Kickball Standings, For Your Amusement

Ya can't plan the best Kickball night ever, ya need a little help from the Heavens. Last night, I did worry about our consecutive Sunday Streak ending, but last night's players refused to let it die.

When I arrived at McCarren, there were some big challenges to Kickball staring properly. First, Pedro Martinez was 7 innings into a no-hitter out in L.A., so any New York Sports fan definitely had to see if he would do it. He didn't, and then he even lost the game. After I saw Pedro give up the double in the 8th, I went into the kitchen at the Nest, and starting bringing our stuff to the field.

Already, McCarren was in the worst condition I've ever seen it. Though no longer raining, the pathway behind home plate's fence was so flooded that it became an impromptu baby-pool. The Main Field had puddles everywhere, and the Red Monster area was useless. Fortunately, many of the usual reliable players were there, such as Sportz and Ben Alexander and their Burninator crew, Randall and Nicole represented the Dags, Nipple wouldn't stay away if he knew vampires would force feed him booze and human steaks, Lance and LeeVan filled out the Pirates squad, and my darling Sleeves, Sarah and Rebecca, were there on time, with Bill soon behind, all warming up my heart. But I would be remiss to not mention the two newest teams, the Otters and the Sugartits, came in full-force.

Quickly, I jogged to the Red Monster to borrow equipment in order to make the field playable. Everyone helped digging dirt and filling in home-plate's puddle, and as the sky became very ominous yet again, we started the first game. Basically, it was the Otters versus a hodge podge of Daggers and Burninators, plus me. More people showed up, including my teamies Ben White and Jesse Sullivan, and it looked like we could play a second game if the storm would just keep whirling around us, and allow us to play in its theatre of nearby thunderbolts. The lights would be coming on soon, after all.

No fucking way. Sportz and I were rolling a smoke in my car, and that's when Mother Nature showed no mercy. I take this shit personally, as I thought I had sated my god with various supplications, from biking in rainy weather to my cat dying. I wasn't worthy enough because Sunday featured the worst Summer storm I can ever remember. Thunder! Lightning! Wave after torrential wave of wrath rained down upon poor McCarren. As we drank inside the Nest, Nipple and Sports were lobbying to go back out and play. What's the worst that could happen? Well, electrocution could potentially end the league, but the the field's light poles make excellent lightning rods, and, the lighting seemed to be going farther and farther away.

I needed help from Scott, our affable and clever bartender. I asked him to offer Kickball some alcoholic incentives to all willing to play in a monsoon, and I had my bottle of Jack all nestled in my car. To anyone worried about pneumonia, sweet, sweet whiskey would prevent that.

The Otters needed some cajoling but they were game, and with Nicole's cartwheeling leading the way, we ventured back to the field and played so many awesome games. Some soccer players straggled on. At first it was pouring, with cool little streams floating down the base lines. With the temperature being over 80, we had a natural water park, perfect and essential for this time of year. Shit, yesterday i wanted to go buy some Slip 'N' Slides. But then, the rain stopped, and we just had to deal with a muddy, wet field. Everyone was doing their best slide into home (except for me, as I've got nothing to prove); the cockiest move was when Nicky strutted towards home, waited for the ball to come back infield, and then cartwheeled her final step onto the plate. She must have done 80 thousand cartwheels, but only averaged about a six outta 10 on style points. I hate that girl for calling me a perv all the time.

Let me take a side-bar here. Yes, on the surface, I am the biggest perv on Sundays. I tell girls and guys alike how much i like them, and would sucky-fuck them long time. Last night for instance, I did a dance and hooted and hollered when Sarah and Rebaecca showered at the water fountain. They got all skeezed out, but i was trying to be funny, and hopefully they'll wake up and realize I'm just a drunken aqua-lunatic. I could front and say it's *all* shtick, but there is always some truth behind a consistent pattern of behavior. Yes, i do fall in love at least once a week, and some of you know I would sign that prenup right now, given the chance. Fuck the club scene, there is not a more accommodating venue for freedom than Kickball. I try to shimmy up to the line of propriety, but not cross it, which is usually a matter of how funny you can be. When you're not funny, then you're just a sleaze. Sometimes, like every other wannabe funnyman, my jokes go flat, so i get stigmatized. But, i refuse to believe that no matter how many irreverent jokes i make, I am not sincere, true-hearted, and funny most of the time.

We played a billion games, and I don't remember who won what. I do remember Rebecca impressively catching a very fast line-drive at third, and Lance catching nothing. I also remember the glow in everyone's eyes before the lights shuting off prematurely at 10:40. (Damn it, there's always a glitch with the lights' timer.) At that point, at least 23 people were still there, and Nipple wanted to play in the dark. We re-adjourned back to the Nest, soaked but elated, gulping down our free victory beverage. People were loaded, and rolling more Js. After doing push-ups with Leevan and some random cute woman in the middle of the bar, the kickballers seemed to just disappear into nowhere. I passed out under the front awning.

To all the participants in the greatest games ever played, I thank you sooo deeply. Not only did the streak not end, but our collective spirit turned a foreboding night into the best fun imaginable. This drunken lunatic will never forget it, and I hoped I've forged friendships for life.