Kickblog

Spring has brought kickball into my life. It's hipster gym class, but I love it. It's everything that I believed derby would be in my life, before that evolved into a second full-time job: unbelievably crazy people, lots and lots and lots of beer, ridiculous outfits, surprisingly competitive and a fuckton of fun.

Denver kickball neophyte? Well, here's the breakdown:

Denver Kickball Coalition (DKBC - I know the acronym isn't technically correct, so that's kinda all you need to know) consists of 12 teams and 2 conferences: sack lunch vs. hot lunch. Team rosters this year only consisted of returning players; all new players went into the draft. Which consisted of us standing around half-drunk on the stage of the Hi-Dive while team captains pointed at people they wanted on their team and asked for names later. Games on Sundays, loosely (and I mean loosely) organized and umped on a set of softball fields that we've never officially reserved through the Parks and Rec department. The league has simply intimidated every other sports group from using the fields.

The Clayton Manor is thoroughly embroiled in kickball. To a degree I can't rightly describe. After an aborted attempt to develop a new team, we all went into the draft. And ended up on different teams in the same conference. Our extended Clayton Manor family and the corresponding teams who drafted us:

Me - Shitkickers
Rick - The Convicted
Margi - Catscans
Julie - Team Hi Dive
Garrett - Always Drunk

When I get some new batteries for my camera, I'll post some photos because it's a gotta-see-to-believe thing. But in the meantime, I'll simply reflect on the strange nature of being drafted and playing for the Shitkickers.

The Shitkickers are one of the most competitive teams in the league. On top of that, they're mostly a bunch of macho, swaggering, jerkface asshats who love to win at all costs. They play the minimum number of women on the field (so only four women play for them), taunt the other teams relentlessly, and are other otherwise pretty offensive. And they drafted ME. And here's the thing: I kinda love 'em. One of my captains took the field last week wearing a nicotine patch while smoking a cigarette and alternated between drinking a red bull and a PBR during the first inning. We then went on to beat our opposing team 51-4. The Shitkickers don't rely on me a whit to win the game, but they've accorded me the dubious honor of drafting me because they think I'm a girl worth having (if they must have them) and we've developed a weird, authentic sort of camaraderie as a result. I guess the bottom line for me is that if any of them cross a line I truly care about, I could punch them in the face - and they would appreciate it. Oh, and have I mentioned that my captain's girlfriend also plays for the team and two of them regularly proposition me after the games on Sunday?

The downside to all of this kickball madness is that Margi ruptured her achilles tendon in a freak fall while playing a game two weeks ago and has to have surgery on Monday to re-attach it. If that sentence didn't give you the willies, I don't know what will. She's looking at a summer on crutches. Send her some love. And let's hope that all of the rest of us idiot weekend warriors don't hurt ourselves as well.

I get to wear cleats.