Life After College

Despite being called one of the most brilliant and inspiring 20-somethings in the country (Huffington Post said it, I can’t make this stuff up), I lack the ability to play any kind of organized sports. And that’s not to say I didn’t use to try.

By Jenni

Heck,  no one played the bench harder that I did during my required high school sports ventures. Everyone knows it takes a truly talented (in this context, talented means uncoordinated) person to trip over her own cleats when walking to refill her water bottle. And you can’t even imagine the effort it takes not to run home and update your Myspace mood to “clinically depressed” when your coach makes a player finish the game with a broken ankle rather than letting you play (true story).

So needless to say I grew to hate and despise sports. And yes, that obviously includes every single ESPN channel (SIDENOTE: When is TBS going to get a TBS2, I need more repeat viewings of How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days ASAP).

Therefore I shocked and awed myself as well as everyone I’ve ever met in my life (Direct quote from my Rabbi “Ehh, you probably shouldn’t do that. Hamantashen”) when I signed up for a coed kickball league this spring. Everyone my age runs around the city raving about how many friends you make playing in these happy-hours-disguised-as-sports-leagues. They’re all like, “you play kickball, have a few drinks, and fall madly in love with your team’s pitcher.” And I was all into that idea because it’s cheaper than E-Harmony and more reliable than the missed connections on Craigslist.

But then yesterday was my first game and I realized that I would actually have to play kickball. And sure it’s right behind walking on the easiest sports to play list, but that still doesn’t mean I can do it. All my excitement evaporated when I was informed I would actually have to play before I could get drunk and meet the love of my life. And to add insult to injury, everyone (including the referee) was insisting on watching my every move. Like, for god’s sake, after seeing me trip over the ball 9 times, it’s only polite to turn away and pretend like something fascinating is going on in the sky.

Luckily for me, I was placed on a team of misfits, losers, weirdos, cripples, and Little Giants wannabes. So against all odds, I was not the worst player on the team. I mean the way people cheered for me when I finally managed to get to first base, you would have thought I was Shaq (he’s still a cool, hip, reference-able athlete, right?). On one hand, I finally found a team that fits me perfectly. On the other hand we lost 1000 to  negative 4. Maybe I’ve watched Mighty Ducks too many times, but I kinda thought that the hodgepodge team of social outcasts wins at the last second.

Then again, I also thought it was good game strategy to kick the ball up in the air and gently into the pitcher’s arms. Hm. Maybe I don’t know everything (although if I don’t, my nickname wikipediagurl no longer fits me as well).  All I really know that I’m going to end this kickball season with a killer shorts tan and a plethora of sports movie references.