The Double Flat Stack

Andy Lovseth

It was late 2007, and Western Washington University was fielding an alumni team at the Sundodger Invitational. It was early on Saturday—round one or two, and I believe we were playing Simon Fraser University. A nice group of lads if ever I’d seen. They had just put a goal in, and I was trotting back to line with Dave Bestock, Ben Wiggins, and Aly Lenon, among others.

When we arrived to the line, Aly tells me to call a line. Now, I’ve called hundreds, if not thousands of lines in my time. Calling the 1, the 2, the 3; flat or vertical; defense on the turn—it has become an intuitive discipline. That morning it was cloudy, yet bright. I looked to the sky above, and it struck me like inspiration from the Gods.

“Alright boys, let’s run the double flat stack.”

Now, no one on the line had ever run, let alone heard of, the double flat stack, including myself. I received confused looks and guffaws of incredulity.

Like Motzart’s pen to sheet music, the words from my lips were a seemingly divine revelation. Here’s how I remember it best:

“I’m the one, Ben you’re the two. Dave you’re the three. You and Reid are the deep stack. Start 50 yards deep. Aly you’re the four. You, Brian, and Jack are the short stack; start 25 yards out. You guys are the wickets. You have to stand completely still—we don’t want a Berkeley Pick Machine here. Dave, you gotta come screaming through those wickets—sprint as hard as you can—and as soon as you and your defender have cleared the wickets, make a sharp left turn and come across flat for the pass.

“Reid you clear under to open up the endzone. Aly, as soon as Dave clears those wickets, your running a post route to the back right corner of the endzone. Outside-in flick huck from Dave. Score. Got it? Backhand on a turn.”

More confusion and incredulity.

We signaled for the pull. My team sets up. It looks beautiful—a 2-3-2 formation. I bring down the pull, center it to Ben. Dave takes his man out and then comes in, busting through the wickets, and curls flat for the pass. Aly takes off and gets a good jump on his man who looks pretty confused. Dave laces a floaty huck out in front of Aly, which gives him an easy catch to run on to in the endzone. Boom, boom, boom. Score.

If only that’s how it actually turned out. Alas, I had centered the disc to Ben who had (somewhat predictably) jammed the pass to Dave as he was just arriving at the wickets, not after he had curled. Dave’s defender got a hand on the disc, and we were on D. We ended up getting the disc back and scoring that point, but the double flat stack had failed.

So what can we learn from this story? Well, first, never call Ben Wiggins as the 2. Second, creativity and experimentation should be embraced, whether in offensives sets or plays. We’ve all been running the same stacks and defenses for twenty years. Mix it up a little. You could have good idea, which might turn into a great idea, which could potentially turn into a championship idea. Hey, it worked for Furious George and the “single” flat stack. Three UPA Club Championships later, it’s looking like one of the best ideas yet.


Elocution & Enunciation

Andy Lovseth

There’s nothing worse than calling a line a finding an uninvited guest has wandered onto the field. Not only do you have to recall the correct name, but you have to break the news to the overzealous player and watch them slink off sadly like Charlie Brown after failing to kick that football. Rats.

To avoid this situation you must speak with the uttermost clarity and amplification. You mustn’t slur your speech; too often names like Sean and John or Brett and Bren become confused. You mustn’t misspeak—say who you mean and mean whom you say. And finally, you mustn’t forget the names of your players. Nothing is worse than failing to recall (or actually not knowing) a player on your team. Review the roster list before the tournament. Believe me, this can be embarrassing.

Beyond basic slips of the tongue, you must be wary of under- or over-counting. Thou shalt count to seven. No more, no less. Seven shall be the number thou shalt count, and the number of the counting shall be seven. Eight shalt thou not count; neither count thou six, excepting that thou then proceed to seven. Nine is right out. Use your fingers to keep count if you must.

The worst scenario, though, is calling yourself onto the line when you’re not even an eligible to play. You’ve graduated, you’re washed up, and no one wants to see your slow, no-defense-playing, sorry ass on the field. The look of pure disgust and pity you see in the eyes of young men not legally old enough to drink and barely smart enough to dress themselves is seared indeliably into your consciousness. Nothing you can do, nothing you can say will restore your dignity and self-respect.