[sw293]

I was alliance captain of the fourth seeded alliance at the Philadelphia Regional. I cannot speak for others nor can I tell the experience from their perspective. I do not speak for team 293, our drivers, our human player, our scouts, our mentors or our fans, and I do not speak for our alliance partners, their drivers, their human player, their scouts, their mentors or their fans. I can only tell the story of the regional finals--my last regional finals--from my own perspective. I can only tell the story of how I reached the doorstep of achieving my season's goal--making it to the Championship Event--and how I was denied it.

Our fourth seeded alliance of 293, 358, and 834 had convincingly won four consecutive matches in the quarterfinals and semifinals through incredible teamwork, a great offensive strategy and clutch driving and capping. Two more wins would punch our tickets to the Championships in Atlanta. I could smell the peaches. Our alliance began to prepare for the inevitable matchup against the powerful trio of Moe, Robbe, and 316. Considering how they were plowing through the first two rounds of the tourney, I doubt anyone would have given us much of a shot.

Before the finals, Moe took its official timeout to fix some mechanical problems caused by agressive defense in the semifinals. While their alliance was off the field during the timeout, our three robots were standing in their start positions, ready to be switched on for battle. Before the first match of the finals, the same announcer who got our name wrong came onto the field and extolled the good deeds of Moe. I joined all the fans in applauding the good deeds, because teams like 365 help spread the FIRST experience to so many people. The folks that matter at this regional love Moe for good reason. But I didn’t care about those people. I cared about the other eleven operators from our alliance, and all the people in the stands that they represented. I cared about the scouts who had done so much hard work for the team, who had filled a three-inch binder with notes on other teams, who gave me the knowledge to pick 358 and 834.

Our strategy for the finals was similar to the strategy for the last two rounds: stick with what worked. We would continue doing what we did in the quarterfinals and semifinals, mixing an overall offensive strategy with defensive tactics like bumps, pushes, and pins. The first match of the finals went exactly as planned: We slaughtered them 60-37. When it was over, I screamed so long and so loud my stomach hurt. One more win and we are going to Atlanta!

Before long, my excitement was tempered when the announcer declared that there were penalties on the blue alliance for 358 tipping 56. After a long huddle, the referees broke up, and the score flashed on the screen: Red 37, Blue 0. The ref had disqualified us for “excessive rough play.” I have been to only four FIRST Regionals, but never before have I heard as many boos as I did after the score was posted. When I asked the head referee for an explanation, he said that 358 had intentionally tipped over 56. When I asked him why he thought it was intentional, he confused me with his reasoning. I hear a lot of complaining about the officials at the Trenton Regional, but I disagree with those complaints. The Trenton officials were consistent, and they were also willing and able to lucidly explain their interpretation of the rules. You knew what you could and couldn’t do. At Philly, it was anybody’s guess. The second semifinal was far rougher than the last match; Paragon beat up Moe, and Robbe drove 381 into a goal. In earlier matches, we had wedge bots get under us several times, and never was it called. The officials told me they had been consistently calling intentional tipping and disqualifying robots for it, but I knew they hadn’t. If they had been, my scouts would have told me about it.

But I understand that the ref’s call is final, and there is no use arguing past a certain point. I didn’t share with him my biggest objection with the call. The infraction which led to the disqualification was “intentional” tipping, which meant that by the referee’s judgment, Team 358 took a cheap shot and violated the spirit of gracious professionalism. This is a team that has won the Sportsmanship Award at the Long Island Regional. This is the reigning Long Island Regional champion and Chairman’s winner. They are not thugs; they are a classy team, too classy to take an intentional cheap shot at another robot in a match they are already winning.

We were deflated by the crushing defeat dealt by the referees, and we lost our focus in the next match. Spike accidentally de-capped the center goal, our human player didn’t come out for five seconds after our robot was in the loading zone, and another of our bots got stuck capping a goal. We still put up a respectable showing, losing by only 13 before we were docked 10 penalty points. At our very worst, we were only 13 points worse than the other alliance on the field. Would we have won if the call hadn’t gone against us? We’ll never know. And I’ll never know what it is like to compete at Nationals.

I am sitting on the bus holding the second place trophy, watching I-95 race to the horizon behind me. For me, the Championship Event is what it was two days ago: a dream. Except now it is a dream that will never come true.