Old school kickball

A few weeks ago, one of my dear friends asked if Curt and I wanted to be on a kickball team that she was putting together.  My initial thought was, “Kickball?  Sweet!  I haven’t played since elementary school.”  Yes, “in theory” kickball sounded awesome.  Then she explained that it would be eight games, every Sunday, during the spring.  The spring.  Spring in Portland, or anywhere in the northwest, is a repeating cycle of periods of clouds followed by sudden bursts of sunshine that is then interrupted by two minutes of hail and later light to heavy rain showers.  In other words, the weather is very unpredictable and seeing as I have become somewhat of a weather wuss, kickball just didn’t sound as appealing anymore.  I also switch into major couch potato mode after church on Sundays (except for the summer, when I want to conquer the world) and intentionally standing in the rain waiting to drop a pop fly just didn’t sound like something I wanted to voluntarily do.  But I also didn’t want to be the “lame” friend who “doesn’t do anything,” plus kickball is such a Portland thing to do.  How could I say no?

The Shinkickers

Sunday came around and Curt and Laird were away in Hawaii (unfair), so I was a bit lonely and in need of company.  I was thankful that it wasnt raining (it wasn’t sunny either, but again, no rain) and drove out to Southeast Hawthorne for our first game.  Our team, The Shinkickers, consists of friends of friends.  After meeting everyone, we then tried to recall the last time we ever played kickball while watching two other teams finish their game.  For me, that would be 3rd grade at a school that has since shut down.  We put on our bright gold, league t-shirts and pulled our adidas striped socks to our knees.  Although I was freezing, I started looking forward to playing and thoughts of “This is going to be great!” were now flooding my brain.

Finally the teams finished and we gathered on the dirt softball field to listen to the rules.  How many rules can kickball possibly have?  A lot.  I had no idea what our ref was talking about; fouls, running through bases to the right, blah, blah.  Couldn’t he see I was freezing?  We find out we are kicking first and silly Mark puts me as the starting kicker.  I hate being first (except in grades). 🙂  Of course my soccer instincts compel me to boot it as hard as I can, and the ball flies in the air and into the arms of the opposing team.  Out.  What a poor way to “kick” off the season.

For the next 40 minutes we bunted, booted, attempted to catch pop flies, threw balls at runners and, best of all, had a blast.  Did we win?  Of course!  Who likes to lose?  The final score was 6-5 and I even scored a run.

It’s gonna be a fun kickball season…so long as it doesn’t rain.

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