Forbes
                            Copyright 1999 Forbes Inc.
 
                             Monday, December 13, 1999
 
                                    Forbes Life
 
   Sports Disc Drive  If you want to connect with the digital crowd over
sports,
    put away those videos on how to improve your golf swing. Work on
perfecting
                          your "huck" and your "scoober."
                                   BY Ann Marsh
 
   ULTIMATE FRISBEE HAS BEEN VERY VERY GOOD to Steve T. Jurvetson. In
  1995 Jurvetson, then a 28-year-old partner in the Palo Alto venture
  capital firm of Draper Fisher Jurvetson, was wondering whether to fund a
  small e-mail directory outfit called Four11.com. It turned out that
  Jurvetson and two of Four11's founders shared a passion for ultimate
  frisbee, or "disc."
 
   That's what devotees call the game of ultimate frisbee, and these fans
  are a devoted bunch indeed. If you plan to make your fortune in the
  dot.com world but you don't know a scoober from a blade, you'd better
  learn. Ultimate is the high-tech community's version of golf, but with a
  lot more heart-attack potential.
 
   Jurvetson liked Four11's business plan just fine, but more important,
  he liked the style Michael Santullo and Larry Drebes displayed during
  the lunchtime pickup games the three played regularly. It wasn't just
  their skill, it was also their teamwork and the code of honor that count
  for as much as athleticism in the sport's New Agey ethos. Vince Lombardi
  has left the building.
 
   Says Jurvetson, "If someone cheats or constantly criticizes, they may
  not be someone you want to hire."
 
   After a particularly sweaty ultimate frisbee face-off, the Four11
  founders and the Draper Fisher Jurvetson partners signed paperwork for
  $825,000 in seed funding on the hood of a car. Two years later Yahoo
  acquired Four11. Today DFJ's investment is worth around  $345 million in
  Yahoo stock. As they say in discland, that's hot!
 
   Ultimate hasn't quite reached golf's critical mass--yet. It's pretty
  hard to count noses, but supposedly there are at least 100,000 people
  nationwide who play it regularly. In the Bay Area are some of the
  country's busiest ultimate leagues--teams have names like Spastic
  Plastic, Saucy Jack and Feral Cows--but most of Silicon Valley can't
  commit to a regularly scheduled anything. Games tend to get arranged ad
  hoc, say, when everyone finishes inventing the latest Web browser.
  Browse over to www.upa.org for
 
   pickup game listings worldwide.
 
   "Without sounding melodramatic, this is a game that mirrors a lot of
  the values of the Valley," says Peter Nieh, 33, a venture capitalist
  with Weiss, Peck & Greer in San Francisco. Nieh recently invested in
  Clip2.com after a referral from an angel investor he met on the field
  (if you happen to run into him there, just call him "Nee"). "It's
  fast-paced, intense, very dynamic. You never have time to set up. Unlike


 
  football, it just goes and goes and goes."
 
   In fact, ultimate frisbee came about as an antidote to the oppressive,
  hierarchical vibes in sports like football. The first game was played in
  1968 in Maplewood, N.J. Among the inventors:  Joel Silver, who went on
  to produce such humongous Hollywood hits as the Die Hard and Lethal
  Weapon series and The Matrix. "I moved in the student council that we
  investigate getting frisbee onto the high school curriculum," recalls
  Silver. Silver and his friends spent the next two years in the high
  school parking lot--the grass field was a later refinement--devising the
  rules. "At the end of my obit, they'll say, 'He also invented ultimate
  frisbee,"' Silver predicts proudly.
 
   Today's game is played on a football-length field with two teams of
  seven players each. Players throw the disc past defenders to a teammate
  who scores by catching it in one of two end-zones at either end of the
  field. There are no "downs" or requirements for yardage gains, as in
  football. The team on offense keeps advancing until the defending team
  can wrest possession of the frisbee by knocking down or intercepting a
  pass. Play continues nonstop.
 
   Players can score by throwing short, crisp passes up the field or by
  heaving long, dramatic "hucks" that are far more difficult to catch
  because of the frisbee's varying flight patterns in changing winds. The
  result is intense sprinting, leaping and volleyball-like "lay outs" for
  the disc. It's taxing, to put it mildly.
 
   Just as important to its partisans is how ultimate departs from the
  underlying spirit of football, which is probably the reigning corporate
  sports metaphor. Unlike football, ultimate is the ideal flat-management
  sport. There are no fixed positions, no highly-specialized roles;
  everyone is a quarterback and everyone is a receiver. There are no men
  in gray flannel shoulder pads on an ultimate field.
 
   The founding nerds also enshrined the spirit of tolerance for spazzes
  and other athletically challenged players. They had felt the sting of
  rejection often enough themselves. Silver recalls, "The jocks were a
  clique. In ultimate, everybody played. It was a nonpolarizing game that
  didn't hold to caste lines."
 
   It's not unusual to attend a pickup game where talented athletes share
  the field with first-timers dropping the disc right and left. Sarah
  Anderson, 33, the new vice president of marketing at Egreetings.com in
  San Francisco, just started playing the sport this past summer. You can
  see her running around Golden Gate Park like a maniac on Saturdays with
  husband Dante Anderson, 37, a former captain of the Canadian national
  ultimate team.
 
   Turnabout is fair play. In October Dante got a job as director of Web
  content at Everdream.com, which gives away free PCs while charging steep
  monthly service fees to technophobes. He went into his Everdream
  interview expecting to talk about his resume. "They said, 'Yeah, yeah,
  but tell me more about frisbee,"' he recalls.
 
   "Ultimate embraces the idea of people being many things instead of
  being a specialized cog in some moneymaking machine," says William
  (Willie) Herndon, a schoolteacher from Venice, Calif. who's been playing
  ultimate frisbee almost as long as Joel Silver has. Herndon recently
  finished his own worshipful documentary on the sport, called Spirit of
  the Game, which gets shown privately in ultimate circles.
 
   Spirit of the Game takes its title from the game's revered code of
  sportsmanship, painstakingly written by the frisbee founding fathers in
  the early 1970s. This is a hallowed document; laugh only if don't give a
  hoot whether or not your startup gets funding.
 


 
   According to Spirit:  "Highly competitive play is encouraged, but
  never at the expense of the bond of mutual respect between players. And
  never with an intention to abuse the agreed-upon rules of the game or
  destroy the pure joy of play." Bill Gates, you are hereby sentenced to
  remedial gym class.
 
   Players resolve foul calls themselves on the field according to
  agreed-upon protocols and, ideally, they acknowledge their own
  transgressions. The sport is set to make its debut at the World Games in
  Japan in 2001. Without referees.