Did I ever mention that I joined a kickball team?
Yeah, well, I did.
There is an adult kickball league, run by a local park. I’ve heard of it for years, but never had an interest to join. Even with my daily trip to the gym, I don’t consider myself an athletic person, and if I weren’t close to being chubby, there’s no way I’d do anything athletic or physical.
However, over the summer I went to a little party (you might recall I brought the trainer with me) and met up with some friends. They, J & J, were trying to ’round up folks for their kickball team. They especially needed girls. I told them I hadn’t played kickball since 5th grade, and even then I sucked at it.
They assured me, it was fine, and that really, it was a social/drunk thing. Well, alright…I mean, I am always up for meeting new people (since I have about ZERO friends) and I will never, ever turn down an opportunity to get drunk.
So, I told them I was in.
Last week was my first game. The team had 2 prior games that I couldn’t attend because I was teaching. I was nervous as all hell. I didn’t know the rules, and I didn’t know 80% of my team. I didn’t even know what to wear. I settled on a pair of shorts and an old t-shirt from my sorority. My team t-shirt, complete with “JEAH” on the back, was being printed.
So, I arrived at the park an hour early. There was a baseball game going on, so I sat and watched. I saw some other teams arrive, mostly dykes. And they were serious, sporting cleats and knee-high socks with proper strips. I felt small.
Finally, one of the Js arrived, and he gave me a quick rundown of the rules: touch the orange base in this case, the white in this case, don’t run on a pop-fly, don’t bunt, don’t let your foot cross the kicker’s plate, you must kick on a granny pitch…
“Don’t worry, it’s pretty much the same rules as baseball,” he said.
Perfect. Because I have no fucking clue how to play ball.
We went to the dugout, I was fourth up to kick. The lights, the bases, the bleachers. What the fuck had I gotten myself into?
Pitcher went for it, I kicked and ran like hell, making it to first base.
Since the games are only 5 innings, it went fast, and I actually had a great time. My teammates are really nice, everyone cheered me on even when I got out a few times, and they’re not as serious as some of the other teams.
This week was my second game. I wasn’t quite as nervous, I’d bought a new pair of shorts and was wearing my awesome team t-shirt, and I’d even studied up on some of the rules. However, I really wanted to score a point, or at least get on base, because I didn’t want to let my team down.
We got in the dugout, posted the kick lineup and warmed up. My turn was next. I skipped over to the kicker’s plate and shimmied my toes into the mud, ready to kick some ass, when…
“Lucky?? What are you doing here?” said a familiar voice from behind me.
And of course, in true Lucky fashion, it was a guy I used to fuck. Not dated. Fucked.
Normally, this wouldn’t have shaken me up too much. However, this recently engaged guy had just contacted me to “catch up” and I blew him off, disgusted. Not to mention the fact that I was on home base trying to play nice with my new friends.
The ball rolled my way and I kicked it enough to make it to 3rd base. Thank God.
The former fuck buddy got a few questions in as the game continued, because, Lucky for me, I play catcher, which is right by the ref’s spot. He wanted to know when I joined the league, what I was up to, how was I, etc?
The whole time I simply wondered, where’s your fiancee?