Welcome to the already-successful second season of kickball. It’s where boys become men, girls become women, and people become weeping, drunken messes. And all of this in the sunshine!
We are awaiting pictures, so I shall paint a picture… with WORDS.
Two teams gathered, full of venom and mirth, to square off against one another via a children’s game. One team, “Vomiting Blood”, excelled remarkably at their namesake. The second team, “Still Bleeding”, proved that their name was not inaccurate. Look, I’m not saying that this is how normal games go, but by the end of it, the field looked like a dozen rehearsals of the end of “Carrie”.
Just kidding! The total blood output (TBO) of the game was maybe a single bucket, MAXIMUM. Plays were called, smiles were shared, and my fucking team lost 4-3. It’s fine, though, as we’re non-competitive, and my team excelled at simply looking fantastic.
Some of you may be asking what the true merit of this game must be. To answer, kickball is as much a sporting event as football, basketball, baseball, or shuffleboard. It’s a sport that, with the aid of just a round rubber ball and superfluous, sometimes completely homoerotic uniforms, can strip away the layers we so carefully build up around ourselves, leaving bare the most beautiful and true nature of a person: the human spirit.
People treat kickball as if it were birthed in our gym classes in elementary school. They fail to read up on their history of this sport that was, at times, quite brutal. The Aztecs played it, with the losing team often given the “march of shame” up the temple steps where their hearts were systematically torn out as sacrifice for the sun god. Full of ignorance, modern-day people fail to recognize the symbolism of sacrifice to a sun god – the sun is round. A kickball is round. You’re smart people, and it’s not rocket science, so I’ll let you all do the math. KICKBALL IS NOT A NEW CONCEPT. It’s full of history, like a delicious History Pot-Pie!
Entrenched deep in history books, newly Knighted members would often attempt to introduce battle with a rival kingdom by approaching the castle walls with a kickball in hand, shortly before being riddled with archer’s arrows and doused in gallons of boiling oil. In the 1920’s, mobsters would often gather in back alleys and abandoned lots to settle a score with a florescent ball and childlike glee. Gone were the tommy guns and cement shoes. The thrill of the sport of kickball plays no favorites; it simply caters to the human soul. The joy one can derive from kickball is universal. And now, in the present, we proudly carry on this tradition that has united the nations while also, ironically, has been responsible for the death of millions. That’s neither here nor there.
As usual, everyone reading this or even THINKING about having their youthful spirits driven into the dirt of the kickball field should attend these games. It’s less about the game, and more about meeting wonderful people. Also worth mentioning is that there is NO game this upcoming weekend, as it’s Bay To Breakers.
I’m going as a screaming goat.
We’ll see you next weekend, May 24th, at a place yet to be determined. Be well, all of you!