Bad ankle day for the one on my left. No idea why, and nothing I could do about it. (I'd already taken ibuprofen.) I stopped playing after a couple of points, a big letdown after yesterday. We lost to Syracuse (again). Then, lacking a consolation round, we mixed it up with the Purdue guys and played a silly game.

We drove out to Forsyth, all done playing, to watch the championship games. In the women's final, a composite team of Princeton and Penn defeated Smith. The game was controlled by one handler from Princeton, who capably directed the offense up the field and occasionally drilled hucks, and single-handedly prevented the opposition from doing the same. Unable to do this myself, I enjoyed watching her.

Then, in the men's final, we saw some very high quality Ultimate played by Princeton against Penn. Everyone was well conditioned. Everyone caught reliably. Everyone threw well. I especially remember an amazing dump throw, made with a high stall count and a defender smothering the dumpee, that curved in the air to its destination, just out of the defender's reach. Our team would be out of place against either of these. We cheered for Princeton because they were nice people, as opposed to Penn.

We dined at the Crab Shack, a place on a river a few miles in from the ocean. While waiting for them to clear out some space for our large group, we hung out in the secondary shack, drinking all their water, clearly irking the bartender. Still waiting, I found it necessary to use the facilities to their fullest, and was a bit concerned when I discovered that while there was a facility for preventing outsiders from peering into the facilities, there was no facility for preventing other facility users from peering into my particular facility. I went in when nobody else was there, facilitated just enough to be comfortable, and had just started facilitating hand cleanliness when someone walked in. I'd timed it perfectly to facilitate the maintenance of my privacy. If you think I can't possibly use the word “facilitate” once more, you're wrong: facilitate.

Finally, our team was seated, and Hung, DiPasquo, Hank, and I got ourselves a four-person platter of crab, crayfish, shrimp, mussels, potatoes, corn, and sausage. The seafood was simply boiled; no overbearing spices added, and we had to shell it before eating. The non-seafood items were also excellent. We were incredulous at the amount of butter they'd managed to have the corn absorb. Fantastic stuff. Unfortunately, the turtle cheesecake I chose for my free D-sert was only so-so. But it didn't bother me so much, because as we were gathering up to head downtown, the exquisite Crab Shack greeter kept giving me the eye. I'm not sure which one, and I don't know how many she had, but they just kept coming.

I was tired and had something of a headache. I asked if we could stop at the campsite so I could sleep; the team voted no. Then, once we were downtown, Hank (bless his soul) tried to garner support to fill a van to go back; we were just short. I slept in the van while the rest of the team was out, and when they returned my headache was worse and migraine-like. Finally we all went back to TUSK, where I switched beds in order to be in a dark, quiet room, and got some sleep.

I awoke some hours later, I think, to flash photography. Why? Go away! I have a migraine headache! Leave me alone! Turns out that a drunken idiot from Purdue had joined me in bed, and had peed all over my sleeping bag, shoes, and five-year-old sandals I'd bought in Israel. My headache was even worse now, as you might imagine, so I took 3 ibuprofen. Apologetic teammates of the Mad Urinator offered me a bed in their room, but there was massive snoring going on. I ended up sleeping on the floor of my original room, near my original bed.

The whole evening was pretty funny the next morning, when the headache was gone. But it was a nightmare while it occurred.