Kickball: CRaMit

For the past several years, I've been bugging my friends to start a kickball team with me. My theory was that it's one of those "sports" that anyone can play because everyone looks stupid playing it -- I mean, big, wobbly rubber ball and all. But I've never gotten any serious takers, so I'd given up the dream.

And then I got the email: kickball tourny ... at work (sans alcohol, of course, which absolutely is NOT how kickball is meant to be played). Not exactly what I had in mind, but still on my wish list. So I named our team (Team CRaMit ... made up of the CRM team), whipped us up some shirts, and set out to see if kickball was all I had dreamed it would be.

In theory, kickball is the perfect "sport." Level playing field (because of the crazy rubber ball) and generally silly in nature. However, once I got on the field, I remembered all the really embarrassing things that come with kickball. For instance: when you go to kick the ball and it bounces just so that you kick with all your might but miss the ball entirely. And if you also happen to fall down after that maneuver, well, I'm just sayin. And so, as I rallied with the rest of my professional CRaMit team on the field, the gravity of the situation started to set in, and I got very, very nervous.

As it turns out, I'm a lot more comfortable up "at bat" than in the field. I played soccer as a kid, as a fullback, so even though I hadn't kicked a ball (except maybe figuratively) for about a decade or more, I felt fairly confident that I could make some sort of showing in the scoring capacity -- which I did, barely, and only because the big, wobbly ball exhibited its unpredictable nature in the catching field.

But with every third out, I was overcome with dread.

Here's the truth. My name is Amanda, and I don't like balls flying at my face (I know, there goes my social life). I don't care if they're softballs (which, for the record, are not at all soft) or goofy rubber balls. I don't like it. I blame my dad for this. Not only did he fail to teach me how to aggressively pursue catching high-speed balls, but he also failed to teach me how to NOT throw like a girl. Combine the two inadequacies, and you have a hella crappy field person.

So as I stood in the field, in pseudo "bring it" position, I was hoping to any and all divine powers that the ball didn't come my way. And when we lost our first game at the last minute, and I was completely relieved that we wouldn't have to play another game, I knew that kickball was not my thing.

So ... is kickball my passion?
No. I mean, that's not to say that I wouldn't play again. But it would have to involve friends and alcohol.