really, practice, like eight hours every day. Then you get good level and then you can compete....There is no money, so players are like big family and that is what I -like" -Vasek-
Reid Strellner
Reid Strellner
That's how I felt about almost everyone there, especially with it being my first tourney/jam. It's like, whether I've seen videos or pictures or I'm just recognizing names, I felt like I was pressured into giving the best impression I could, which kind of threw my conversational skills out the window. I'm just glad everyone's so nice.From the beginning of my footbag career I have seen numerous videos of Mr. Chan and seen the respect he receives from the community. When I finally felt my skills adequate enough to submit videos to the forum Erik has always been one of the first to respond with praise and feedback. Upon finally meeting him, I'm confirmed of his great character, but find myself a bit restrained.
But anyway, continue.
Thank you Grant.
Where did I leave off? Oh yes...
The smell of burning flesh served as a harbinger for the flaming zombies. I turned and ran for my dear Beatrice, but it was too late she was gone. Overtaken by the zombies she was now one of them. Through the shroud of fire that ensheathed her body I could only recognize her by the brilliance that was her blue eye (the one that wasn't gouged out). And it still captivated me. Love still warmed my heart upon her gaze. I knew what I must do. She could not come back to me, but I could go to her! She compelled me to her. No more running. There would be no more running for me! I threw myself into Beatrice's flames. A conflagration tour through my viscera. I was reborn stronger, wiser, and faster than before! Best of all... I was with my beatrice.
Day 1 continued.
I hopped around to several circles. Grant was in one. Grant and I have met on several occasions. The first time at Navy Pier if my memory suits me. I remember being impressed with Grant's shred the first time we met, especially after hearing for how little of time he has been playing. I gave him advice that day, as I do to many people who do not need it or want it. At the time I felt he fit into both those categories, but in retrospect it may have been jitters in disguise. He is still young and impressionable. Cancel that. He is still young. Grant seems to carry a passion for his endeavors that comes from no external influence. It can be seen in his footbag, in his writings, and his music. Playing with Grant at NYJ I could see frustration in his eyes. He was not on top of his game and like a true champion this tore at him. The inability to perform where it is most appreciated is motivation for some and defeat for others. No hesitation comes from me when I say Grant will use the past as motivation. He is young and determined, and we shall see much more from him. However, after a brief shred circle together, he and I did not interact much more.
Due to my laziness my NYJ write up is long overdue, and many of my memories of it are becoming less descriptive. I will do my best to remember and hopefully transitions will arise from one memory to another and the synapses in my brain will fire with such speed that I will give the grandiose event its just deserve.
I remember going in and out of consciousness when I introduced myself to Honza Weber. I had decided to take a break form shredding. H.G., Emily, Mr. Hanson, Webslinger, and myself decide to explore the rest of the Mccormick place. Before the event I had pretty much just decided to avoid Honza and ogle him from a distance but fate had brought us together and the opportunity was now or never. I extended my hand as I have done so many times before. And with a crack of my voice I said "Hi, I'm Reid." In response a moderately firm handshake and a reply bearing a moderate eastern European accent said "Hello. I'm Honza," or something of that matter. I cannot really remember. That was one of my black out moments. I was like a little school girl with her first crush. Honza and I talked a little more, but that would be our last conversation at the event. He would soon injure himself and leave to seclusion somewhere.
We will pick up later with racing Henry and Kicking the soccer ball.
Where did I leave off? Oh yes...
The smell of burning flesh served as a harbinger for the flaming zombies. I turned and ran for my dear Beatrice, but it was too late she was gone. Overtaken by the zombies she was now one of them. Through the shroud of fire that ensheathed her body I could only recognize her by the brilliance that was her blue eye (the one that wasn't gouged out). And it still captivated me. Love still warmed my heart upon her gaze. I knew what I must do. She could not come back to me, but I could go to her! She compelled me to her. No more running. There would be no more running for me! I threw myself into Beatrice's flames. A conflagration tour through my viscera. I was reborn stronger, wiser, and faster than before! Best of all... I was with my beatrice.
Day 1 continued.
I hopped around to several circles. Grant was in one. Grant and I have met on several occasions. The first time at Navy Pier if my memory suits me. I remember being impressed with Grant's shred the first time we met, especially after hearing for how little of time he has been playing. I gave him advice that day, as I do to many people who do not need it or want it. At the time I felt he fit into both those categories, but in retrospect it may have been jitters in disguise. He is still young and impressionable. Cancel that. He is still young. Grant seems to carry a passion for his endeavors that comes from no external influence. It can be seen in his footbag, in his writings, and his music. Playing with Grant at NYJ I could see frustration in his eyes. He was not on top of his game and like a true champion this tore at him. The inability to perform where it is most appreciated is motivation for some and defeat for others. No hesitation comes from me when I say Grant will use the past as motivation. He is young and determined, and we shall see much more from him. However, after a brief shred circle together, he and I did not interact much more.
Due to my laziness my NYJ write up is long overdue, and many of my memories of it are becoming less descriptive. I will do my best to remember and hopefully transitions will arise from one memory to another and the synapses in my brain will fire with such speed that I will give the grandiose event its just deserve.
I remember going in and out of consciousness when I introduced myself to Honza Weber. I had decided to take a break form shredding. H.G., Emily, Mr. Hanson, Webslinger, and myself decide to explore the rest of the Mccormick place. Before the event I had pretty much just decided to avoid Honza and ogle him from a distance but fate had brought us together and the opportunity was now or never. I extended my hand as I have done so many times before. And with a crack of my voice I said "Hi, I'm Reid." In response a moderately firm handshake and a reply bearing a moderate eastern European accent said "Hello. I'm Honza," or something of that matter. I cannot really remember. That was one of my black out moments. I was like a little school girl with her first crush. Honza and I talked a little more, but that would be our last conversation at the event. He would soon injure himself and leave to seclusion somewhere.
We will pick up later with racing Henry and Kicking the soccer ball.
"...You have to get, really, practice, like eight hours every day. Then you get good level and then you can compete....There is no money, so players are like big family and that is what I -like" -Vasek-
Reid Strellner
Reid Strellner
-
Frank_Sinatra
- Avenging Disco Godfather
- Posts: 1660
- Joined: 09 Jan 2007 12:43
- Location: Chicago, IL
Thanks Reid 
Its too bad we couldn't hang out and talk more, but I was only there 2 of the days and I didn't stay at the suite (and when I was at the site, I was mostly playing and jumping circle to circle).
I'm glad you mentioned my music and writings. A lot of times I post a bunch of stuff that I basically think nobody listens to/reads. But maybe more people do than I imagine.
Its too bad we couldn't hang out and talk more, but I was only there 2 of the days and I didn't stay at the suite (and when I was at the site, I was mostly playing and jumping circle to circle).I'm glad you mentioned my music and writings. A lot of times I post a bunch of stuff that I basically think nobody listens to/reads. But maybe more people do than I imagine.
Wow, I don't know how I missed those posts. I'm almost glad I did though, because now that NYJ isn't as fresh in my mind having the memories rush back is even better. Thanks Reid, I'm enjoying your write-up SO much.
"I contend we are both atheists, I just believe in one fewer god than you do. When you understand why you dismiss all the other possible gods, you will understand why I dismiss yours."
Emily Kulczyk
Emily Kulczyk
I'm sick of being a Atomsmashasaurus Dex
I want to be something cool like
Norwegian water beast
or something like that.
I want to be something cool like
Norwegian water beast
or something like that.
"...You have to get, really, practice, like eight hours every day. Then you get good level and then you can compete....There is no money, so players are like big family and that is what I -like" -Vasek-
Reid Strellner
Reid Strellner
-
CIC flurry
- Amazingly Sexy Man-Beast
- Posts: 3426
- Joined: 28 May 2003 16:06
- Location: Chicago
Thanks Tom. Your amity is always appreciated.
Todays blithe session:
I was feeling very puissant and capable of many things, and despite my lavers being sullied by road salt, this indeed was the case. I warmed up with butterfly infiniti drill until i did twenty contacts. Then I continued warm up with spinning miraging, and spinning legover moves. After a little warming I worked paradox doubles, and gyro doubles. I made some attempt at toe spinning mirage. I was able to hit it on both sides, but it seems pulled. If anyone has advice on it let me know. Mainly my footwork is torpid. I worked barlfys and blurriest for five minutes. Farswirls a bit. Pswhirl I had about 66 % consistency on it for both sides. I BSOSed PSwhirl ripwalk in a run. Also pswhirl swirl both sidesish. Rolled off my left swirl.
NYJ COntinued.
Note: I'm studying for the GRE. My weakest component is Vocabulary, so if you see words that just don't seem natural. I'm sorry it is my way of studying vocabulary.
I'm going to try and exhume as much of what I remember as I can. Henry and I decided to race in the obstacle course. Yes it may have been a bit callow, but it seemed like so much fun and that's extraneous to my story. Henry is a most peculiar character. He was raised on the Bayou and he wrestled cantankerous crocodiles (or maybe it was alligators) most of his childhood collecting the meat. Later Henry would use these skills to start a career as a professional wrestler. He was known as the "Gator Hater." But that career was evanescent because he fell in love. Henry had mingled with another professional wrestler by the name of Wilheim The Rock Rockey who was always very laudatory towards Wisconsin. Henry had to see the wonderful land of cheese and cheese for himself. It was love at first nibble. Putting his fallacious dreams of being a professional wrestler aside, Henry began a new path as a Wisconsin Dairy Farmer. The farm specialized in cheese curd production. One day when Henry was riding one of his many manses that were present on the farm he fell and struck his head. Henry awoke with a glorious idea. He could shape the cheese curds into little balls and kick them with his feet. Henry revolutionized the sport of footbag with his epiphany towards the use of random objects as footbags. Monkeys, cellphones, and almost any other random object have been incorporated into the sport. Arias have been created as paeans to Henry.
I knew I would have a hard time beating Henry in the race through the obstacle course, with his alligator wrestling background as it was, but I was not prepared for what happened. At the sound of the gun Henry was off like he was trying to escape perdition. A blur, that was Henry, flew through the first obstacle, and by the time I managed to get through myself, Henry was already done with the entire course. I finished up, and a little dour and beaten I returned to the group. Henry seemed unaware of his feat and was the most composed an nonchalant as he could be. The course was easy for him, and I now felt the fear that every Crocodile felt towards Henry. If you have any credence in what I say, I implore you to never ever race Henry.
Our group founds it way to a baseball throwing booth. There was a radar that would tell us the speed. A little girl got up and through the ball as fast as she could and the radar read off twenty five miles per hour. I followed, and with all might in my body I threw that ball. The omniscient radar displayed a measly fifteen miles per hour. My feet were full of dregs and I felt like the chaff from a fall winnowing was digging in my stomach.
We moved to the next station, soccer, or futbol to most of the world. Again a radar haunted the scene with an peremptory presence. Mike Hanson would be the first to attempt to inter the ball. Mike Hanson and I go way back. He may not know it but we had a bit of a rivalry going on. Mike has been at NYJ for at least as long a I have. He was competition when I was playing intermediate. For a few years a let my competitive nature take its hold on me, and I was stubborn towards people near my skill level. Now however, I have come to realize that I was foolish child, and in my new urbanity I am more appreciative of people. Mike Hanson has turned out to be a very nice guy and I enjoy hanging out with him at NYJ every year.
Mike began his kick with a wind up, and it went right into the goal. The radar read a respectable speed and that was that. Emily made her soccer debut, and as if she loathed the radar as much as me, in a brazen move she kicked the soccer ball right into the radar crushing it to pieces. Glory, Glory , Halleluyah! I felt as if my day had been saved. With a smile on my face I took my attempt. The ball sliced left about a goal and a half wide and went bouncing through the hoards of people. The ball was recovered, and I made a second attempt. Deja vu. The crowd was stunned and the ball was running away as fast as it could. I decided to stop, and the man running the booth felt our group had had enough soccer, but Henry was determined to have his go at it and insisted he try. So he did. Deja vu.
David Clavens is a very modish dresser.
Todays blithe session:
I was feeling very puissant and capable of many things, and despite my lavers being sullied by road salt, this indeed was the case. I warmed up with butterfly infiniti drill until i did twenty contacts. Then I continued warm up with spinning miraging, and spinning legover moves. After a little warming I worked paradox doubles, and gyro doubles. I made some attempt at toe spinning mirage. I was able to hit it on both sides, but it seems pulled. If anyone has advice on it let me know. Mainly my footwork is torpid. I worked barlfys and blurriest for five minutes. Farswirls a bit. Pswhirl I had about 66 % consistency on it for both sides. I BSOSed PSwhirl ripwalk in a run. Also pswhirl swirl both sidesish. Rolled off my left swirl.
NYJ COntinued.
Note: I'm studying for the GRE. My weakest component is Vocabulary, so if you see words that just don't seem natural. I'm sorry it is my way of studying vocabulary.
I'm going to try and exhume as much of what I remember as I can. Henry and I decided to race in the obstacle course. Yes it may have been a bit callow, but it seemed like so much fun and that's extraneous to my story. Henry is a most peculiar character. He was raised on the Bayou and he wrestled cantankerous crocodiles (or maybe it was alligators) most of his childhood collecting the meat. Later Henry would use these skills to start a career as a professional wrestler. He was known as the "Gator Hater." But that career was evanescent because he fell in love. Henry had mingled with another professional wrestler by the name of Wilheim The Rock Rockey who was always very laudatory towards Wisconsin. Henry had to see the wonderful land of cheese and cheese for himself. It was love at first nibble. Putting his fallacious dreams of being a professional wrestler aside, Henry began a new path as a Wisconsin Dairy Farmer. The farm specialized in cheese curd production. One day when Henry was riding one of his many manses that were present on the farm he fell and struck his head. Henry awoke with a glorious idea. He could shape the cheese curds into little balls and kick them with his feet. Henry revolutionized the sport of footbag with his epiphany towards the use of random objects as footbags. Monkeys, cellphones, and almost any other random object have been incorporated into the sport. Arias have been created as paeans to Henry.
I knew I would have a hard time beating Henry in the race through the obstacle course, with his alligator wrestling background as it was, but I was not prepared for what happened. At the sound of the gun Henry was off like he was trying to escape perdition. A blur, that was Henry, flew through the first obstacle, and by the time I managed to get through myself, Henry was already done with the entire course. I finished up, and a little dour and beaten I returned to the group. Henry seemed unaware of his feat and was the most composed an nonchalant as he could be. The course was easy for him, and I now felt the fear that every Crocodile felt towards Henry. If you have any credence in what I say, I implore you to never ever race Henry.
Our group founds it way to a baseball throwing booth. There was a radar that would tell us the speed. A little girl got up and through the ball as fast as she could and the radar read off twenty five miles per hour. I followed, and with all might in my body I threw that ball. The omniscient radar displayed a measly fifteen miles per hour. My feet were full of dregs and I felt like the chaff from a fall winnowing was digging in my stomach.
We moved to the next station, soccer, or futbol to most of the world. Again a radar haunted the scene with an peremptory presence. Mike Hanson would be the first to attempt to inter the ball. Mike Hanson and I go way back. He may not know it but we had a bit of a rivalry going on. Mike has been at NYJ for at least as long a I have. He was competition when I was playing intermediate. For a few years a let my competitive nature take its hold on me, and I was stubborn towards people near my skill level. Now however, I have come to realize that I was foolish child, and in my new urbanity I am more appreciative of people. Mike Hanson has turned out to be a very nice guy and I enjoy hanging out with him at NYJ every year.
Mike began his kick with a wind up, and it went right into the goal. The radar read a respectable speed and that was that. Emily made her soccer debut, and as if she loathed the radar as much as me, in a brazen move she kicked the soccer ball right into the radar crushing it to pieces. Glory, Glory , Halleluyah! I felt as if my day had been saved. With a smile on my face I took my attempt. The ball sliced left about a goal and a half wide and went bouncing through the hoards of people. The ball was recovered, and I made a second attempt. Deja vu. The crowd was stunned and the ball was running away as fast as it could. I decided to stop, and the man running the booth felt our group had had enough soccer, but Henry was determined to have his go at it and insisted he try. So he did. Deja vu.
David Clavens is a very modish dresser.
"...You have to get, really, practice, like eight hours every day. Then you get good level and then you can compete....There is no money, so players are like big family and that is what I -like" -Vasek-
Reid Strellner
Reid Strellner
-
CIC flurry
- Amazingly Sexy Man-Beast
- Posts: 3426
- Joined: 28 May 2003 16:06
- Location: Chicago
I want to do something with this.
more NYJ write up coming soon.
Will Smith wrote: Now this is a story all about how
My life got flipsided, double over down
And I'd like to take a minute just sit right there
I'll tell you how I became the footbagger of a town called Bel-Air
In Chilly Philly born and raised
On the playground is where I spent most of my days
Duckin' out, divin', weavin', all cool
And all shootin' some torques outside of the school
When a couple footbaggers who were kicking really good
Started shreddin it up in my neighborhood
I got in one little circle with my man schneider
he said, "You're movin' with Abshire and Crook in Bel-Air."
I kicked and shredded with him day after day,
But he packed my thirty-two and sent me on my way
He gave me some tips and then he gave me my ticket
I put my lavers on and said, "I might as well kick it."
Five adds, yo this is bad
Busting ripwarriors back to back
Is this what the shredders of Bel-Air kickin� like?
Hmm...this might be alright!
I whistled for a cab and when it came near
The license plate said �good sesh� and it had dice on the mirror
If anything I could say that this was Weber
But I thought, "Nah, Czech it. Yo home to Bel-Air!"
I pulled some big adds about 7 or 8
And I yelled to the cabby, �yo honza school ya later�
Looked at my kingdom I was finally there
To sit on my throne as the footbagger of Bel-Air.
more NYJ write up coming soon.
"...You have to get, really, practice, like eight hours every day. Then you get good level and then you can compete....There is no money, so players are like big family and that is what I -like" -Vasek-
Reid Strellner
Reid Strellner
New years jam write up continued coming soon.
I've been playing pretty consistently lately. Each day, my game trancends to a new level. When I first started footbag I felt that most of the moves were impossible. Watching scorpions tail made me feel sick to my stomach as double around the world felt so far away to me. A few years ago I felt many moves were possible for me, but some were only allowed for people of czech genetics, namely vasek, honza and ales. About a year ago, I felt every move was possible if only I put manyhours into them. Within these last three months, I have progressed more than within my entire nine years of playing footbag. Now I just don't feel all the moves and combos are possible, I'm actually executing them and at what I feel is an incredible rate.
Highlights:
Scorpions tail- moderately easy
Vortex- easy
gyro double- easy
gyro barrage- easy (I hit seven of them alternating sides in one run)
toe flurry- difficult, but bsosed it and know it will become easy.
blurriest>blurriest
blurriest> spinning whirl> scorpion
whirling swirl- easy
furious set- progressing rapidly
vortex> flurry- both sides several times
swirl- 15 strong 8 weak
For the past two weeks I have succesfully managed to hit a new move or combo every day I've played.
P torque- moderately easy
mobious- moderately easy
ps whirl- progressing rapidly
"the drill"- look out!
Well, that is all I can think of off hand. I'm going to go have a short session.
I've been playing pretty consistently lately. Each day, my game trancends to a new level. When I first started footbag I felt that most of the moves were impossible. Watching scorpions tail made me feel sick to my stomach as double around the world felt so far away to me. A few years ago I felt many moves were possible for me, but some were only allowed for people of czech genetics, namely vasek, honza and ales. About a year ago, I felt every move was possible if only I put manyhours into them. Within these last three months, I have progressed more than within my entire nine years of playing footbag. Now I just don't feel all the moves and combos are possible, I'm actually executing them and at what I feel is an incredible rate.
Highlights:
Scorpions tail- moderately easy
Vortex- easy
gyro double- easy
gyro barrage- easy (I hit seven of them alternating sides in one run)
toe flurry- difficult, but bsosed it and know it will become easy.
blurriest>blurriest
blurriest> spinning whirl> scorpion
whirling swirl- easy
furious set- progressing rapidly
vortex> flurry- both sides several times
swirl- 15 strong 8 weak
For the past two weeks I have succesfully managed to hit a new move or combo every day I've played.
P torque- moderately easy
mobious- moderately easy
ps whirl- progressing rapidly
"the drill"- look out!
Well, that is all I can think of off hand. I'm going to go have a short session.
"...You have to get, really, practice, like eight hours every day. Then you get good level and then you can compete....There is no money, so players are like big family and that is what I -like" -Vasek-
Reid Strellner
Reid Strellner