Kickball is for Cool People

In order to avoid a spinsterhood filled with organized senior citizens trips to Laughlin, I took some initiative this spring and joined an organized adult kickball league. Before you laugh out loud, let's just get this out of the way: 1) I have no athletic ability; 2) the only team I've ever belonged to was the swim team in high school and i sucked; and 3) I go to bed at 9:30 pm on weeknights so that I can read in bed for an acceptable amount of time prior to a good night's sleep. Regardless, I found a kickball team nearby and used the handy-dandy internet to sign up. A week later I was placed on a team called "Wishful Drinking." This suits me just fine since 2010 turned out to involve plenty of evenings visiting my Pops in the hospital followed by wine, lots of wine. And let's be honest, I was just happy to not be put on teams with witty names like "Fifth Base" or the Frex's former team, "Pink Tacos."

Three weeks into the season, the Drinkers and I had yet to win a game but damn it, we're having fun. The team is made up of a mix of misfits. Some young and still in school and way too cool for me. Some older and settled down and just as sleepy at 9 pm as I am. There's another teacher from the Westside (insert gang sign here), an engineer, a boombox with theme music ready for our "at-bats," and pitchers with really creative form. So far our team leaders have taught me how to catch, kick and throw and have also somehow maintained their patience when I don't perform those skills in a game with the same efficacy I did during practice.

In one particular game, I was feeling pretty confident in my ability to cover 2nd base. So confident, in fact, that I was wisely using my time to flirt with the opposing team members that happened to find their way midway on the diamond. Hipster Guy from the maroon team was my favorite. Hipster Guy has retro glasses, a super trendy watch and fun shoes. I like this. We're talking, we're chatting, we're smiling. This is good! Well... that is until two innings later when Hipster Guy is up to bat again. The pitch comes right to him. He kicks. It pops up. I make the sweetest catch, not to mention athletic act, of my life. The Drinkers cheer! I cheer! Actually, I yell "Did you see that?!" and proceed to gloat for another 90 seconds. I realize in the midst of my one and only moment of kickball glory that I have probably just seriously insulted Hipster Guy. Crap. After the last pitch has been thrown and the final ball has been kicked, Wishful Drinking does what any good sportsmanlike team would do and slap hands in a line with the other team, muttering "good game, good game, good game" to each maroon t-shirted enemy. When I reach Hipster Guy in the line I say "I'm so sorry! It's the only good thing I've ever done on the team and I got excited." He mumbles some sort of conciliatory remark and I leave feeling like a jerk.

The next week I am determined to make nice with Hipster Guy. At the bar after another night of losses, my teammates and I join the maroon table and it doesn't take long for Hipster Guy to gracefully say "hey! You're the girl who was talking mad crap to me last week!" Yep, that was me. I apologize sincerely and we chat for a bit. Unfortunately for me, I also use this time to make fun of Hipster Guy for being Canadian. Now, the roomie thinks this was totally justified for as everyone knows, Canadians are just naturally targeted for teasing. However, the roomie also thinks my flirting skills have somehow deteriorated to those of a twelve year old boy who pulls the pigtails of the girl he likes. Again, I leave feeling like a jerk.

Luckily, this jerk has a new plan: buy Hipster Guy a beer next time and DON'T insult him. Okay, game on.