Played Penn, poorly. Normally I enjoy competing against far superior teams because of the challenge, but these guys were (please excuse me) assholes. Ultimate is for happy fun people. Wrong sport to be assholes, assholes.

Played Purdue, somewhat decently. Worth remembering was a high-release backhand I dropped into Kirsch's hands during a weave. Probably my best such throw ever.

Played St. Lawrence, not at all well, but we won. The game suffered because of lots of stupid fighting over calls. Our dominant long, Steve DiPasquo, is also the team's most volatile on-field personality (just ahead of captain Phrank), and he reacted questionably to some questionable calls, rendering the playing atmosphere that much more tenuous. We were all glad to get out of there with a W and hit downtown Savannah in search of relaxation.

The first place we found ended up being pretty good: Devin Michael's Pub, a (to generously downplay the near-psychosis) heavily Guinness-themed establishment. Noisy Paul, Steve of Pasquo, and Phrank had the overly advertised beverage; I instead partook of a giant bottle of Sheaf Stout, an Australian brew introduced to me by Phil Ajjarapu back in the day. Hank, in spite of his unerring judgment and taste, was forbidden to drink some fine beer with us because of a dumb law.

How else shall I put it? Savannah is quite simply gorgeous. My only previous exposure to it had been Clint Eastwood's Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, a languidly paced tale of Southern intrigue. Forsyth Park, the location of today's games, is mentioned by name in the film, and contains the fountain in front of which that weird guy walks a nonexistent dog out of tradition. The weather has been perfect too. Warm for Ultimate, pleasant at night.

Met up with the whole gang at the locally renowned Vinnie Go-Go's pizza joint. We ordered a pitcher of Killian's, and the waitress either didn't hear us correctly or pretended thus, bringing us instead a pitcher of Guinness. Thus tantalized with better beer, we of course couldn't muster the will to arbitrate. If she'd intended to make more money off of us, she couldn't have done any better.

Ty brought along his digital video camera and, prompted by Phrank's discreet phinger-pointing, zoomed past our fearless captain's shoulder to view an attractive woman seated at another table. Since his camera was nearly pointed at Phrank, Ty pretended (unconvincingly) to be talking to him. As though on cue, a waitress walked right into shot and filled the screen with her jean-clad behind. This caused us to laugh hysterically.

We checked out some bars for use on Friday and went back to the campsite to recuperate for day 2 of the tournament.