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For Curtis

Of all the people in the world to be taken away from us way too soon, I am in absolute shock that it had to be Curtis. Curtis crossed over on Tuesday October 3, leaving his loving and wonderful wife Maria and three small children.

I met Curtis 24 years ago, at college around 1982. I had the distinct pleasure of being his friend and teammate in the prime of his life - with the Brockport Flying Dogs from 1982-84, with Life in 1985 and Spot in 1986, and with National and World champion NYNY in 1987-89.

Pictured above is Dave Chaiken (L) and Curtis (R, with blue & white shirt), probably around 1984-5. Looks like Curtis just let loose a mighty backhand airbounce, one of his many signature throws. Because we were so competitive, I never told him how much I wanted to emulate that throw.

I can now admit what everyone already knew: Curtis was the best.

I was lucky - I got to play *with* Curtis, instead of *against* him. He was the Clark Kent of Ultimate - the most mild mannered, polite and humble player around. He exemplified Ultimate's spirit of the game, which places the responsibility of fair play, mutual respect, and most of all, joy, squarely on the players.

Cleats were to Curtis what the cape was to Superman. When he laced up, he was one tough hombre. His offense was unstoppable. He was fleet-footed and confident with great disc skills. No one threw a heavier hammer, a faster flick or a better backhand. High throw? No problem. Curtis could sky like he had springs for shins.

Heaven help you if he lined up against you on "D" - he had speed, tenacity, wits and guts. Curtis covered you like a blanket, he got in your socks like athlete's foot, and was twice as tough to lose.

While most people only dream of playing for the best team in the world, Curtis and I were lucky enough to help New York New York (NYNY) win their first National and World championships in 1987-88. NYNY was a juggernaut that went on to win six out of seven and five consecutive National and World titles from 1987-1993. But there was nothing like the magic of winning that first year, the start of the NYNY dynasty.

My favorite Curtis 'moment' was at the National Ultimate Championship games in 1987 in Miami Florida. Curtis and I were practicing on the field before the big game against Chicago's Windy City, the reigning National Champions. The wind was howling that day, making it the eighth player on the field, giving the team from the windy city a distinct advantage - on paper, at least.

I was about 10 yards deep in the end zone, cutting hard from the middle of the field towards the left sideline. Curtis was on the playing field about 25 yards away. He kept humming that backhand airbounce to me, seemingly oblivious to the breeze blasting right in his face, toying with wind and gravity like a GoD.

I would catch the disc, and with the strong wind behind me, flick a fast forehand back to Curtis, which he effortlessly and gracefully grabbed with a loud *thwack!* Then I'd return to the middle of the end zone and make the exact same cut, with Curtis zipping that perfect airbounce my way. Again and again we did this, the same cut, the same beautiful throw, over and over.

Looking back now, I realize that Curtis and I never did this before, and subsequently, we never did it again. Our normal warmup consisted of running all over the field, trying different throws and catches with various teammates.

But the wind held steady, the angle was perfect, no one else was around, and we were both having a really good time. Maybe we were just burning off nervous energy - neither of us had been to the Nationals before. But there was such a pure, sweet, unspoken feeling about it. We just kept running the same pattern till the start of the game broke up our single-minded folly.

The game started and, as usual, our teammates on NYNY marched relentlessly up the 120-yard field. The play was developing in such a way that Curtis was about to receive the disc in the exact same spot where we had been practicing before the game, on the left side of the field about 30 yards away from our goal line.

The difference between a good player and a champion is a keen "field sense," which is the ability to know - without looking around - not only where each player *is* on the field, but also where they are *going.*

To Curtis, "field sense" came as natural and relaxed as breathing.

There was no way Curtis could have "seen" me - I was 30 yards behind him at mid-field and way over on the opposite, right sideline. No one on Chicago, or even NYNY, had any idea what was about to happen next.

No one, that is, except me and Curtis.

Instinct kicked in. I flew straight up the right sideline, escaping my defender so quickly that he just stopped, either unable or unwilling to keep up. When I reached our sacred, secret spot about 10 yards into the end zone, I cut hard to the left without even looking at Curtis.

Though our eyes never met, Curtis "knew" where I was, and where I was going.

You see, Curtis and I were deep in the "zone" or "flow," that mystical place where you do the right thing without thinking. Everyone else seems to be playing in slow motion. You don't see players on the field, just empty spaces into which you either throw the disc, or run to catch a disc thrown by your teammate. You don't think. You just run, catch, throw, and repeat as necessary.

Curtis was naturally tuned into the "zone."

Without hesitating or even looking my way, Curtis grabbed the disc with his back to me and began to coil his body up like a tightly-wound spring. When he uncoiled, he transferred every bit of energy from his muscular, 175-pound body into that aerodynamic, 175-ounce plastic disc. With a final, ferocious *snap* of his wrist, the disc flew from his hand, waist high, spinning so fast that it - in fact - defied gravity.

For the first 10-15 yards, the disc dipped down towards the green grass, coming within just a few inches of hitting the ground. To the untrained eye, this throw was about to become a worm-burner, a grounder, a turn-over.

But thanks to the massive spin Curtis put on the disc, combined with a hurricane-like headwind and the build-up of air pressure between the spinning disc and the ground, the disc slowly began to rise, like a yo-yo on an invisible string, higher and higher as it came towards me over those remaining 15 yards.

As I cut to our pre-ordained spot in the end-zone, the disc continued to rise up until it returned to waist-height. Then it just hovered in place, directly in front of me, like a tiny plastic space ship straight out of the Jetsons, greeting my open, eager hands like an old friend.

It was a 'strike' right in my gut. Goal! The best backhand airbounce evah.

Curtis and I had been through it all - scrapes and wood-burns on our knees from defensive diving on the floors of indoor gyms from Rochester to SUNY Buffalo ("only wimps wear pads"), frostbitten fingers from winter games on the frozen shores of Lake Ontario, windburned and sunburned faces from three-day weekend tournaments at SUNY Purchase or "Zoo" Mass-Amherst.

After all those years of playing together, we now shared something we had only dreamed about. Two chuckleheads from SUNY "Brock-apulco" had just connected for a goal at the US National Championships.

I was so excited that I threw the disc in the air and ran to Curtis to give him a high five and a massive bear hug. At the time, and to this day, we never mentioned anything about the pattern that we had practiced just minutes before the game. We didnt have to. We just knew.

We were celebrating much more than just a goal. We were celebrating the fact that, with focused energy and intent, people can actually bend and shape reality. Curtis had willed the goal into being - just like he imagined it in practice.

Opponents ran in slow-motion, the field was full of holes instead of players, and time stood still. At that moment, there was nothing except Curtis, me and a flying disc.

The memory is etched in my mind as if it was yesterday. But it was 20 years ago.

I'm sure Curtis is up in heaven now, tossing a squillion-mile long, inter-galactic backhand airbounce to a lucky extraterrestrial, with no need to compensate for the earthbound restrictions of gravity, wind, time and space that he so easily mastered when he played the game in this physical world.

Must be one sweet toss. For Curtis, I'd chase that disc down any day.

Rest in peace buddy. You were one of a kind. Thanks for the memories.

The photo above was taken after NYNY beat Chicago's Windy City to win the 1987 National championships in Miami, Florida. Curtis is in the middle row all the way to the right, smiling that huge, boyish Curtis Wagner smile, standing and bent over with hands on knees, sporting a black tee-shirt with Mickey Mouse on it.

Appropriately, the man standing to his right is Skip Kuhn, one of Curtis's oldest and dearest friends, who loyally and faithfully stood by Curtis the day he passed.

That's me standing behind "team mom" Dobyns, with Doctor King's white doctor's smock on, showing off the Mickey Mouse pin on my lapel.

I have been out of touch with these friends, colleagues and memories for too long. I miss the "Flyng" Dogs (our spelling-challenged state school), Life, Spot, NYNY, my teammates, my opponents, and playing Ultimate.

And I miss you already, Curtis, most of all.

For the first time in about a decade, I want to go outside, feel the warm sun on my face, the grass under my bare feet, the wind at my back, and just huck a disc around. Life is precious and way too short. So stop reading this right now, turn off your computer and get outside and have some fun.

Practice your backhand, which I will refer to from now on as the "Curtis Airbounce." Maybe someday you'll throw it for a goal at the National championships.

Gas prices decline - Offer good till November 7

What a nice October surprise - gas prices are down! How is that possible, especially in the middle of hurricane season and with continued instability in the middle east? Is the price of oil being manipulated in advance of the US Presidential election? Nah, that's crazy - that would be a conspiracy, a RICO lawsuit, right ?

"The good news is gasoline analysts say gas prices should drop to $2 a gallon by Thanksgiving. The bad news? Turkey will be $80 a pound." - Jay Leno