What kickball SHOULD be

Written 6/17. Posted 7/01. Because I took forever to edit (read: majorly trim down) what I originally wrote. Sorry! 

K and I had a kickball game last night (two, actually, but more on that later). One of the guys on the opposing team is quite a character.

Abs spends a lot of time working out. The reason I know this is because he takes off his shirt so many times in the course of a game that it's become a league joke to keep a tally of how many times it happens. As if that's not enough, he also enjoys busting out with random pushups, pullups (on nearby soccer goals), handstands, etc. It's bizarre. It's cocky.

When we played Abs's team, we were both tied for first in our league. Talk about a big game.

We made some mistakes in the first inning. We were a little nervous, and it was obvious. Abs's team capitalized on that, and they were able to score 4 runs. There were 3 questionable calls (2 of which involved refs' conflicting opinions), and all went to Abs's team, since my team takes the classy route and doesn't argue with refs.

Our nerves settled down after that inning. It became very clear that Abs's team was just as nervous about playing us as we were. Possibly even worse. Where missed catches, wild throws or bobbles on my team are met with, "That's OK! Shake it off!", Abs's teammates were more of the "C'mon! You gotta GET THAT!" It was tense. It was intense. It was not fun.

It became clear that Abs's team had actually scouted and studied our lineup. The coach would shout to the entire team, "Justin's kicking! Then Mike! Then Liz!"

They were playing only their 12 best players; the rest of the team sat in plain clothes on the sidelines. We had our entire team of 20 suited up and playing. And every one of us got field time.

Somewhere in the 3rd inning, we realized we weren't going to win this game. When Abs removed his shirt again, one of our girls started yelling and joking about nipples. Our pitcher, who loves kickball and gets pretty nervous about games like this one, was laughing so hard that he actually had to pause for a minute to gather himself before throwing the ball.

It was all downhill from there. We decided all the guys should take their shirts off at the start of the 5th inning. K liked the idea so much that he ripped his shirt off as soon as we told him. Another guy followed.

It was our turn to kick. One of our teammates had a blast with his at-bat. It was clear he was going to get tagged out on first, but for the fun of it, he dove for it. I swear, he flew 3 ft. We were cracking up on the sidelines! To add to the fun, as soon as he jumped up, he ripped his shirt off as he ran back over to us.

It was then that the team decided if we made it to first base, we would take off our shirt.

Fast-forward an inning, and it was my turn to kick. Abs had just dropped into a random set of pushups. My teammates joked that we should each do pushups before we kicked. Sounded like a good idea to me.

I stepped up to home plate. The pitcher and infield players were just settling in to their places again.

I marched right up to the plate. Dropped down to the ground. I set myself into pushup position. 

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

Five pushups. Real pushups -- not chick ones. Just the right amount to get my point across. Just the right amount to deliver confidently, correctly, and without expending any energy I'd need for my next task. 

Far in the background, I heard my teammates screaming. Cheering. Clapping. People were going crazy. 

From the infield, I heard Abs say he could admit when he'd been stood up by a girl--just before I saw him bust out a handstand from the corner of my eye. (Seriously, what is UP with that guy?!)

I vaguely heard and saw all of these things. But I was already focused on my next task at hand: kicking the ball. A task I'd managed to suck at quite a bit this season. I hoped my initial "in your face" display wouldn't be met with a sheepish strikeout. 

The pitcher chunked the first ball at me. It was far left of the plate. 

Ball!

Then another. 

Ball!

"Yes!" I thought. "Maybe he'll walk me." 

But the next pitch went screaming right over homeplate. "Here goes nothing."

I raised my right knee, and the ball connected with the inside of my right foot and headed toward third base. It looked fair, so I took off. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Abs go running for it. 

"Shit! He's going to beat me!" 

He was headed toward first, ready to throw the ball at the baseman. I was determined to beat him. 

I ran as fast as I could. Just before I reached the base, I saw Abs's wild throw get away from the first baseman. I was safe. By a longshot. 

I slammed my foot into first base, and I immediately began celebrating. 

I might have remembered the deal myself, or I might have heard one of my teammates screaming about it from the sidelines. But somehow, as soon as the "reach the base, take off your shirt" rule clicked in my mind, I ripped my shirt over my head as quickly as I could. 

I was screaming and jumping up and down. 

Of all the times to get on base--and of all the ways to do it--this was the best. 

I ignored the wayward ball. 

Like hell was I about to risk getting out by getting cocky with base running. Like hell did I think twice about taking off my shirt. Like hell were we going to get upset about losing a kickball game.

Seriously, my favorite moment of the entire kickball season.

When the game was all said & done, we lost 6-0. But anyone watching us leave the field would never have known. Our team was laughing, smiling, and carrying on. Abs's team walked off little by little, looking more like they'd lost, and asking the coach why they couldn't have more fun like us.