I hate bug spray even more than I hate bugs. Or so I thought, until the gnats of Savannah set upon my limbs, leaving splotches of red and yellow that itched like the dickens and other superlative phrases. I hardly slept, waking up several times during the night to scratch for a quarter-hour or so.

In the first few points against the B team from the University of Massachusetts — or as they called themselves, “Zoo” — my feet tightened painfully and I had to sit and knead for half an hour. When looseness returned, I switched into some lighter socks, went back in, and had my best day of Ultimate. We threw a zone on them, with me at deep deep, and I found myself outrunning and outjumping them, swatting down every long throw they made. It was the sort of play I envision when I persuade myself to keep playing: nothing hurt (at least nothing that I noticed), and I moved exactly as I wanted to. I even knocked down a would-be scoring pass with a layout D, which I have never done before, and qualified (along with LaMarca, who skied three Vassar Swinging Monks for a D in their end zone in the next game, and DiPasquo) for free dessert from women's captain Chris Hung.

We did a pretty funky cheer for Zoo, based on “Old MacDonald Had a Farm”, with various team members acting like animals. Kirsch did a flaming T-Rex chasing my impression of Gabe's impression of a raptor. This was widely considered to be humorous and earned plaudits from those on hand. But did Ty record it on video? NOOOO! I guess, to him anyway, Kirsch and I are not hot pieces of ass.

Beach again! We played fantasy box, completely without beer, yet it became very silly anyhow. The idea is that spectators draft players, and get points when their players perform well, for some definition of “well”. Our spectators decided that hammers were worth plenty, which was inconvenient because of the strong wind coming in off the ocean. They then decided that kicking an opponent in the testicles was worth lots and lots of points. Things got nasty in a hurry.

After cleaning up, we checked out River Street. I located a spot called Shenanigan's, which appeared to have opened for business very recently, and partook of generously offered jello shots and a fried green tomato sandwich in the company of Schoonover, Schenck, Sarah, Aaron, and Ilana. I tried the sandwich under the assumption that it would be at least “different”, but it was very good! Strangely, they gave us those jello shots even after we informed them we were not all 21. They didn't seem to mind much. Oh, those wacky laid-back Southerners! What will they do next?