Last week, for the first time in likely 16 years, I played Dodgeball.

Yes, you read that right. Dodgeball. With Leif. And we got destroyed, but we had great spirit. And the days following dodgeball I was sore. Really sore. Like I don’t think I have ever been more sore. And you better believe that Leah heard all about it.

As it turns out, dodgeball is way more intense then I remember. Or it could be the fact I haven’t done any physical activity in months. Working out is for suckers. This also concerns me about how badly I am going to hurt after skiing this weekend. Also, I am going skiing this weekend.

Probably the most interesting thing—aside from who much I can whine when in pain—is the reversion that seems to happen when playing dodgeball. Dodgeball has a magnificent ability to force you to regress to your 10 year old self. I thought I might take a stab at a few of the personalities that I noted.

Dodgeball personalities

For convenience, I am going to use he. Unless otherwise noted. This is a co-ed sport.

• Sucks at life and therefore way too serious about dodgeball. This is probably the funniest personality in any sport. I have seen it in soccer as well. But in dodgeball it was a whole new level of sad. It’s the guy who is awkwardly fierce. He throws it as hard as he can, even when there’s no reason to. He breathes harder than necessary. Everything about him is an over-exaggeration.
• Not really sure why he is being forced into this hell. He stands at the back. Often he is the last one to get hit and that’s the moment when the whole team realizes they are screwed. He wasn’t interested in participating and it looks like getting hit with a ball might really hurt. Plus, this gym smells funky. Don’t they have proper ventilation? So he puts in a half-assed effort. Maybe hits one of their players to give the rest of the team some hope before inevitably getting hit by three balls at the same time.
• Girls. They are still girls and, though I’m tempted to make a sexist joke, they usually have bigger balls then the boys. We’re too dainty.
• The Chameleon. This is the player who comes prepared. Who looks tough and cool. Who is a solid pick for any team—until you see him play. It’s this bizarre shock. It’s like expecting that everyone can swim and then realizing the guy with muscles always sinks like a stone. He can’t throw. He can’t run. And he certainly can’t dodge.
• The organizer. This personality always makes me giggle. Sometimes, because it’s me. In this case, it’s Leif. The organizer wants rules and order and though he feigns his desire to crush the enemy, it’s really his secondary motivation. Really he’s a paradox. He wants order, but dodgeball, by nature, is chaos. Rubberballs being thrown at your face. Never seen anything hairier.
• Cheerleaders still exist. God bless cheerleaders. Lord knows I need you. Everything I do—well I do it for myself—I do for you. I just happen to be my own cheerleader. You make us feel great about our ability to compete in a highschool gymnasium with a fake moustache on and no real throwing power to be proud of.

Who am I?

I fit into the last category (and all the aforementioned ones). The cool kids. I am part of the elite class of natural talent and tactical skills that always end up in me being out first. I am also the cockiest on the floor. I am the first target.

Bravado aside, I really am a mixture of all the personalities. Except the first. I really hope I am not one of the first. Depending on my mood and how many times I have been hit, I am probably more like the guy who just wants to hang out in the back and not get hit. Because, even though it doesn’t actually hurt, it does sting. And I hate stinging.

All that being said, I am ready to do it all over again tomorrow night. But I will do more stretching this time.

First picture by Laura on her iPhone. Second picture by me on my iPhone. Turns out it’s pretty difficult to take a picture of yourself with an iPhone.