The Time I was a Footbag Player

Circa 2005

I’ve had a few interests over the years. Thanks to my obsessive personality, I’ll get hooked on one practice/hobby or another. Of all my ventures, I can safely say I’ve gone the furthest with a little sport called freestyle footbag. From punk kid to pro, this is my story with it. This article will be divided into three parts; my introduction and rise in the sport, a few amusing stories along the way, and my current status in the community.

Origin Tale

I’ve talked about this in a few of my other posts, but I was a bit of a rough soul growing up. More precisely, when I hit my teenage years. I went from a scrawny kid with a temper to a 6’2 nearly 200 lbs. kid with a temper. The one positive I hold from these days; I wasn’t a bully. I did lay a few folks low, but it was more a matter of two people with beef than one picking on the other. Still, I’m not terribly proud of those days. I didn’t like the town I lived in, or the jobs I worked. I took a few college classes, only to realize I had no clue or direction with them. As you can imagine, it didn’t go well. I needed an escape, something to focus on to keep me out of trouble.

Backtracking in the story to my senior year in high school, my friends had discovered a pass time between classes. That came in the form of what we called Hacky Sack, a small crocheted bag filled with beads. I later learned that the sport’s true name was footbag, and that Hacky Sack was simply a brand name. This being the 90s, it was still fairly popular among the youth. While my comrades loved to kick it around, I initially found little interest in it. I’d kick with them, but it didn’t ignite anything at the time. It went on this way until the summer after I graduated.

Aside from skateboarding (which was winding down for me), Super Nintendo and various shenanigans kept me going during high school. Upon graduating, however, late nights with my friends began to dwindle. They were moving on with their lives, but I wasn’t. I had no direction, no goals. Soon life became monotonous and stale.

This took a turn in spring of 1994. I was living with my older sister at the time, a place near downtown and the University of Missouri campus. Being a lively neighborhood, my friends came over a bit. They’d decided to play hack in our living room one cold day. I can’t recall if I joined them or not. What I do remember is that they accidentally kicked the footbag into our Christmas tree and lost it. There it would remain until early spring. After a day of boredom, I remembered they’d lost it in the tree, which hadn’t been taken down due to laziness. After a bit of digging, I found the footbag. I took it out on our front porch and kicked it around for a little while. Still, no big revelations at the point. It was simply an activity to stave off my boredom. I continued to play over the following weeks. It slowly became an everyday thing. I never returned my friend’s hack.

Old Footbag

1993 was officially the beginning of my time with footbag, but 1994 was when it really clicked. My friends were slowly dissipating, so I had nothing but time outside my shitty job and less-than-stellar college experience. This is when my obsessive-compulsive nature kicked in. I knew people who were far better than me at footbag in high school and college, but never sought to rival them, until now. After mastering my kicks, I recalled the tricks they had done. Additionally, I started doing my homework. Fuck school, it was off to the computer lab to jump on the World Wide Web. I learned two gents named John Stalberger and Mike Marshall had created footbag in the 1970s. Marshall had passed away at an early age, but Stalberger persevered with their vision to market it to the people. It grew in popularity in the 70s, and then became a fad in the 80s when he sold it to the toy company Wham-O. Competitions and events were held around the country and world. It wasn’t a large sport, but had a solid following. Though a great many people played casually, only the tip of the iceberg bought freestyle shoes or competed. I learned all of this from footbag.org, an informational site about the sport and community.

1994

Hungry for knowledge, I sought out better players than me. Our college town of Columbia, Missouri had many at the time. There were three footbag giants in our town, each better than the last. Raleigh was the first. I knew him from downtown; he was a well-known footbag player and musician. I began playing with him in circles on campus and under the lights of the Missouri Theater. It took some time, but I was able to catch up, in my own way. Our tricks weren’t exactly the same, and he was a natural, something that I was not. Still, I had perseverance.

32 Panel Freestyle Footbag

Raleigh tipped me off to two more players I’d been unaware of. I had thought he was the best, but was wrong. He told me about Joe, a college student who’d moved to Columbia from Chicago, and a mysterious figure named Derrick, a longtime master in the sport. Since Joe was the next step up, I went on the search. I found him on Lowry Mall, a brick plaza at the heart of campus. Joe was indeed better than Raleigh, a fact that blew my mind. Where Raleigh had settled with an assortment of tricks, Joe was hitting combinations. Like links in a chain, moves can be connected to form intricate combos. This is the foundation for freestyle footbag. I began playing with Joe and his crew on a regular basis, absorbing as much as I could. Joe had a thunderous style, shaking the pavement as he wove through tricks. Coming from Chicago, he had access to a larger group and resources than we did. He owned video tapes. At his house we watched footage of top competitors of the time. That was really expansive. He let me borrow one video in particular; Tricks of the Trade starring Kenny Shults. This was a very 90s-style instructional video. As I studied it, my game took another leap. The Michael Jordan of footbag, Shults was a master in both freestyle and net. Footbag net is very similar to volleyball, only using your feet instead of your hands. Interesting side note; being tall in footbag net is a huge attribute, something I could claim. Still, my passion remained with freestyle, hitting combos in rhythm to music. Freestyle has been compared to either juggling with your feet, or breakdancing with a Hacky Sack. The music we listened to was what you’d expect at the time; Beastie Boys, anything grunge, most hip-hop, and Phish on occasion. Again, the 90s.

Kenny Shults

After leveling up, it was time to seek out my old high school friends again. I knew they still played, but I’d gone my own direction by then. Being somewhat of a ruffian prick, I had grown distant from most of my old chums. They weren’t saints, either, so I took it for the best. Yet, I had to see how I stacked up against the people who’d introduced me to the game. One summer night we found out.

My high school friends knew of my growing interest in the game and became somewhat competitive before we parted ways. We weren’t close anymore, but were amicable enough to catch up. It was inevitable that a footbag would be tossed around at some point. When we finally played, the circle didn’t last long. Incorporating the moves I’d learned from Tricks of the Trade, it quickly became clear that there was a skill gap. I remember one of them continuously glancing at the other in surprise. You see, they didn’t have access to the information and resources that I did. I’d simply done the homework and gone down the rabbit hole. We didn’t play much again after that. We mended our differences over the years, but grew further apart.

Only a single titan remained; the one they called Derrick. I’d never seen or even heard about him before Raleigh. Joe knew him, however, and thus I was introduced. Derrick was much older than the rest of us, somewhere in his 30s at the time. If Joe represented a skill jump over Raleigh, Derrick was a massive leap over Joe. I was floored at his ability. While Joe could put together some strong shorter combos, Derrick simply didn’t drop the bag. I remember telling my mom about the god I’d witnessed. “He could shred for ten minutes straight!” I proclaimed. In truth, his combos were far shorter than that, but 18 year old me couldn’t tell the difference. Derrick was a true master. I later found out he belonged to the Footbag Hall of Fame, a pantheon of the greatest names in the sport.

Footbag Hall of Fame

I learned there were other master groups, as well. The Big ADD Posse represented the current best players in freestyle footbag. ADDs (Additional Degree of Difficulty) were essentially points that represented the difficulty of tricks. For example; circling the bag with your leg was one ADD, while catching it on your toe was another ADD. Combining these two elements creates a 2 ADD trick called Around the World. So Big ADD meant big tricks.

Though Derrick was the best I’d seen in person, I knew even greater existed from Joe’s shred videos. Aside from the king (Kenny Shults), a more recent player by the name of Peter Irish had been dominating competitions for the last few years. Before him, a razor-sharp player named Rick Reese owned the scene. I watched those competition videos relentlessly, and became obsessed with the idea of the Big ADD Posse, who they all belonged to. Ironically, Derrick had rejected the notion of their Jedi order, stating it created too much conformity in play. Unfazed by this, I continued to practice, looking forward to attending my first competition.

As I schooled, a pattern emerged that plagues me to this day. I didn’t know when to rest. I played all the time, day and night. Obsession, you know. I began to feel pain in my legs, something the young me wasn’t accustomed to. Still, I didn’t stop. When I did finally attend my first competition in Springfield, Missouri, my legs were shot. This didn’t help me compete particularly well in the intermediate division. After returning from the event, I was put in a cast for a month.

During that time (and for most of 1995), I became more and more dissatisfied with my hometown. Though I didn’t know much, I knew more existed out there beyond Columbia. After getting free of my cast, I took a trip to San Diego with my dad to visit my aunt. I immediately fell in love with its sunshine and beaches. A few months after returning home, I reached out to my aunt and asked if I could stay at her house for a while. Having been an adventurous soul herself, she accepted. That summer I packed up my car, said goodbye to my mom, and headed west. Before I left, however, I made another decision. Looking to start fresh, I came up with a new title for myself. I guess you could call it an early gamer tag. I chose Red, a combination of my longer full name; Frederick Ethan Mason Husted. I’ve mainly gone by Ethan throughout my life, but also by Fred during my junior high/high school years. Merging them, it matched my fire at the time.

I knew exactly two things about San Diego; it wasn’t Columbia, and there had to be some type of footbag scene. I went on the search after getting situated. It turned out that I was a few years too late; the local group had dried up. I managed to locate its remnants, including a player named Richie. He’d been out of the game for a few years, but still had that spark for it. I pulled him out of retirement with my youthful optimism. We played on the boardwalk of Mission Beach and watched the bikini-clad women pass by. Those were good times.

Belmont Park, San Diego

We built a new scene in San Diego. I eventually moved out of my aunt’s house and into a friend’s place. I worked random jobs, not holding one for too long. Footbag was all I cared about.

I traveled up to a tournament in Santa Cruz late that summer. There I met the Bay Area group, and the reigning footbag titans. This included the current champion, Peter Irish. Seeing them live was surreal; they were so far beyond any level I’d played with before. I won’t say I was intimidated, but rather knew that I didn’t belong in the same circle as them. They were BAP level, and I wasn’t, yet. I didn’t interact with them a great deal, but watched as they showcased their talents.

Hermosa Beach, California, 1996

I continued to practice back in San Diego. Though my friend Richie was only five years older than me, he wasn’t exactly new. By then, I was confident I was going to advance. Everyone I played with, I ended up surpassing. My obsessiveness grew exponentially during this time. When would I come up against another new player on the same path? I soon found out.

We were at Richie’s house when the phone rang one day. Some random kid in Los Angeles had found my friend’s number and wanted to come down to play. He ended the call by stating “I don’t just do Around the Worlds.” Who was this upstart talking himself up to us? We looked forward to kicking with him, but also planned to shred the kid out if he brought an attitude.

Meeting him in Oceanside (just above San Diego), I learned two things; his name was Ryan, and that he was small and fast. Real fast. Unburdened by weight, this 5’6 player wove through combos with little effort. He wasn’t anywhere near the level of the professionals up north, but he had the potential. He was better than me, and Richie, and most of my old crew back in Missouri, except for the veteran Derrick. Ryan was on the same trajectory as me, but sported far more natural talent. That little shit.

Ryan Mulroney, 1998

A friendly rivalry began. We would journey up to Placentia near Anaheim where he lived. Those sessions had fire. Other young players from the LA area also joined us. Some sported real talent as well. It became clear this band of southern California kids were going to be the next wave in our sport. I called our group the SoCal Circle. We were all hungry to improve.

Ryan attended the World Footbag Championships a year before I did. He would win the intermediate 2 minute time competition, and was regarded as the best up-and-comer in the sport. While this was occurring, I had turned my eye to San Francisco, where the current top players lived. Though I appreciated San Diego and kicking with my people, to advance, I needed to be in a place where the standard was far beyond my own. I called the administrator of footbag.org who lived in the Bay Area. He remembers me stating “I’m looking for the Big ADD Posse”. It was a bold declaration I don’t remember saying, but sounds about right. After my living situation in Oceanside dissolved, I packed up my car and headed north, the next step in my footbag journey.

In retrospect, my enthusiasm was probably both refreshing and annoying to the status quo there. Quickly I joined the footbag crew, who met in windy-ass Golden Gate Park every Sunday. Those were some of the most magical times in my life. San Fran was another world compared to anywhere else I’d lived. It was different and progressive. I found a place to live near Haight-Ashbury, and then over in Berkeley. I played all the time, gaining and losing employment along the way. Ryan in southern California was still advancing, so I had to do the same. I became another notable prospect with some hard work. Not the only one, either. The new generation was flooding in. Both greatly improved, Ryan and I clashed again in Santa Cruz at another tournament. I’d say that’s where our rivalry ended. Respecting each other’s talent, we made a pact to get into the Big ADD Posse that year. Aside from a few bumps, this friendship lasts until today.

Peter Irish Juggling/Footbag Performance

The World Footbag Championships moves from city to city each year. It’d been in Montreal the year before. This year (now 1997), it was being hosted in Portland, Oregon. I schooled hard for that event. Just as before, it was too much. By the time the week-long tournament rolled around, my legs were once again shot. I popped ibuprofen like candy. My body fat was next to none, the slimmest I’d ever been. It didn’t look terribly healthy.

Driving up to Worlds with my friend, I had one goal; get into the Big ADD Posse. The catch; I was in incredible pain. So much so, I didn’t compete. Instead, I just played in the circles all week and made new friends. Many other prospects attended the event. Most of those lads remain good friends of mine. 1997 proved to be s generational shift in our sport.

World Footbag Championships, Net Division

Ryan ended up doing very well in the professionals division, taking 5th place in the world. We hung out a lot that week, talking about our wish to make it into the Big ADD Posse. Many BAP members were in attendance, both playing and watching. We had to make an impression.

Ryan and I did have one advantage; we were known to the top players at that point. He’d won intermediate the year before, and I currently schooled with the greatest club in the country. Everyone was spent by the end of the week. My wallet and keys were stolen while playing at Bill Naito Legacy Fountain, next to Hawthorne Bridge in downtown Portland. They got a whopping $20.00 and the sock I’d stored my wallet and keys in. I cared little. Only one thing mattered.

The closing ceremonies were held on Sunday on Waterfront Park. After the footbag net finals had ended, it was showtime. A small stadium had been built within the Bite of Portland festival that acted as the main stage. I remember the band playing that day was the Bare Naked Ladies, who were polite enough to stop their set so footbag net could finish its finals. With that out of the way, it was time for the BAP inductions. Those who were deemed worthy would be called from the stands to join the group on the field. I remember having a mouthful of pizza with my friend Dave (another strong new player) when the great Peter Irish approached us, about fifteen minutes before the ceremony. “You guys are going to want to stick around”, he said. My buddy and I just looked at each other in awe. Pete led the ceremony with the entire Big ADD Posse behind him. Out of all the new talent, six players were chosen. Ryan of course made it, as did a Canadian player named Noah. After the others were announced, they called my name. I can’t recall the exact phrasing, but it went something like “come on down, brotha! You made it!” On a scorching day in Waterfront Park, I ran out onto the field and took my place among the greatest freestyle footbag players of all time. Even some of my old buddies from Missouri were in the stands. One of the greatest moments in my life. I was 21.

Big ADD Posse Inductions, 1997

For many years I held one Big ADD Posse distinction; no one had been inducted into BAP at their first Worlds before. Most inductees had previously attended the event before getting into the group. I kind of just hit the scene. This would become a regular trend later on, but wasn’t common then. Aside from Ryan, Noah, and myself, my before mentioned friend, Dave, got in. So did my other buddy Chad from Torrance, and Tu, a young Bay Area player. Each of us received a nickname as a rite of passage. I’m proud to say I offered up Ryan’s name which the posse liked; the Regulator. Being from Aspen, Dave was the Highlander. Noah was Merlin, his middle name. Big ADD Chad was an easy decision. Tu became Tu Huge. I was deemed Red Shred, further cementing the Red moniker.

Big ADD Posse Logo, 1995

So that’s my origin story in the sport. I could have stopped there and been happy, but why? I always have to be reaching for something, the green light beyond the dock. From here out I’ll only mention my greatest hits, i.e., some interesting things that happened to me along the way.

Artwork by Asmus Helms

Status Quo Years

I lived in San Francisco a few years more after that Worlds. Ryan would end up attending Berkeley, so we shredded together a lot. The city did away with rent control in that time, making an already expensive place much more costly. Though I’d miss my comrades in the Bay Area, I decided to attend school in Boulder, Colorado. The town was beautiful and had a strong footbag scene as well. I relocated and started a footbag house with my friends. Our group was called the Boulder Blades. That lasted four years, the duration of my college experience.

Footbag net, Denver Colorado 1999

Boulder became a lot smaller when I graduated. Denver was nearby, but my mom now lived in Portland, Oregon, which I’d heard good things about. So again I packed up and headed west, the Northwest this time. Portland was just hitting its stride. 2000-2010 were the prime years there, much like Seattle in the 90s. I ended up creating another footbag house, and eventually took the reins of the local group called Sole Purpose. I’d belonged to many footbag clubs at this point. Sole Purpose was a little different. It was essentially the first footbag group, as the sport had been created in the Portland area. This is when I really became acquainted with John Stalberger, the inventor of Hacky Sack. John was a visionary, a true pioneer and innovator. He understood marketing and promotion, networking and the art of the deal. I could see why the sport had prospered in his care. I began performing footbag shows with him. His prime had long passed, thus he did the talking while I played for the crowds.

John Stalberger, aka Mr. Hacky Sack

We started the US Footbag Championships back up, after it’d been long dormant in Portland. During this time the group swelled. Both freestyle and net were pulling healthy numbers at our casual sessions, and many folks traveled to Portland to attend our events. The city once again became the center of footbag in the United States. We were involved in many interviews and articles during those years, and produced a number of well-received videos. The various sponsorships we received were nice as well, though nothing you could come close to retiring on.

2004 Video section, Fourkast

Still, there were a lot of other perks. Some of my fondest memories are of our shenanigans at events. This ranged from cities as far away as Warsaw and Paris, to Montreal and Vancouver, BC. Playing hard during the day, we partied at night. The only time this wasn’t applicable; when we had competition early the next morning. Even then, some folks didn’t care and would show up for the tournament hung over. We had a lot of great hotel parties. People passed out in chairs, under tables, or in the elevator as it moved between floors. After winning 1st place at the 2010 World Footbag Championships in Oakland, California, our friend from Prague spent the rest of the night walking around shirtless with his medals hanging from his neck. This method proved successful; a random stranger took him back to her room. The story gets wilder from there, but I’ll leave it at that.

One of my favorite memories of footbag tomfoolery happened at a hotel jam in Denver, Colorado. I’d taken a break from footbag to weightlift, and become quite heavy. Unable to play during the tournament, I decided to put my physique to good use and troll my much-lighter friends. Through the entire weekend of the Colorado Shred Symposium (an annual event), I took it upon myself to jump as many colleagues as I could. I couldn’t shred, but I could politely beat the shit out of my friends. It was all in good fun, and never got serious. I proved to be fairly successful, until crossing my buddy, Jim. He was a talented young player and heir to the Big ADD Posse throne. Compared to others I reined my terror down on, he was also smaller and lighter. Easy target, right? When it came time to deal Jim his medicine, I learned a valuable lesson. Don’t judge any book by its cover. Rushing him in a hotel room between parties, I was shocked when a flurry of limbs came flying back. You see, Jim had brothers. Older brothers. They’d taught him the ways of defense, and a bit more. Suddenly all 225 lbs. of me stumbled backwards as this 5’7 dude unleashed his fists. How could such a thing be possible? I’d easily demolished my 6’5 friend earlier that weekend. Anyway, I kicked at Jim as I fell against the bed. Catching my foot, he twisted my toes. Something snapped. The confrontation ended and we laughed about it. I then hobbled out of the room. It didn’t get better the next day, or the day after that. I’m glad I wasn’t playing footbag then, because that little prick broke my toes. For many years they continued to ache, especially in the cold. We still joke about it to today. Luckily the pain has subsided.

Jim Penske

By 2007 (ten years after my BAP induction), my peak had passed. I still played all the time, but wasn’t in top form anymore. That was fine; I’d had a good run. I’d won a handful of competitions/events, hit the first quadruple-dexterity move (circling the footbag four times), and become one of the central organizers for the sport. Much like the Jedi, I even had a number of apprentices who’d surpassed me. One in particular, Nick, had risen to the top of the current footbag ranks. They all did me proud. Just as I’d learned from the pros, they’d learned from me. Links in a chain.

Footbag Article, 2005

One day I received a message from my old friend Steve, the admin for footbag.org. He informed me that Adam Sandler was making a film which involved footbag. Working in the entertainment machine was nothing new. Among other things, my friend Chad had played Freddie Prince Jr.’s footbag double in She’s All That. This prompted more nicknames including Hollywood Chad, or just Big Wood, and He’s All That. Peter Irish had semi-regularly performed with various talents, including a stage show with Blues Traveler. Whenever someone needed the footbag pros for their film or TV show, BAP was usually contacted.

As my peak was a few years past, I thought first of my friend, Nick, for the movie part. It turned out that Sandler wanted middle eastern-looking people, as the story partially took place in Israel. This cut Nick from the lineup, since he was super blonde and white. Having dark hair and features that have mistaken me for everything from Spanish to Italian to Palestinian, I was selected along with a handful of other friends from around the country. We were paid a handsome sum, flown to Burbank, and put up in an old Hollywood-style hotel. The movie would be called You Don’t Mess with the Zohan.

You Don’t Mess with the Zohan

Funny enough, my buddy Ryan made the cut as well. Ryan did not have dark features, but he did live near the studio. By then he had semi-retired after winning the World Championships multiple times, and moved back to the L.A. area. While his interest in footbag was waning, a new phenom from Europe named Vasek Klouda rose up. Vasek had studied Ryan’s game and went on to create an outstanding legacy of his own. Being the competitive spirit that he was, Ryan wasn’t thrilled with the changing of the guard, but couldn’t match the kid’s fire that he’d once had. He would recede from the tournament scene because of this and work/family obligations. Still, we caught up as old friends in Burbank.

Vasek Klouda 2007 World Championships Routine

Being shuttled onto the Columbia Pictures lot, we met a lot of people. Sandler I remember most; he was a really chill guy. Contrasting many of his characters, he proved to be pretty down-to-earth and relaxed. Just a dude from Brooklyn. The film’s plot was ridiculous; Sandler played an international spy who liked footbag and banged chicks. My friend Steve had tried to teach him footbag directly, but they soon agreed a stunt double would be better. The sport is many things, easy isn’t one of them.

Two of our colleagues played Sandler’s double. Ryan ended up being one of them. The scene was simple enough; Sandler’s character would attend a footbag tournament where shenanigans ensued. The thing was, we had to make up a new type of competition for filming. They needed constant action happening in the background while Zohan (Sandler) moved about. This eventually took the form of a soccer match, only with a footbag. Players had to pass the footbag back and forth without it touching the ground, and then take their shot at the goal. We practiced the sequence for a day or two before filming, and then took two full days to film it. Ryan would end up making a goal, and then the crowd went wild while we all danced on the field. You read that right; danced. The idea was this; regardless of which team scored a goal, a disco ball dropped down and everyone would start jamming. We shot the scene multiple times. It got so out of hand that in one take Ryan jumped on my shoulders while our friend pop and locked for the crowd.

Tournament Scene, You Don’t Mess with the Zohan

You’d think this is as wild as it’d get. Nope. They’d written it that a streaker would hit the field. It wouldn’t be just any streaker; it was Robert Smigel, SNL writer and actor for Triumph the Insult Comic Dog. Triumph wasn’t present, but Smigel was. They put him in a skin-tone body suit complete with fake dong. When the cameras fired up, he leapt to the field and ran around. It didn’t end there, either.

They wanted the streaker to go out with a bang. Ending his reign of terror, someone was selected to clothesline him. That someone was me. As I was fairly tall, they singled me out for the job. Luckily Smigel had a stunt double. This ended up being a good thing, because I could have fucked Smigel up otherwise. The idea was simple; I would clothesline him as he passed by me. They said it had to look real, so I’d need to keep my arm tight. We practiced it a few times. Maybe we should have tried a few more.

They called action and he looped around on the field towards me. Just as we’d practiced, I extended my arm and locked my shoulder. He ran into it, hard. I felt his skull bounce off my forearm as he slipped feet-up on the AstroTurf. He more or less bounced off the ground. They yelled cut, and everyone came over. I helped one dazed stuntman to his feet. Thankfully he wasn’t hurt. I imagined this type of occurrence was standard in his profession. Still, I apologized. They got the shot, in all its crushing glory. The funny thing; it never made the film. The footbag competition did, but not that scene, or many others we shot. That’s how it goes; a lot ends up on the cutting room floor. Too bad, though.

I can’t recall everything we did when we weren’t working. On the side, we chatted with the other stunt folks, extras, and actors. We partied a little at night, but couldn’t get too wild due to an early shooting schedule. I remember we did have a viewing party for our friend Lon Smith’s footbag project. That same year he’d been invited to star in a Modest Mouse video called Invisible. He was the focal point of the video, a dude playing footbag through traffic, people’s houses, and other random locations while the masses stood oblivious. It was well produced, and Lon killed it in the lead.

Lon Smith, Invisible Video

We all flew home at the end of the week. Again, you’d think that was the end of it. Nope. I received an email about three weeks later asking if I would be available for another stent. They wanted to shoot a scene with Sandler on the beach. The catch; it’d be in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. This sounded like a great work/vacation, so I renewed my passport and once again boarded a plane. Almost all the same players were present as before, including Ryan. We were shuttled to a beachside resort. I had a sixth-story suite, complete with indoor hot tub and a view of the ocean. Hot damn.

Cabo San Lucas, Mexico

Much like Burbank, we found ourselves waiting around on set. That’s how it works; they pay you to be available, day or night. This suited me just fine, the water was warm and the view was gorgeous. I can’t really remember the order of things, but the day of the shoot was pretty funny. The scene went like this; Sandler’s walking down the beach, meeting people and doing random things. He comes across of footbag circle and shows us some shit. Simple enough, right? We quickly learned the problem with this. The sand wasn’t condensed, meaning you couldn’t play on it smoothly. Sandler’s first stunt double (a friend of ours from Portland) kept slipping and sliding. Being Sandler’s second double, Ryan gave it a shot. Luckily he managed to lock down a few tricks, and they had their take.

Beach Scene, You Don’t Mess with the Zohan

They also needed to film Zohan walking up to us. My friend passed him the footbag, and then he passed it back to me before I gave him props. This ended up being the intro credits to the film. Wardrobe for the scene was interesting, too. Since we were out in the sun and shirtless, to make us look darker we were lathered in skin toner. Each of us received beach shorts as well. All except Ryan, who was given a speedo. He walked out of the trailer dressing room wearing something that looked several sizes too small. I guess the joke in the film was that he couldn’t fit into his speedo, but it left little to the imagination. “There’s just no way…” he muttered. Even the makeup girl chuckled. He received a normal pair of shorts when wardrobe realized it wasn’t going to work. I still laugh about that sometimes.

This was a big budget production for a comedy. I could certainly see where those millions of dollars went. Everything was catered, from lavish breakfasts to luxurious lunches and dinners. We were also given per diem. The evenings usually entailed parties on the beach. Here we met more actors, including Rob Schneider, who compared to Sandler, was a bit reserved, but still polite. Adam Sandler has gotten some shit for continuously putting his friends in his films. But seeing it in person, I gained a different perspective. He seemed like a loyal guy who likes to work with folks he knows well. Same directors, casts, and crews. Dude pulls for his people, I respect that.

Aside from the parties, we swam in the ocean and the pool, and spent a few nights downtown. One evening we decided to step off Americana Way (as it was called) to head into traditional Cabo. We stopped at a hole in the wall and chatted with the locals, one of which joked about shooting us. We didn’t take it too seriously.

What I should have given more thought to was the food in that district. Wanting authentic, I hit up a taco cart on the way home. The guy was nice and the food tasted great, so no harm done. Flash cut to later; I’m sitting in my luxury hot tub shivering with cold sweats. You guessed it; food poisoning. That sucked, but lesson learned.

I didn’t leave Cabo without getting into a little trouble. They had free wave runners for the cast and crew. Yeah, I took advantage of that. The attendant tried to give me instructions, which I politely smiled at before rocketing off to parts unknown. Sweet Christmas, what fun. Laughing like a madman while blasting across that warm blue water is something I won’t forget. I ended up circling a luxury cruiser and taking a few risks I definitely shouldn’t have. In the end, they sent someone after me when I didn’t return in a timely manner. Dude chased me down in his own jet ski and signaled me in. Having had my fill, I relented. Sadly, no more jet skis for me.

It was a fun experience, all in all. At the end of the week we flew home. They contacted me yet again about three weeks after that, requesting I meet them in Burbank for another shoot. This unfortunately overlapped with other business I had, so I declined. They finished shooting and went into post production. The film came out the next year, another Adam Sandler madcap comedy. It was as we expected it to be (ridiculous), but was also something more. Seeing the production from the inside proved enlightening. Oddly enough, it wasn’t my only dealing with a studio that year. Between our work on Zohan, and its release, I was contacted by someone at 20th Century Fox. They wanted to co-promote the new Simpsons movie with our event, the US Open Footbag Championships. Of course we jumped on that, and helped promote the film. Matt Groening had after all spent many years in Oregon, and named some of his characters from streets in Portland (Mr. Burns = Burnside, Flanders St., etc.). I don’t have any promotional material left from then, but it remains memorable, all the same.

Simpsons movie

Veteran Years

I could regale you with various stories of my adventures doing shows, events, and festivals, including the time I juggled with one of the band members from Béla Fleck and the Flecktones (I accidentally hit him with a club), or my adventures in Europe, but those could be their own articles. I suppose I have a great many footbag tales involving shenanigans of some type. Though it was a great deal of fun, it was also a lot of work. The organizational aspect of it, especially. This came with its own rewards. At the last World Footbag Championships I helped run (2017 Portland), I was awarded the Mike Marshall Award for my various contributions to the sport. The creator of Hacky Sack/footbag, John Stalberger, presented me with the trophy. This was an unexpected surprise, and an honor.

Mike Marshall Award

The last award I received might be the highest point in my career; the Footbag Hall of Fame. Yes, that same group my mentor Derrick had belonged to all those years ago. I’d been a candidate for induction in times past, but hadn’t quite crossed the threshold to get in. The margin for entry into the Hall of Fame is very slim. It never bothered me that I didn’t receive it before. There were people who’d been in the sport far long than me to consider, with contributions that outweighed my own. Yet, in 2019, I was finally deemed worthy and voted into the illustrious group. I flew to Warsaw where Worlds was being held and accepted my award. As a treat, I hopped over to Vienna and Prague afterwards. What a colorful couple of weeks.

Speech

Footbag Hall of Fame

Was it all fun and games? Nope. Aside from the work organizing events and gigs, playing footbag all those years took a toll. Since freestyle is a lot of contortion and sharp movement, I sustained many injuries. This includes a torn meniscus, a damaged ankle tendon, multiple sprains, and scarred tissue. This wasn’t all. I developed melanoma on my shoulder from my years playing in the sun without a shirt. A good portion of my footbag career had taken place on the beach, in the mountains, or outdoors during the summer. Nowadays, many people have team jerseys and such. Back then, we wore Umbro soccer shorts and no shirt if it was hot outside. Heavy sun exposure was assured. I was lucky they discovered the melanoma when they did, and it was removed. Sunblock, my friends. Far and away, however, footbag has been a healthy activity in my life. Nothing else burns calories and builds cardio like it. Aside from the physical benefits, the sport introduced me to an amazing community of people, many of which I consider family today.

And here we are now. It’s been quiet these last few years for me and footbag. Part of this is because of Covid, but also due to my involvement in other activities, including writing, boxing, and Street Fighter. The city I reside in currently (Boise) is home to the two top players in the country, so we have a pretty healthy scene, with or without me playing. Still, every once in a while the community reaches out to old Uncle Red, usually requesting help with an event or video. I don’t mind, and am happy to be a resource. By de facto, I’ve organized the Big ADD Posse vote/presentations over the years, and last year was named John Stalberger’s successor for organizing the Hall of Fame. Just as these duties were imparted to me, one day I’ll pass them on to someone else. Honor the ones who came before you, and respect those who follow after. We’re all links in a chain.