Bring on the stinging red ball

I used to be an athlete.  A fairly decent one at times, but the days of competitive sports have been far behind me for a very long time.

Until now.

This Friday I have my first game with my new team.  The prep has required the purchase of a $65 bra and a trip to the orthotics doc for a new set for the big day.  And the sport?

Dodgeball.

That's right.  Dodgeball.  Who knew that there were entire leagues out there for adult dodgeball?  I certainly never did, and really never would have imagined them here in town.  But I was invited to join, and join, I have.

We all have mixed memories of dodgeball from our childhoods.  Who can't love the feeling of euphoria when you hear the slap of the ball off your enemy's body and the welt left behind?  But on the other side, it's been probably 25 years since I've played, and I can still hear the thwack and echo of the ball bouncing off my face or head, and the ringing that's left.

Mike worked for a youth summer camp at the Y one year, and would come back with stories of the staff getting fed up with the kids and announcing a game of staff vs. kids dodgeball.  It never ended well for the kids.

And don't think for one minute that my kids' frustrating asses won't be the target for much of my focused rage in the ring.

Game on.