My life is pretty dull. It's rare that I branch beyond the daily routine. I live a fairly solitary existence, so it's hard to come up with reasons to do things beyond the ordinary, and I'm generally okay with that.

But, every once in a while, something cool and entirely unexpected pops up on the horizon. And tomorrow (the 12th) marks a year since the beginning of one of the most seriously memorable.

I relented talking about the experience around when it happened. But, the fact that it's been a year has put it in my mind in the past few days. And since I rarely write stuff on this site anymore, I figure I'd put this online.

In October of 2002, a post appeared on my local Ultimate Frisbee league's forum requesting assistance from people with reasonable understanding of the rules of Ultimate (officially referred to as 10th Edition) to help work as a "referee" of sorts at the UPA Club Championships in Sarasota. The UPA Club Championships is basically the World Series of Ultimate, where the best teams in the US and Canada compete for the title.

The problem was that it was hard to find qualified referees (called Observers) to work, granted that the tournament lasts four days. For most people, running around on the side of the field in hot weather isn't the greatest idea of a vacation. (It's an entirely different story if you're playing in the tournament.)

I stared at the post for a few minutes and thought about it. My work load was pretty light at that point, and I'd travelled to Sarasota the previous year to play in Club Regionals and enjoyed the trip. Also, I tended to be the most rules-knowledgable on the teams I played for. So I sent an email.

Less than a week later, I found myself in the car driving down to Sarasota. Upon arrival, I found out that there were a grand total of five of us (with two more available for the weekend), and I was the sole novice. It was a total crash-course, trial-by-fire. I knew the rules, but slowly began to realize the type of rules minutiae that Observers had to understand. And it didn't take long to see that the players would challenge that knowledge.

I didn't blow any obvious calls, and, as the weekend progressed, I felt like one of the team. I really enjoyed talking to the guy who was the most rules-knowledgable of the group - in one conversation, he asked my opinion about a rule (I thought he was testing me), and he agreed with my interpretation, adding that he'd just blown the ruling in his last game. I still knew I had a long way to go, but even with the stress of the weekend, I came home pleased with the experience.

I didn't work the College Series the next Spring, but worked a major local tournament that March.

Flash forward to late July. I'm in Nashville, in the middle of another amazing (and spontaneous) weekend experience. I check my email, and find one from one of the tournament directors from Sarasota. She's looking for qualified Observers to work at Canada's Nationals, taking place in Montreal two weeks later, and wants to know if I'm available.

I have to admit, I'm stunned. I figure initially that I'll simply be support staff, like I was in Sarasota, so I happily agree. The plane tickets are ordered a couple of days later.

As the final arrangements are being made, it becomes apparent that they're looking for me to be something more than just support staff. It turns out that they're putting me in charge. I'll be Head Observer, along with a long-time Masters player from Vancouver.

The freaking out begins.

Seriously, as rules-knowledgable as I am, I've only worked two tournaments. By that point, the plane tickets are bought and in my hand. I can't back out, not that I would. I start talking about it to friends and family and decide to simply bear down and go with it. But the thought keeps running through my head: what if I really screw this up?

I keep analyzing the situation, and I start to feel better about it. This is the first time they've offered Observers at Canadian Nationals, so it's relatively new to everyone involved. Plus, it gives us the freedom to shape the Observer methods entirely - allowing me to provide input about things I liked and disliked about what we did in Sarasota. (I even get the chance to design the Observer scorecards, since I was marginally unhappy with the cards I'd used before.)

Going to Montreal means missing the last night of Summer League plus the End of Season Tournament that weekend, and, when I first committed, that did bother me a little. My captain was unhappy about it when I first asked him about it, but supported me the next time we talked about it. (It helped that he was from Montreal, and that I mentioned I'd never left the country in my entire life.)

Tuesday night arrives, and I'm slowly getting my things together. I decide, against better judgement, to head down and play our games that night, delaying the packing. And the night is brutal. It rains before gametime, so attendance is rather spotty. The games are officially termed rainouts, but we decide to play anyway. Our first opponent has five players against our seven. And we lose. The series of losses in the weeks prior finally hits a few members of the team, and all hell breaks loose. Sniping, arguing. It's just ugly. I come home wet, muddy, disappointed, and without those four hours. Oddly though, it confirms in my head that I'm making the right decision to leave town.

So, there I am, still packing into the wee hours of the morning. And I think I have a pretty good concept of what the weekend's going to be like.

And, within a few hours, that concept will be completely tossed out the window.