after all this time, i still suck at kickball

The kickball season came to a close yesterday and ummm…yeah…I’m kinda sad about it, I guess. In retrospect, it was nothing that I expected it to be, but it was still a great experience.

Back in June, Jesse and I received an invitation to join the team from Kate who was a captain last season. Kate, who I suspect gets easily excited about many things, was totally stoked about the upcoming season and was trying to convince Jesse and me to join. Jesse had done the kickball thing with his previous employer. I hadn’t played kickball since grade school. However, we were both open to experiencing the camaraderie of playing on a team and getting some exercise in the outdoors. So, with little hesitation, we signed up.

I knew that kickball in DC was popular, but I didn’t realize how popular until I had told some of my coworkers that I was going to play. Some of them expressed to me that they didn’t think that kickball was “my thing.” I may not be a natural athlete but how do my coworkers know that? I couldn't understand why they felt that way. Thankfully, it was Shama who alerted me to the true nature of kickball—an activity that facilitates drinking and hooking up. Subsequent perusals of the weekly kickball newsletter (yes, there’s a newsletter) confirmed this fact. The post game drinking was something that Jesse and I only partook of twice—the second time being yesterday (and it was more celebratory than an attempt to get hammered). I’m certainly no prude nor am I a lush. However, my desire to drink doesn’t kick in until the weekend. It’s just wrong to drink during the week unless it’s happy hour (or there’s a college football game on, like tonight). After all, I have to get up early to go to work in the morning (clearly, I’m old).

Jesse and I were fortunate to be on a fun team with some truly awesome people. For me, this was the draw of kickball. I got to see my friend Kate on a semi-regular basis. We played with the coolest people who supported you no matter how much you sucked (ahem), or how often you got out (ahem), or how often you killed the rally (AHEM!). In my opinion, Jesse and I were kinda the yin and the yang of the team. Because no matter how much I sucked, Jesse was there to balance my “suckiness” with his really great plays and kicks. And I was always more than happy to be his #1 cheerleader on the team.

As I look back at the season, I am shocked and appalled that my kickball skills didn’t improve. How hard is it to kick a ball? Very hard, apparently. In the entire season, I got to base only once and that was probably my proudest kickball moment. I guess I made a couple of good defensive stops in the outfield but I never really thought so unless Jesse told me.

Last night, after our post game sangria at La Tasca with the team, Jesse and I briefly contemplated doing kickball again. At the time, I didn’t really want to. I’m probably going to suck just as much next season. But then again, I really can’t suck any more than this and there’s only no way to go but up! Now that I’ve had time to think about it, I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.

Hey, maybe next season I’ll actually score!

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.

i will forever be known as the girl who killed the rally

Jesse and I played kickball again last night (“the couple who plays together stays together”…or something like that). We were very proud of our win last week and felt pretty good about playing a team that had previous lost by a lot of runs. I wouldn’t say that we were over-confident…just confident enough to win.

So, it felt odd to us when we were being shut out up until the last inning. How is it that shut outs happen? It’s kickball, after all. The game is based on offensive production. It’s really about who can score the most points by the end of the game…not about who’s defense is good enough to keep the other team from scoring. That’s just crazy.

But then a miracle happened. In the bottom of the 5th, we rallied. After being down 3-0, we quickly (although getting to this point felt like an eternity) came back and pulled within one. At this point, there were runners on second base and first. And then the words I was hoping not to hear with two outs in the bottom of the 5th—“Liz, you’re up.”

It was all so surreal. This feeling of dread came over me as I made my way to home plate. Walking past my teammates, I could hear them say, “Go Liz!” “You can do it.” Eye of the Tiger starts playing in my head. Full of an impending sense of doom, I came up to the plate and saw the ball come towards me. It was way off to the left of the plate. Ball 1. One of my teammates yells, “Good eye, Liz!” The ball comes at me again. With the hopes and dreams of all my teammates, I give it a good kick. Foul Ball. The ball comes at me a third time. With my own hope and dream of becoming the game’s hero, I kick it with power. Foul Ball again. “Come on, Liz.” That’s right. Come on, Liz. You CAN do this. You CAN win the game for your team. For the fourth time, the ball comes. It took a strange bounce but I kicked it anyways…with all of my might.

Oh I kicked it alright. Straight into the pitcher’s hands. He then proceeds to tag me out as I race to first base. The rally ends, but even worse, the game ends too.

Damn it. I let the team down. I let myself down too.

i heart kickball

Yesterday was the first day of kickball. To be honest, I was a little upset that they hadn’t postponed it. I’m sure you peeps have all heard about the heat warnings and how you should limit any outdoor activities. I thought, certainly WAKA (world adult kickball association) doesn’t want a lawsuit on their hands. Perhaps they’ll cancel. But noooooooo. Kickball was still on.

With my one liter bottle of water in hand, I headed over to the Mall. I was introduced to the rest of the team and started our game shortly thereafter. It had been a long time since I had played kickball (not since grade school) and I really thought I would suck. I dreaded coming up to kick.

The reality was that no one really cared if you were any good. Everyone was there to have a good time. There was a healthy dose of competition (expected). There was lots of team spirit, whether you sucked or not (expected). And there was drinking…lots of it (not expected considering the weather). Frankly, next time we play (provided that it’s not over 100 degrees heat index), I might be tempted to imbibe. But drinking while it’s super hot while performing some amount of physical activity just doesn’t sound like a good idea. Didn’t anyone read about Sharkbait’s bout with dehydration? Dehydration is a real, plausible threat in this kind of weather and it’s important for my peeps to drink plenty of water and stay cool.

Now that my public health concern has been voiced, back to kickball. I actually didn’t suck. I had a good kick during my at-bat (ummm…at-kick?). I even got a compliment on my kick from one of the teammates (that whole team spirit thing). And I had a couple of good almost catches (meaning I kept the ball close and in play). Good times were had by all.

Next time, Jesse and I will have to participate in the post game drinking. Apparently, I won’t know kickball until drinking is involved. Great. Like I need another reason to drink.

OC girl and kickball? an unlikely pairing

As of today, I am officially a kickballer. Those of you who know me from my Wonkette mention are probably thinking, “oh no. Little miss priss is gonna ruin her mani-pedi with organized sports.” Actually, I don’t do manicures because my desire to keep the color intact seriously reduces my typing speed and I like typing quickly. Although I really don’t know much about kickball, the reality is that I’m kinda looking forward to playing.

How difficult can kickball be? You kick a ball and run some bases. It’s easy, right?

My friend Kate invited Jesse and me to join her team. Jesse’s an ol’ kickball pro so he’s cool with it all (and he was one of the best players on that team from what I recall). On the other hand, I haven’t played kickball since grade school so I’m not too sure about my skills. I’m a little nervous that I’m gonna suck. And as far as team sports go, I don’t really want to bring down the team. So, I’m feeling a little pressure.

But there’s a certain adrenaline rush that comes with the competition in organized sports. The desire to win fuels your performance, which in turn, hopefully drives your team. That’s probably what I enjoyed the most about my previous oraganized sports endeavor—IM-REC co-ed basketball at USC. I enjoyed that people thought that I couldn’t play basketball since I’m a girl (hard to believe that some people still think that these days). My desire to prove them wrong furthered my desire to win which then affected my performance. Competitive sports does have its perks.

But kickball perks are different. Apparently, there’s alcohol and happy hour involved. And frankly, it’s hard to say no to that.