Ultimate: from the point of view of the Frisbee.

By James

I’m spinning through the air only to come clattering down and to be picked up by a pair of sweaty hands and to be flung across the field to skid along the rough grass stubble. I get picked up and tossed into a huge pair of hands the noise of cheering deafens me. Being thrown carelessly onto the floor I feel like being sick. Having recovered my stomach I gaze enviously at the round ring gliding effortlessly through the skies. Why do I have to be the one thrown to the side?