ballin’

… as in kickballing.

No one has ever accused me of being athletic, nor would they. People have accused me of being a lush, though, so you can imagine how at home I felt at my first beer-league kickball game recently.

beer+kickball

Finally, a place where I am accepted for who I am not, which is an athletic person. No one even blinked when I made the following prefatory remarks: “My instinct is to run away from the ball, but trust that I wouldn’t be able to catch it even if that were not the case, so please place me accordingly.” And place me they did, as far away from any activity as possible.

While I’m riding drunk high now, I was a ball of emotions going into the experience–a kickball of emotions, and one that gets launched at my face, to be specific. These days it’s cool to admit that you were one of those girls in school who was pelted with every piece of sports equipment imaginable–a trend about 20 years too late for my adolescent reputation. I peed my pants once in grade school PE class just so I wouldn’t have to play basketball, at least that’s how I remember it … and the ultimate irony: I was put in a pair of loaner sweatpants for the remainder of the day. But those days are past me now because no way I’m going to wear someone else’s sweatpants.

This recent experience sold me on the theory that us women can do anything we put our mind to, especially when that mind is nice and loose. Everything tastes better when you put “beer-league” in front of it, so much so that I think I’ll start a few leagues of my own. How about:

  • beer-league babysitting
  • beer-league drivers’ education
  • beer-league career training
  • beer-league wine tasting
  • bears, beets, beer-league Battlestar Galactica

How great does all of that sound?! Maybe not the babysitting idea … nothing ruins beer like babies. Anyway, I think I’m on to something here–thank you, beer-league brainstorming!

 

 

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