Scobel Wiggins Photography

For the Reed Berserk, the most significant factor in setting and reaching goals for the year is the nature of the student body and of college life at Reed. Our small size (1,300) is further exacerbated by the notorious attraction Reed holds for PE-haters and jock-phobes. We recruit the exceptions to this rule heavily, but we also work to find a place on the team for kids who are there for the fun of Ultimate, or just to get their PE requirements out of the way. At Reed, two out of three days of the team practice comprise the PE class—this allows us to pay our coach, but also precludes us from actively holding tryouts and making cuts.

The end result of this is that, en route to the glories of our inevitable national championship, we have the task of teaching a large portion of rookies not just how to play Ultimate, but how to grow into themselves as athletes: to find the 'sprint' gear, to develop an athletic balance, to discover how much easier daily tasks are with a strong body. It's harder, before spring tournaments, to express to rookies the growing place of the team in their lives; from the development of their social network to the shift in priorities when it's finally instilled that individual accountability means more than solely personal results.

The last hurdle is the same logistical problem all but the most committed college teams face: the fluxes of attendance caused by the timing of papers and midterms and finals, of nasty weather, of the schoolwide plagues and first-date anniversaries and injuries and burnout. When I played with the University of Oregon Ego, a single practice absence that wasn't communicated ahead of time landed me in a meeting with the captains. At Reed it's shocking to suggest that academics aren't an immediate, no-need-to-explain-further pass. The difficulties of delivering a consistent practice plan with spotty attendance are obvious. A coach or team can only develop points so far when you're going to have to explain everything at the next practice, and missing one or two key team members can turn what's scheduled to be a physical, gritty practice into the deflating surrender of a low-key conceptual retread.

It's a cliche, but as on any team, players get out what they put in. Some walk away with PE credit, some bail halfway through the quarter to play pool and smoke after classes those two days a week. Soon enough they'll stop being bugged on campus about practice; one more victim of attrition. Others come out in the rain and after a hastily turned-in paper, or are self-aware enough to start projects earlier rather than later, bring cleats to class, and ask for an extension on a take-home. When spring's first tournament comes around, close on the heels of one of those sunny three-day patches of summer's preview, the Berserk cleats up and looks across the field at another team that's made the same journey. After muddy days of sevens at practice, of weighing a paper or a day off against wet cleats and sore muscles, finally the opponent is someone other than ourselves. And they're a lot easier to face.