and God said, let there be kickball

When has the weather forecast for Washington DC ever been accurate? This question bounced around in my head yesterday while at work. For me (and Jesse), Wednesday means kickball and with the forecast calling for an 80% chance of rain for the afternoon, I was certain that kickball would be cancelled. Certainly WAKA (world adult kickball association) wouldn’t want us playing around in the pouring rain, setting ourselves up for any number of grave illnesses. At approximately 4 pm, I received an email with the following subject line, “It’s still on.” Silly me. Eventually I will come to realize that the only thing that would cancel kickball is 6 feet of snow.

So following my fall and pretty easy-going workout, I headed out to the Mall to play. Before I continue, I feel obligated to come clean about something. I’m not a good kickball player. Actually, if there was a spectrum of kickball player caliber, I would end up on the “sucks” side. I’m not sure why, but I can’t get to first base to save my life. I’m essentially on the bottom of the lineup, the spot reserved for the player who sucks. At least I can admit that I suck and I don’t have delusions of grandeur.

Fortunately for me, my team isn’t hardcore about kickball. We do it to have a good time. However, I have reasons to believe that we are not the norm. For example, the team we played yesterday had a couple of “kickball nazis” on their team, players who are very passionate about winning and contest the occasional call that doesn’t go their way. It’s kickball, for crying out loud. We’re not trying to save the world. We’re just trying to have a good time.

And a good time was definitely had yesterday. At some point in the middle of the game, the clouds broke and the sun shined on us for the first time all day. It was as if God had parted the storm and said to us, “Let there be kickball.”

The following inning, I came upon a familiar scenario. We had just started to make our comeback. We had scored several runs and excitement was high. I was so caught up in team spirit that I barely heard the captain say, “Liz, you’re up.” I knew that we already had two outs and I was certain to be the third. But this time, I so didn’t want to be the girl that killed the rally, AGAIN. So, I found my inner peace, heard Jesse say, “Go, Liz” and thought, hey we still have two more innings. If I’m the third out, it might not be so bad. After two foul kicks, I feigned kicking really hard and gently tapped the ball. I ran so hard to first base that I barely noticed the pains in my right ankle and left knee. It wasn’t until I got there that I realized that I had not been tagged out. I asked the 1st base umpire if I was safe and he said, “Yeah, good kick.”

I felt complete joy and elation at the realization that I did not kill the rally. Actually, my teammate behind me did. But that’s ok, because I finally know what it is like to reach first base.

If that wasn’t divine intervention, then I don’t know what is.