Back to second, cheerleader..
As I’ve previously posted, I’m in a semi-competitive weekly kickball league with a bunch of people from work. What started out as good natured fun has quickly morphed into good natured I WANT TO WIN. After an incredibly rough losing streak (the three weeks I was on vacation…#i’mnotsayinbutjustsayinnnn) we are finally back in our groove. We had a double week playoff with our biggest rivals and after beating the pants off them the first week were determined to do the same this week.
Right out of the gate—5 runs. Spirits are high, Peebers are draining and the rivals are PISSED, especially their outrageously spry, fiercely competitive captain who we call Socks, due to his trademark knee high red—well, socks. We hold tight and are halfway through the game when I’m up to kick for the second time. Having made a poor showing of my first kick there’s no way I’m not getting on first. Go figure, my kick is right down the first base line to the most aggressive pegger I’ve ever played against. Still determined, I make a run for it, bounding left and right, zigzagging and generally freaking out to avoid this dude. By the grace of the kickball Gods, I fandangle my way to first base after dodging a peg that probably would have decapitated me.
So there’s me at first, a girl at third and 2 outs. The next kicker steps up to base and it’s a run-on-anything sitch. Girl gives it a SOLID boot that flies over the shortstop. I sprint to second and watch the girl on third score our 7th run. Needless to say I’m overjoyed. Unbeknownst to me, the ball is fumbling like mad behind me while I—no joke, jump up and down clapping my hands on second while my entire team screams ‘RUNNNNNN!’ at me. When I finally realize they’re not just basking in the glow of our recent score the other team has nearly recovered and I decide to make a do or die run for it.
Sans cleats, there’s no real way to stop yourself when you’re literally running with all you have and in the clutch situation I had to do some improvising on stopping techniques. As the ball tails me by maybe a millisecond, my foot hits third and I legit crumple to the ground. Think limbo meets the splits. In my head it was the perfect moment. I had made it! Safe! I’m not the laughing stock of the team anymore! Unfortunately that wasn’t quite the case.
Apparently I had stayed on the base too long to make a run for it or some weird rule like that and was sent back to second. Not a huge deal, no out, no problem, right? Right. That’s what I thought too until the ump of the night (think Ms. Beast from Glee) barks at me, “ALRIGHT, BACK TO SECOND CHEERLEADER”. Confused and mortified, I amble back to second while half the other team snickers and the other half are seriously concerned that I broke several bones during my tumble.
I was skeptical of anyone jumping and clapping for the rest of the night, thinking they were making a mockery of my not-so private moment in the field. We ended up pulling out another substantial win but I could see in his eyes that Socks took a bit of that V from my loss of face.
