OPEN ADDRESS TO THOSE THAT WE'VE REPULSED, or at least Think Kickball Blows, Lost Its Way, or Sold Out:
Don't Ya Feel Da Squeeze?
Living about Manhattan all my life, I've never felt the pressure like this. I never thought being next to the World's Greatest Island would feel so intimidating, so belittling. It used to be this cool place to go hang. Now I'm not a bouncy electron, just more like an amoeba.
When we started all this Kickball Bullshit in RedHook, we just wanted to chill, and we did. As with all of Spring's eternal hopes, we dreamed it would be huge and popular come its McCarren April debut, and it has enjoyed many great moments. But many of the people I hoped would be there aren't coming regularly, and not due to questionable umping. People just want to relax, rather than have oggida and remembrances of why they don't like sports in the first place. They want to forget about the rat race.
To all those that flirted with Brooklyn Kickball, and are not regular or returning, let me say, we're concerned. What will it take for you to want to play with us? Do you want a less serious game, to be played on the "card-table", or out in the outfield, sans umpiring? Will the steady presence of the BBQ entice you? Do you want assurance that, if anyone criticizes your error, they'll get a firm fanny-fucking? Should we sing and do a little dance, so we get down Sunday afternoons, evenings, and nights? (ok, no more pop music references...Actually, those are the only effective kinds I know)
Whatever the reason for your absence, we want you to experience escapism from Sunday Blues and indulge yourselves decadently. If ya can't go, ya can't go, but if you ever feel pressure so immense you can't sleep, we'll have Kickball for you. If you hate your job so much you wanna puke, have a burger on us. If you're scared, destitute, or disenfranchised, feel free to kick one out of the Park. The game of Kickball is not so important as its tacit sentiment: come here, we'll provide sanctuary from all that ails ya.
Furthermore, Jens thought that our Tuesday evening "practices" are even more of what we dreamed: a very casual affair, a game may arise, actually should, yet it's more sedate than Valium shot into your tush. If Tuesdays go as they have, we can play there under the lights every week. No other sport league claims the lit field that night.
From Day One (or at least Blog #1), we wanted All To Come Play, be they retarded, crippled, or bearing the name "Braun." Nobody should be intimidated by uniformed teams, hotly debated calls, or violently rawdy cheering and cat-calling from the overflowing dugouts. I don't care if a friggen team of Gilligans (ok, now there's a GREAT team name, with a Great Uniform to boot!), Gary Colemans and Mitch Williamses could school you and your pals, and noone should either. I admit I got caught up in turning the Orangesleeves into a viable team, and I did have fun playing the dick coach (and I hope everyone knew it was schtick). But now, no one can misjudge my intentions. Even if the Pirates start spanking us again, nothing's taking away from my passion for making Kickball the greatest thing to hit Williamsburg/Greenpoint since the Candy Darlings and Sasha Alcott's boobs. Furthermore, anybody getting to know Franz will realize that his drunken leadership of the Pirates is all about taking fun seriously, rather than ruining fun. Get to know many of the teams and you will find friends for life, and, furthermore, I predict I will referee some kickball weddings, albeit shotgun-style. Hey Mr. Sullivan!
Please Come, and Come Again! And to all our dedicated Kickballers, Vigorously Recruit some more cool playaz, and help solidify the spirit of this beautiful sport and nascent league.
Sincerely,
Kevin Dailey
Now, back to page 101 of Five Hundred and Eighty Five pages of old-timey fun.
Don't Ya Feel Da Squeeze?
Living about Manhattan all my life, I've never felt the pressure like this. I never thought being next to the World's Greatest Island would feel so intimidating, so belittling. It used to be this cool place to go hang. Now I'm not a bouncy electron, just more like an amoeba.
When we started all this Kickball Bullshit in RedHook, we just wanted to chill, and we did. As with all of Spring's eternal hopes, we dreamed it would be huge and popular come its McCarren April debut, and it has enjoyed many great moments. But many of the people I hoped would be there aren't coming regularly, and not due to questionable umping. People just want to relax, rather than have oggida and remembrances of why they don't like sports in the first place. They want to forget about the rat race.
To all those that flirted with Brooklyn Kickball, and are not regular or returning, let me say, we're concerned. What will it take for you to want to play with us? Do you want a less serious game, to be played on the "card-table", or out in the outfield, sans umpiring? Will the steady presence of the BBQ entice you? Do you want assurance that, if anyone criticizes your error, they'll get a firm fanny-fucking? Should we sing and do a little dance, so we get down Sunday afternoons, evenings, and nights? (ok, no more pop music references...Actually, those are the only effective kinds I know)
Whatever the reason for your absence, we want you to experience escapism from Sunday Blues and indulge yourselves decadently. If ya can't go, ya can't go, but if you ever feel pressure so immense you can't sleep, we'll have Kickball for you. If you hate your job so much you wanna puke, have a burger on us. If you're scared, destitute, or disenfranchised, feel free to kick one out of the Park. The game of Kickball is not so important as its tacit sentiment: come here, we'll provide sanctuary from all that ails ya.
Furthermore, Jens thought that our Tuesday evening "practices" are even more of what we dreamed: a very casual affair, a game may arise, actually should, yet it's more sedate than Valium shot into your tush. If Tuesdays go as they have, we can play there under the lights every week. No other sport league claims the lit field that night.
From Day One (or at least Blog #1), we wanted All To Come Play, be they retarded, crippled, or bearing the name "Braun." Nobody should be intimidated by uniformed teams, hotly debated calls, or violently rawdy cheering and cat-calling from the overflowing dugouts. I don't care if a friggen team of Gilligans (ok, now there's a GREAT team name, with a Great Uniform to boot!), Gary Colemans and Mitch Williamses could school you and your pals, and noone should either. I admit I got caught up in turning the Orangesleeves into a viable team, and I did have fun playing the dick coach (and I hope everyone knew it was schtick). But now, no one can misjudge my intentions. Even if the Pirates start spanking us again, nothing's taking away from my passion for making Kickball the greatest thing to hit Williamsburg/Greenpoint since the Candy Darlings and Sasha Alcott's boobs. Furthermore, anybody getting to know Franz will realize that his drunken leadership of the Pirates is all about taking fun seriously, rather than ruining fun. Get to know many of the teams and you will find friends for life, and, furthermore, I predict I will referee some kickball weddings, albeit shotgun-style. Hey Mr. Sullivan!
Please Come, and Come Again! And to all our dedicated Kickballers, Vigorously Recruit some more cool playaz, and help solidify the spirit of this beautiful sport and nascent league.
Sincerely,
Kevin Dailey
Now, back to page 101 of Five Hundred and Eighty Five pages of old-timey fun.