“Let’s toss around some disc at the country club, dude!” Tanner said as they piled into Kyle’s Tesla adorned with an “I bought this before Elon was crazy!” sticker. Tanner and company did indeed go to the pristine country club wedged neatly against suburbia to huck some disc, and they had a grand old time doing it. The problem was they were both off to college soon, and their frisbee aspirations were up in the air. Lucky for them, they were both headed towards a spiritual homeland for upper-class suburbanites like themselves: a liberal arts club frisbee team.   

Whitman has a diversity problem; I don’t think I’m blowing any minds with that pearl of knowledge, but it’s nonetheless not talked about enough. In terms of statistics, Whitman scores a thundering “Below Average” on “Overall Diversity,” “Racial/Ethnic Diversity” and “Male/Female Diversity.” Where most of these statistics are no doubt exacerbated is within certain social groups on campus, the Whitman Sweets being one such example. While diversity statistics on individual Whitman clubs are hard to come by, simply walking out onto Ankeny at prime hours gives one a pretty good idea of the situation, about as diverse as a Grateful Dead concert. 

Now let me be clear, this article is no damning indictment of the Sweets, I’m as pro-Whitman athletic representation as the next guy, but it’s hard not to see an unnerving underrepresentation of people of color in the group. An answer to this lack of diversity is perhaps best found within the DNA of the sport itself rather than any analysis of the Sweets individually. 

Growing out of the anti-war sentiment of the 1960s, Ultimate Frisbee was founded on the anti-authority tenet of the “Spirit of the Game.” This Spirit of the Game would manifest in a culture of calling one’s own fouls without the supervision of a referee. While referees have since been implemented in many official tournaments, the ideology surrounding sportsmanship is still central to the sports appeal, with ultimate blowing up in popularity in the years since, particularly at the college level. 

Ultimate has found a particularly comfortable home at liberal arts colleges, drawing heavily from a player base that is, more often than not, white and solidly upper-class. Pair that with its deep roots in suburban communities, and the result is a culture that espouses inclusivity but lags behind many other sports in practice. Statistics on diversity within Ultimate are hard to come by (as ever), so the best estimate I can make on a national level is based on those who take it most seriously: the Ultiworld staff. 

Ultiworld is the “premier news media site” dedicated to reporting on Ultimate Frisbee. According to their 2023 staff and contributor statistics, they have a staff that is 79% white, down from 92% three years prior. While these numbers come with a heavy grain of salt, they can still provide us with an idea of where Ultimate is situated in comparison to other sports. For instance, golf is largely considered one of the whitest sports, yet in 2024 it was reported that 25% of golf participation was by people of color (next to 21%, 25% seems pretty good). 

Within the game of Ultimate, this lack of diversity can manifest in a number of different ways, from players of color experiencing microaggressions from fellow teammates to occasions where the “Spirit of the Game” is selectively respected depending on the other player’s skin. When it comes to race within the sport of Ultimate, it’s less an issue of overt racism but rather a result of ignorance due to the predominant overall whiteness and the protection/safety that comes as a result.

Ultimate Frisbee is a victim of its own culture. It creates an atmosphere that feels familiar to upper-class white players and as a result can perpetuate a lack of diversity within the sport. You don’t need to be white and affluent to play Ultimate, but if you want to fit in, it certainly doesn’t hurt.