If I’m honest, I didn’t think I would ever compete again.
I remember standing in my garage, staring at my beautiful spalted maple Phil Dickinson special. That poor old kubb set wasn’t just gathering dust, it was caked in that fine New Mexico grit. I hadn’t touched the set in months. I wondered if I ever would again.
My New Mexico Kubb teammates, Nate Tremba and Matthew Widdows, had given it a go with me a couple of times at Natty’s. We had a strong showing in 2019 and 2021 (can we all just forget about 2020?), and I’d even had a great run in the 1v1 when it was still held on the Friday before Natty’s, finishing 4th. I cherish the artwork I got from Paul Knutson for that finish.
But by the spring of 2022, things had fallen off. Nate had moved across the country, and Matt and I weren’t really playing anymore. Honestly, I was a bit lost. A return to Eau Claire seemed unlikely. And with nobody to play with and no tournaments nearby, it felt like my brief kubb career might be over.
Then, as fate would have it, I got a text from Julian Petrillo.
He was going to be working on and off in Albuquerque and reached out to, well… play some kubb.
I didn’t know it then, but those friendly backyard games would change everything.
I had met Julian, along with John Petterson, Marshall Dostel, and the rest of the Los Angeles Kubb crew during my first year at Natty’s. As one of the only teams this far out west, we naturally connected. I didn’t know Julian super well, but we’d exchanged numbers on the off chance we might get to throw someday if he ever passed through town.
Julian and I started playing behind his rental on Dungan Street in Albuquerque’s Heights and in the shadow of the Sandia Mountains. The house was a spot he would stay in anytime he worked in town. Julian said he chose that house for one reason and one reason only: the backyard. It was just big enough to squeeze in a pitch. In typical New Mexico style it was hard, dry, and tough to drill. We played east to west, surrounded by a short wall that roadrunners would occasionally hop onto to check in on the match.
If you’re unfamiliar with Julian’s game… he is good. Really good. And tough to beat.
We’d play. Talk kubb. Talk life. Despite the fact that he mostly whooped on me we became friends. He was always encouraging, always gracious, always pointing out the strengths in my game I couldn’t see myself.
Eventually, he persuaded me to head to the West Coast Kubb Championships in 2023. He was competing with his son Ben, and was kind enough to host me and help find me a partner (shoutout to T.J.!). Julian and Ben won the whole thing, but T.J. and I ended up doing great—third place overall. I realized that those games in the backyard had made me better. Not only had I become a stronger player, but it had rekindled something.
The fire was back.
That same year, Shane and Jenny Linge reached out. They needed a third player for The Darkness Huginn for the big one in Eau Claire. With my New Mexico crew sitting it out, I didn’t hesitate. I was going back to Natty’s, baby!
I returned home to Albuquerque with a spark I hadn’t felt in a while. I started playing in Bob Hickes‘ Virtual Kubb League when I could. Matt and I began throwing again. And as luck would have it, Julian came back for another stint in town. Back to Dungan Street and that slightly slanted and dry pitch.
One day, while I was getting my butt handed to me again, Julian had mentioned that a team was forming for the World Championship. Ever since I’d heard John Oman’s moving recollection of his experience there, going to Sweden had been a dream of mine.
The sparks were flying.
I reached out to Cody Glorioso and a few short months later, I was in Gotland, competing at the World Championship with The Kubbicide Squad.
Earlier that same summer, my New Mexico crew gave it another go at Natty’s.The fire wasn’t just back, now, it was roaring.
Julian and I had casually talked about the possibility of teaming up for the West Coast Kubb Championship. It always depended on whether his son, Ben, could make it back after moving away for college. My daughter, Violetta, and I had also talked about going out to South Pasadena, California and competing together as well. As it turns out neither kid would make it in 2025, and Julian and I formed Petrified Wood!
It was rainy and cool in South Pasadena that weekend. Unusual weather for April in this part of Southern California. Nevertheless, the tourney started well for us and we moved through the first few games with ease. We were cruising, until our last game of qualifiers. We met a couple of young upstarts, Morning Wood, who took us to time. That game ended in a draw, but we went into the gold bracket undefeated.
Our first match was clinical. Two games, two wins, and onto the semis to face Steve Dolan and Brad Larson, aka Dr. LA and the Cali.
We took game one and were playing solid in game two. Steve was drilling eight when one kubb got away from him and fell deep behind the group. They were down to three batons, with two distant kubbs in the field and one on the baseline, I thought, “Here we go. We’ve got one foot in the finals.” But then Brad came up with something magical. A clutch combo. Steve made no mistake at 8 meters, and Brad put the king to bed. Watch Brad’s clutch shot at (1:40:30).
Jump cut to game three. We each had one on the baseline. We’re drilling eight when Julian drops a neighbor on the pile. We clean it up and onto the final to meet John and Marshall—the infamous Kubbix Rubes and Julian’s longtime Natty’s partners.
If my prose were better, this is the part where I’d describe the finals in flourishing detail, recounting John and Marshall’s amazing play and Petrified Wood’s steadfast doggedness. But honestly, it’s all a blur. It was my first final and my heart was pounding the whole time. What I do remember is the utter confusion and euphoria that set in after we hit the king in game three.
Congratulations poured in from kubbers who had tuned into the livestream. I had messaged friends and family back home, letting them know we had won. I couldn’t stop smiling. It’s still a little bit hard to believe.
It’s been a few weeks now, and as I’ve had some time to reflect, I’ve realized something. As great as winning feels, it will never be the most important thing.
Most people ask, “How do you spell that?” Their noses crinkled, unsure what to make of this strange amazing game we won’t shut up about. Some think it’s cool. Others think we’re crazy.
And sure, we all want to win. Victory is sweet. But anyone who’s spent real time in this game knows that it’s about something bigger.
It’s every throw.
The crack of wood on wood.
The missed shots. The miracle combos.
The grind, the splinters, the sunburns and the snow.
It’s hard pitches and dug out drill spots.
It’s the games that slip away for no good reason.
It’s the wins and the losses…
But more than all of that, it’s about the people.
Us crazy few who choose this game. Or maybe it chooses us.
It’s about the passion, the love, and the dedication we share. Week after week, year after year, across cities, states, and continents.
From the backyard at Dungan to Natty’s to World’s to the West Coast Kubb Championship.
Thanks, Julian—I wouldn’t have done it without you.
And thanks to all of you crazy kubbers who keep showing up and inspiring me to do the same.
1 Comment
Great read and great seeing you in LA!