DodgeBALLS

"Let's join a dodge ball team," Mr. Kate suggested. "It'll be fun," he said.

I am not known as well for my athletic skills as I am for my many other amazing talents, but Mr. Kate tried to coerce me by telling me how wonderful, versatile and naturally athletic I am. After which he compared a dodge ball game to a game that my siblings and I might play together. I have to admit, between the compliments and the fact that he thought that my siblings and I ever engaged in any physical activity other than beating the crap out of each other, I was flattered.

When we arrived, a woman in front of us with a broken hand was signing in and explaining to the lady behind the desk that she broke her hand at the last dodge ball game.
They laughed.
I looked at Mr. Kate. He winced and glanced away, avoiding my glare.

Seconds later, a boy walked into the room from the gym where a different dodge ball game was currently taking place. He walked up to the lady behind the desk.
"Mom!" He exclaimed, interrupting the laughter over the the broken hand.
"Yes?"
"Daammmn! Those white dudes are throwing those balls HARRRD!"
As she scolded him for swearing, I turned around and darted for the front door. Mr. Kate grabbed me at the last second and pulled me back in, insisting that everything would be fine. "And besides," he said, "I've already paid for this."
"You PAID for this? You PAID to be decapitated by balls thrown by some crazy dudes?!? Have you forgotten that we share a bank account??!!"


As I laid into him, explaining that now I get to buy the dogs some dog costumes without consulting him the next time the urge strikes me, our teammates approached, handed me a shirt, game me a pat on the back and a high five and, moments later, I found myself in a dark, scary little gymnasium, filled with large, full-grown men who were using ball-throwing as an anger management outlet. Then the fun began.

That's me at the left edge of the photo. The pigeon-toed one.

Moments after this picture was taken, I was slammed in the stomach with a speeding ball, at which point my slightly raised pigeon toe caught on the back of my grounded foot, causing me to face plant into the floor. Yes, I tripped over my own pigeon-toed foot.

I became the "back-up" player shortly thereafter. Weird?

So, yeah, I'll definitely get MVP.

On the other hand, it turns out I'm pretty good at playing flip cup after the games, and I was proud to lead my team to our first victory of the evening. Redemption.