Throwing Plastic Discs: My Ultimate Frisbee Journey
From catching flyballs in Indonesia to tossing plastic discs at dawn; here’s how ultimate frisbee changed me.
BY: ARTHUR DENNYSON HAMDANI
Photo courtesy of Arthur Dennyson Hamdani // THE UNDERGROUND
Baseball was my introduction to thriving in discomfort. When fifth-grade-me asked my mother if there were any baseball clubs after enjoying tee-ball during Physical Education (PE) class, I introduced sports into my life. Baseball is a rather unpopular sport in Indonesia. Yet, I preferred the thrill of hitting the ball over the more popular sports, soccer and badminton.
My journey in this North American sport began in a club that belonged to another school near mine. Within a few months, I made my way up from the bench to the starting roster in the outfield. When I got the chance to play in my first tournament, I thought I would finish with no hits. I struck out every single game. However, during one match, I swung my cheap, glossy-red bat and lasered a sharp line drive over the shortstop’s head. Adrenaline pumped throughout my body as I clasped my hands into a fist and whispered, “Yes!” while running to first base. My team’s dugout erupted with screams to celebrate my first-ever hit, and I celebrated my first contribution to the team. I proved myself.
As I climbed higher levels, I encountered more physical and mental obstacles. When I competed in the minors, the primary school level, I struggled with bursting out into tears every time I struck out. I was only thinking of not striking out every game. By the time I progressed to majors and juniors, the middle and high school levels, I began overthinking. It wasn’t just about striking out anymore. It was about my fluctuating self-doubts and hitting a plateau in my skills. My coach always said, “baseball is 10% physical and 90% mental.” Without training my mentality, I couldn’t persevere through bad performances and quarrels with my teammates. After every game, the sweat stains on my cap and the dirt and gravel stains on my jerseys and pants show that I did my best for the team and pushed my limits. Throughout five years, I played for Indonesia’s national team, my province’s team, and multiple clubs. Each jersey and cap I wore represented times I stepped out of my comfort zone and worked towards a journey of transformation.
Photo courtesy of Arthur Dennyson Hamdani // THE UNDERGROUND
As I landed in Toronto during my second year of university after an entire year of online school, I was excited to return to the diamond. After all, the University of Toronto Scarborough (UTSC) is the home for the Varsity Blues baseball team, right?
It’s true. Except, I missed the tryouts because of quarantine.
Fortunately, baseball gave me the gift of easily adapting my muscle memory to other sports. I leaped from one sport to another. From showing up unannounced to the Valley for soccer drop-ins, to inconsistently playing table tennis in my residence, to feeling alienated at a volleyball tryout, I was actively searching for my sport. Luckily, I caught a glimpse of a high school memory on an Instagram story that read “UTSC Ultimate Frisbee Tryouts.”
In high school, I had to pause my baseball journey as I studied abroad in China. In search of a new sport to maintain a work-life balance, I met ultimate frisbee (also known as ‘ultimate’). I was in 11th grade. Our resident advisors at the time, who were from the United States of America (USA), coaxed every international “boarder” (read: a non-local student who does not have any place to stay outside our school dorm) out of their room to play by blasting ‘70s-’80s Rock & Roll in the corridors. There were light, opaque discs with neon-green, pink, and blue silicone outer layers flying across the soccer field.
There were about five of us on the first weekend. Then ten. Then we had enough people to play a 7-on-7 scrimmage. We spent the afternoon running and playing in the humid air while ACDC echoed across the field. It was a recipe for a tight-knit community. I learned the basics of throwing the disc and the rules of the game. I hadn’t thought much of ultimate other than two hours of fun cardio on weekends.
When I heard about UTSC’s ultimate tryout, I figured it would be a nice return to frisbee. It had been two years since I held a disc, let alone threw one. As an international student who just flew halfway across the world after a year of isolation during the pandemic, I thought, “why not?”
I came to the Valley with four-year-old running shoes and a rusty body. When I saw people talking about their summer recreational league experiences and catching up with old teammates, I realized I was in unknown territory.
My eyes tightened as I saw people throw the disc like skipping stones at a lake. I didn’t remember throwing anything like that in high school. During warm-up, I grew the courage to insert myself in an existing pair who were tossing the disc together. Their throws looked effortless and smooth as the disc remained flat and stable, cutting through the wind to reach the other person. As the disc reached me, I wound up and prepared to throw it the way I remembered it. As the disc left my hand, it shook. It was drastically angled, to the point it was nearly vertical and crash-landed. It didn’t help that nearly everyone threw the discs so smoothly that day.
After the warm-ups, the coaches ran drills to test our athleticism. I stood there clueless throughout the strangely Mathematical-themed drills, such as the “3-man drill”, “the triangle” and “45’s.” Most people were light on their feet as they ran to catch the discs. With my running shoes, I was more concerned with not slipping while decelerating. Fortunately, my hand-eye coordination from baseball did help me in catching the discs to compensate for my horrid throwing. I also knew how to run, maybe a bit too hard that day.
Photo courtesy of Arthur Dennyson Hamdani // THE UNDERGROUND
I ran to the edge of the forest and threw up what seemed to be the self-doubt that had been weighing me down. Before that day ended, we did a 7-on-7 scrimmage that I could barely remember. My mind was fuzzy from an empty stomach and water bottle. I finished the scrimmage with no thoughts and heavily relied on my instincts to catch and throw the disc. As I completed that day, I remembered the accomplishment I felt, not because of my performance which was nowhere close to decent, but because I had the courage to leap far out of my comfort zone and into a new community. One thing that came home with me that day was an irrational drive to be able to properly throw a plastic disc again and continue to prove myself in another North American sport.
Throughout recreational inter-house games and representing UTSC in their ultimate B team, I got to know more players that helped me improve my throws and knowledge about the sport. Other than throwing, I learned about ‘‘cutting’ – the act of suddenly decelerating and changing directions while running to trick the opponents. The main purpose of cutting is to maintain distance between the opponent and be open for my teammate to pass to me. I found another way to help my team: to be open.
With each game, I grew closer to my teammates. I learned there’s more to ultimate than just throwing discs and running back and forth. Personal skills can only take a team so far. Much like baseball, it’s team strategy and connection that complete it. I realized that frisbee is all about building a community to help and learn from each other. Yet, I still had plenty to learn.
Ultimate frisbee was first introduced to an American high school student council in New Jersey in 1968. Lethal Weapon’s director, Joel Silver, invented the rules of the game while he was still a student. In essence, ultimate is a game created for students by students. It took 10 years for the first ultimate tournament to take place at Yale University.
Canada was introduced to ultimate in 1975 at the Canadian Open Frisbee Championships in Toronto. This introduction gave birth to the growing ultimate landscape in the country. Today, Toronto represents one of two Canadian teams competing in the highest professional ultimate league (American Ultimate Disc League) as the Toronto Rush–the other team being the Montreal Royal. At the recreational level, the Toronto Ultimate Club (TUC) was founded shortly after the 1975 tournament. TUC holds seasonal recreational leagues for teams to compete in the east and west end of the city.
My teammate invited me to play in his team for TUC in the summer of 2022. This was the first time I expanded to ultimate communities outside of UTSC. By playing every Tuesday evening in different locations for 13 weeks, ultimate also became my excuse to explore the city. There were places in East York and Danforth I otherwise wouldn’t visit if it wasn’t for TUC.
TUC was filled with realizations. On one drive back home with a teammate, he asked me how I liked frisbee compared to baseball. I realized that I have gained the confidence to do something I never got to do in baseball – diving catches. In my five years of baseball, I had never successfully caught the ball while fully extending my body before hitting the ground. In a way, I extended my goals in baseball to accomplish in frisbee.
Not only was I new to the sport, but I was also new to the city. I was the only international student in TUC, let alone the only Indonesian I knew who threw discs competitively. There were plenty of times I felt like I had reached a plateau and became unsure of how to improve. Some games felt frustrating as the second I thought my throws were finally stable, my arm overpowered my wrist and created a wobbly throw. I would drop the disc just before catching it plainly due to carelessness. And most times, I wouldn’t get to catch the disc often as I failed to be open. However, my teammates continued to give feedback to each other and allowed everyone to grow as a person and a community.
Photo courtesy of Arthur Dennyson Hamdani // THE UNDERGROUND
Another teammate encouraged me to try out for the University of Toronto’s (UofT) varsity ultimate team, TULA, in September 2022 after seeing how far I’ve come. I, half-jokingly, said I’d do it only for the blue and white jerseys with “Toronto” across the chest. The ones I saw people wear to practices. There was an appeal to having my number, 77, on the back of a UofT jersey that shows how far I’ve come.
“6:45 am at Christie Pits Park” was the tryout details in TULA’s Instagram post. Just like when I first came across UTSC’s intramural tryouts, I thought, “why not?”
After waking up at 4:30 a.m. every Tuesday for an hour’s commute from Scarborough to downtown Toronto, I made it to TULA’s B team and competed against other universities. I was immersed in UofT’s ultimate community that came from various backgrounds. Some came to play for fun and some came to win. I came for the jerseys, but I stayed for the growth.
Throughout September and October, we played against Ontario universities in Burlington and other Canadian universities in Brampton, respectively. Playing for TULA was a completely different landscape compared to inter-house, intramurals, and TUC combined. There were players with professional experience despite still being a student. Playing alongside them only pushed me to challenge myself even more. I occasionally dropped a few discs, messed up some throws, and mistimed my cuts, but I also cheered for my team, ran tirelessly, and dove to catch the disc for a point. Although we didn’t come out on top, I learned from others and adapted the way I played from more experienced players. I got the TULA experience that I wanted.
Once I wore that jersey, I was wearing another proof that I stepped out of my comfort zone and played my heart out. I proved that I made the varsity team with my name imprinted on my back and a number with which I started my sports journey. Each cut I make is a reflection of my growing confidence in my decisions. Each throw is me trusting that I am playing a relevant role on the team. Each defensive block is my resilience and perseverance to maintain the trust my team has in me. My willingness to wake up at 4:30 a.m. for practice is me leaping out of my comfort zone to seek opportunities to grow and make the most out of my time.
Ultimate frisbee is the extension of my baseball journey. With every match, I find ways to improve my throws, my cuts, my confidence and communication with others. If it wasn’t for throwing discs, I wouldn’t have explored as much as I did. I wouldn’t have been challenged to be comfortable in being uncomfortable. I wouldn’t have become the person I am today: that Indonesian kid who woke up at 4:30 am to throw plastic discs.
