It’s Just Kickball
Photo by Todd Borner on FREEIMAGES
It doesn’t matter if you win or lose…
Athletic stature is coveted in sports. Basketball. Soccer. Swimming. Not kickball for grownups. In kickball, athletic ability is of no consequence. All you need to play is a heartbeat.
Hell, when I played, there was a keg at second base. Regardless of competition level, I still played to win.
Kickball is played with a big rubber ball. Due to the size and material, the ball bounces off the dirt and off the grass in the outfield. It’s only natural for it to bounce when anyone throws it.
Yet, the Bowler, as I called him, had an ability like no other. Plainly put, the man defied gravity. For when he pitched, the rubbery, bouncing ball morphed into a newly-polished metal sphere. When it hit the ground, it stayed down. No bounce. Just a smooth drive past home plate.
I studied the Bowler’s pitch but could never replicate it. I’m fully convinced the Bowler’s stature was the key. Being one of the fattest men in the league, I suspect his body mass acted as some sort of stabilizer to ensure the ball stayed on the ground.
In addition to being a shock absorber, the Bowler was quite skilled in speed. The ball FLEW from his hand to the catcher before the kicker even saw it leave his hand. The Bowler was the best pitcher in the league.
The league held an afterparty at a local bar. I watched the Bowler from afar one night. As he feasted with friends on chili cheese fries and guzzled a pitcher of beer, it was hard to imagine how his diet might make me into a better player. Though, I certainly tried.
My team was average. We had a couple good players, but most of the team played for fun. Kickball was not a sport to take seriously. Unfortunately, my childlike, competitive side failed to understand this.
The up-and-coming Millennials adopted an “everybody wins” attitude. Whereas I, being from Generation X was stuck on the old school mentality of “one team wins and one team loses.”
My team was on the chopping block. If we lost this game, we were out of the playoffs. It was the final inning. We were up first and already had two outs.
The score was tied and we—meaning me—were desperate to gain a point. If we brought home the runner on second, then we had a chance to hold them on defense.
The Bowler took the mound. Like all his other tosses, his pitch was perfect. Our kicker ran towards it with all her might, but she kicked it out of bounds.
Before the ball went out of bounds, our runner on second-base attempted to run to third. However, the third baseman scooped up the foul ball and nailed our second-base runner with it.
If the third baseman caught the ball and then hit the second base runner, that would be considered fair play. However, since this was a foul ball, our runner was permitted safe harbor back to second base.
Only the third baseman didn’t see it that way.
Photo by Nathan Shively on Unsplash
“I got you!” the third baseman shouted.
“Nooooo,” she protested.
“Yeah, I got you. You’re out,” the third baseman feverishly fought.
“Am I?” she questioned.
The ref blankly stared and stood in silence. He didn’t call the play one way or the other, even though the play was clearly in our favor. When I realized that we may actually lose the play, I took matters into my own hands.
“She’s IN!” I screamed from the dugout.
“It was fair,” the third baseman yelled back.
I was shocked since it was clearly a foul ball. Everyone looked at the ref to make the call.
I assumed the ref would call it in our favor since it certainly was. However! The Bowler’s team had far more passion and zest for the game than our team of super agreeable players.
“This guy is gonna convince me,” the ref said as he shrugged and gulped his beer.
I looked around. No one on my team of neutral players made a peep. Instead, everyone looked at one another, waiting for someone else to say something. Not on my watch!
Photo by Patrick Fore on Unsplash
“Oh, hell no!” I yelled. I charged from the dugout and into the field.
“Say what now?” the ref asked.
The ref pretended to listen while he eyeballed the keg. I suspect he was comparing how much time it would take to jog to second base and refill his cup vs. the length of my bitch rant.
‘The odds are in your favor, sir,’ I thought.
I stepped up onto my soapbox. All eyes were on me. Ahem…
“She kicked the ball. It went into foul territory BEFORE it passed third base. You did not touch it until it was already in foul territory. Therefore, according to the official rules, the play on the field STOPS and SHE. IS. INNNNN!!!!!!” screamed the Monica Gellar Fan Girl
No one said a word. The ref blinked as he finished pouring his fresh beer.
“Yeah, okay. Fine. That’s cool,” he said as he moseyed back behind home base.
“YES!” I exclaimed.
I jumped up and down before I ran back to my smiling teammates. We’re back, baby! Victory was near!
“Who’s up?! Gary! Come on, Gary! Bring us home!” I encouraged.
Photo by Markus Spiske from Pexels
Like I said, we only had a few good players. All of which were at the top of the lineup and we were at the bottom…the very bottom of the barrel to be exact.
Gary was a good guy, but not exactly a star player or equipped with any athletic skill of any kind. Gary was lanky and pretty pale. I think he was an accountant or an actuary or something. Either way, Gary didn’t get out much.
The Bowler struck poor Gary out in less than a minute. Not only did we lose the game, but we were out of the playoffs too. The Bowler’s teammates screamed and cheered. They rushed to the mound to congratulate him.
I was disappointed, but was alone on that. My teammates were all indifferent as they all funneled out of the dugout. So much so, I wondered if I missed the point.
“It's just kickball,” my teammate Jen comforted me.
When there are no real stakes to lose, then there’s no real pressure to win either.
For me, the bonding was in team spirit and friendly competition. Whereas my teammates were in the league purely for the afterparty. Something fun to do on a Monday night and a way to make friends. The game itself did not matter. That is a beautiful sentiment, but can’t we do both?!?!?
I looked back at the Bowler. At least my last kickball game was lost to a solid player who had the best of both worlds—the win and the camaraderie.
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