To read my column this week click here. When you finish please pray to whatever god you believe in, that I may be blessed with extraordinary kickball skills by six o’clock tonight. Otherwise, pray I don’t punch anyone who makes fun of me in the face.
by Sarah Nielson
I’ve never been much of an athlete. In fact, I’ve spent a lifetime avoiding all sports-related activities. I suffered enough humiliation in gym classes as a kid that I’ve spent my entire adult life shunning all things sports. Especially ball sports - those childhood dodgeball bruises weren’t just physical ones.
When a friend of mine sent an e-mail about trying to find people for her kickball team, I thought, “What the hell?” It’s not like I had anything else going on Thursday nights, and maybe it was time to get over my fear of sports.
The kicker was when I found out the entire league goes to the bar together afterwards. I thought it would be a great way to meet new people. However, I overlooked one tiny detail: I have no athletic ability, and would soon be making a fool of myself in front of these people.
When I expressed this fear to my friend, she assured me that our team was there to have fun and none of the players were the competitive type. She also reminded me about the mid-season and end-of-season parties. I remembered hearing how much fun they had been the previous season, so I gave in and signed up.
I had the foresight to also sign up my younger, and much sportier, brother. It was the only way to be forgiven for any kickball blunders I would make during the season.
The first game went off without a snag, at least on my end. At the end of the game, there was a fight between the opposing team and the referee over a call, which I found more humorous than distressful.
It was the second game that made me want to give up kickball and find a sport more geared towards me. Something like synchronized drinking.
When it was my turn to kick I stood way too close to the plate. I admit I wasn’t really paying attention, but didn’t see why a woman on the opposing team felt the need to make snarky comments about it.
I’m the master of snark, but even I have my limits. I was livid. Frankly, if I thought I could have thrown the ball and hit her in the face, I would have. Instead, in a flustered state, I kicked the ball and got out at first. The second time I was up I didn’t fare any better.
I skipped the bar in lieu of a paper I needed to write for school, and immediately went home following the game. The thought of running into that woman at the bar may have had a little something to do with it as well.
I promised myself I’d play another couple of games before quitting. In life I’ve found having a plan helps me accomplish my goals. My plan is to drink enough before the game that I’m unaware of the fact I’m actually playing a sport.
It’s a well-thought-out plan and one that I hope will help. The pleasant buzz may also help with any anger issues if the next team decides to cop attitude. After all, a bottle of vodka is much cheaper than anger management classes.
To learn more about Salt Lake City’s kickball league visit www.kickball.com.
After years and years of excuses I’m finally going to learn to snowboard this weekend. As an ex-instructor Mrs. AK has happily agreed to teach me. Being married to AK has given her enough patience that I feel comfortable with her having the patience it will take to teach a klutz like me. Plus she promised we could drink wine afterwards.
I’m still planning on being very allergic to snow, and the cold. Which is why Mrs. AK carefully chose the warmest weekend possible to go. She knows me well.
Why this year? Truthfully I’ve run out of valid excuses.
1994-2000 Too scared of heights to be bothered.
2001 Too cheap to spend the money.
2002 Busy finding excuses to avoid the Olympics
2003 Washing my hair. All Winter long!
2004 Sundance.
2005 Kidney stones for Christmas and a new relationship kept me too busy.
2006 The great ear infection of ’06 was enough of an excuse.
2007 Not working and couldn’t justify spending the money.
My goal is zero injuries. Wish me luck! I’ll most certainly need it.
Sarah: “Hey, I’m going to meet the punk rock kids at the bar to watch the Patriots game. Do you want to come?”
Ben: “I can’t, I’m watching Silence of the Lambs and the game here.”
Sarah: “Um, why?”
Ben: “I’m comparing the two. Hannibal Lecter and the Patriots have lots in common. Hannibal likes to tease his victims and take his time, just like the Patriots.”
Sarah: “I’ll never understand why girls like you. I know you’re a cool guy, but you probably come off as the skin-suit kind of guy.”
Ben: “Chicks dig the mullet.”
Last night was cheap beer night at the Grizzlies Game. So we all went. I was late getting there since I have a Tuesday night Math class, but I arrived just in time to hear Ben arguing with the beer vendor.
Beer Vendor: “You can either get a 10 oz. beer for one dollar, or a 32 oz. beer for four dollars. But I recommend you get the larger beer. It’s a better deal.”
Ben: “Actually that’s not true. If I get the small beer I save 2.5 cents per ounce. Trust me, I did the math before I got here.”
BV: “But the 32 oz beer is larger therefore you have more beer.”
Ben: “Yes, but that’s not the point, the point is to save money on beer. That’s the whole idea behind cheap beer night. I can buy a large beer at four dollars or four small beers at four dollars. Same amount of money but 8 oz less, which makes zero sense.”
At that point the beer vendor stopped talking to him and poured the beers. I guess math really is used in every day life, and here I thought it was a waste of my time.
