Kickball

This fall, I did something I have wanted to do for a while now. I joined an adult kickball league. And since I didn’t want to do it by myself, I dragged Amanda along with me. She was really excited, and didn’t understand the night of our first game when I told her I couldn’t eat a piece of her yummy chocolate because I was too nervous and would throw up. She laughed, but then later confessed that she understood as she stood on first base for the first time that night and realized the seriousness of it all.

You see, we signed up for some fun. We did not sign up to be master kickball players or even to win any sort of title. (Sorry, Amy.) We simply wanted to do something fun together.

Well, we spend a lot of time together alright, standing along the fence, chuckling to each other because everyone gets so worked up over the games. Like maybe they are going to get a cool ring or money at the end of the season. After that first game, we realized we were going to have to step it up and get serious to make it in this league! We are taking it seriously, I mean, we want to kick, catch, and run home with the best of them, but we would like to bring a little maturity to the field.

Ha! After our game last night, which, sadly, Amanda missed due to strep throat, I feel like maybe the word “adult” should be removed from the phrase “adult kickball league.” I expect children, who don’t know any better, to heckle and yell and throw fits when things don’t go their way. I was a bit taken back last night when people on both my team and the other team forgot that they were not eight years old and playing for the Little League Championship. (And I may be insulting some eight year old baseball players here.) I may have even thrown out a curse word or two, but only after being slid into and then this girl dropped her shoulder on me and came in for the kill... Another story there…

I am just as competitive as the next person, but I want my playing to be remembered for skill and sportsmanship and not because I was the most obnoxious, loudmouth on the field. Anyway, the teacher (and nice, responsible person) in me wanted to grab these “adults” by the shoulders and holler at them:

It’s only a game. It’s kickball for crying out loud. You are acting like a horse’s behind. Quit cheating and yelling at the (volunteering) referees. Would you like to walk off this field with a win or the knowledge that because you played your best and within the rules, you won no matter the score?

But then, I came to my senses and kept my mouth shut. After all, you really shouldn’t mess with angry eight year olds trapped in tremendous adult bodies!

*** I had to laugh after the game when we are all shaking hands (the game was tied) and all of a sudden everyone from both teams gets together and talks about the costumes they are wearing to the 70s party later that night. Like nothing had happened. Like they weren’t just at each other’s throat over a bad call. Apparently, when the game is on, it’s ON, but when it’s over we are all friends again. I had forgotten what it is like to be in the second grade:)