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| Who's throwing the ball? This guy! |
As I was driving home from work today, I was surfing Sirius, my ears seeking something to make the traffic in Somerville more tolerable. At a traffic light, I finally found a song I wanted to hear, "Lola" by the Kinks. While I was singing "L-O-L-A" along with Ray Davies, I thought it was a very serendipitous song to hear today. Not only did it bring back many personal memories for me (in college I had a girlfriend who like me often worked late into the night. One of our rituals was to go to an all night pancake place at 2am to eat and talk and do all that shit couples do. It seemed that whenever we drove to or from the pancake place, the classic rock station would be playing Lola. Like every fucking time.) but it also reflected how much identity politics have come to the forefront and been mainstreamed in our culture. (For those of you unfamiliar with the song it's the tale of a naive young man who falls in love with either a transvestite or transgendered person).
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| Everybody Dance Now! |
I wrestle with the question of "Who am I?" or "What the hell am I doing?" every time I write the newsletter. In theory this is a kickball newsletter, but if I were to write solely about kickball, it would get old really quickly. There are only so many ball jokes and innuendos you can make before your brain turns into a delicious goo, waiting for an extra from The Walking Dead to feast upon. (Mmmm. Delicious Goo.) So I struggle to find the right balance between superfluous kickball news, and the ever churning tides of events that exist outside our artificial kickball universe.
The idea of identity has been weighing on my mind recently for a number of reasons. First off, whenever anyone asks me about my hobbies, I always hesitate when I say "I play kickball." Since everyone judges everyone and everyone wants people to take them seriously on some level (READ THIS NEWSLETTER. PLEASE) identifying yourself as an adult who plays a kids game for fun can cause people to be a bit defensive. This is especially true if you hurt yourself while playing kickball. I can see it, you go into work with a broken wrist because you collided with your teammate when trying to catch a kickball (this is why you always communicate on the kickball field. Maybe I should hire J. Walter Weatherman to teach this lesson to everyone). When telling the story of how you did it, instead of saying "I was playing kickball" you make up some grand story about how you fell out of a burning building rescuing two cats, a 97 year old woman, and a little girl holding an ice cream cone.
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| My Socks Rocks |
The idea of identity has also been rattling around my head in the wake of the Marathon bombings. Just like after 9/11 I've been seeing lots of people wearing American flag themed clothing or Boston Strong clothing to show their support. While as honest most of these shows of support are, if you really wanted to send a message to the terrorists, you'd go vote today in the special election. Anyone can wear a flag or ribbon. Those are superficial signs of support. But at the core of our identity as an American should be our participation in the democratic process. Voting is the most sacred act we have as citizens of a free society, and to not vote is more damaging to our identity than anything a bomb can do. Recently the Senate failed to pass universal background checks on gun purchases that 80% of the country agreed on. 80%! Yet that overwhelming will of the people was thwarted by an extremely small (yet highly vocal and organized) minority lead by the NRA. The NRA and groups like it are able to act without consequence because they know that only small minorities of people vote (especially in off year and special elections). So despite only being a few million members, they can hold great sway over large swaths of public policy. So while it is all well and good to wrap yourself in the flag, don't wrap yourself too tightly that you forget to vote.
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| Do the Rockettes play kickball? |
Beyond just kickball and country, the idea of the power and importance of identity and understanding who we are as a community, nation and individual struck today with the "coming out" of a current male professional athlete. The strides that the LGBT community has made over the years has been staggering. Every opportunity where people realize that sexual orientation and gender identification do not matter in terms of what a person is able to do and contribute to society is a victory of tolerance over intolerance. So Jason Collins' bold statement today is just another milemarker in the march to equality where people are treated and judged not based on outdated prejudices, but on merit, or as Dr. King said, "not the color of one's skin, but the contents of his heart."
I know I've strayed far afield from the artifical kickball universe. But that is who I am as a writer, and this newsletter is as a league. A strong community, whether it be a kickball league or country, is a community where everyone is allowed to be who they are, and not who others want them to be. Be who you are, because that is all that you can be.
So You Wanna Know a Kickball Star?
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| DIDI MAO! |
In an effort to further expand upon this idea of who you are, I'm introducing a new feature this week called "So You Wanna Know a Kickball Star?" Over the rest of the season I'll be taking one player from each team and doing a brief biography so that people can get to know you, say hi, and make funny comments to get you to laugh while you are at bat so you end up popping the ball up right to the pitcher for an easy out. STRATEGERY!
This week, I want to introduce you to Vivek from Booze on First. Vivek's story begins in the Little India neighborhood of New York City on Manhattan's Lower East Side. Originally this was Little Italy, but the Italians got lazy and outsourced the work to India. His father owned a few fruit stands, and every day the local Don would walk by. He'd spy the young Vivek, and with a wink, nod and mumble, would point to a couple of oranges. Eager to please the great man, Vivek would put the oranges in a brown paper bag, with a smile. The Don would give Vivek a shiny quarter, which Vivek dutifully put into his piggy bank shaped like Lady Gaga.
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| "Boo...Radley" |
Then one day, as Vivek was reaching for an orange, he heard gunshots. BANG. BANG. BANG. He froze. His father ducked behind a barrel of moonshine that had just come in from Canada, and the old Don staggered and fell to the ground. The old Don's son, who had been his driver tried to get out his gun and cried. "PAPA, PAPA, PAPA." Vivek, being an entrenprenur, quickly snapped a photo of the grisly scene with his cell phone camera and sold it to TMZ for a cool $5000.
Being a frugal young man, Vivek saved his money, both his tips from the orange stand, the money from TMZ, the profits from the "squirrel in the pants for purposes of gambling" ring he'd been running from the back of a local Arbys, he moved to Las Vegas. Coincidently, he ran into the son of the old Don that had been shot at the fruit stand many years back. The son was now running a Casino on the Strip. After reuniting they became constant drinking and whoring buddies, always surrounded by leggy women, leggier men, and mimes, because well, "CLOWNS FREAKED THEM THE FUCK OUT." This was an idyllic life, until one day his friend went on a family fishing trip and never returned. Vivek, by this time was drugged out, whored out, bloated and tired, so he gave up the glitz and glamour of Vegas and got a job as a bank teller in Somerville.
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| Kicking the ball or Use Your Illusion 3 Cover? |
During one shift at the bank, two young men entered, one of them looking eerily familiar to his old friend from New York and Vegas. As he was about to speak to his friend's doppleganger, the other young man pulled a gun and said "give me all the money." They took the bank hostage, and on a brutally warm July day a seige took place in the middle of Davis Square. Vivek doesn't remember much from that day, due to be hungover and having stayed up all night running a Russian Roulette gambling ring out the back of the local combination John Deere and Hunter Fan store. At one point to pass the time, the hostages started discussing books. The pregnant hostage (there's always a pregnant hostage) was reading "To Kill a Mockingbird." One of the robbers asked who her favorite character was and the woman replied "Atticus." Well, the rest of the hostages agreed and for some reason they all started chanting "ATTICUS. ATTICUS. ATTICUS." Vivek, who had fallen asleep woke up, and said "Boo." Thinking that he was booing the chanting, rather than indicating his favorite character was Boo Radley, the first bank robber shot at Vivek. The bullet missed, and killed the bank manager who was the only person who could open the safe. Bank robber one screamed "NOW HOW CAN I AFFORD THE SEX CHANGE OPERATION FOR MY WIFE?" pointing wildly at his fellow bank robber. Despondant, robber 1 was about to shoot himself. Vivek yelled "Didi Mao!" at which point the cops rushed the bank and ended the siege peacefully.
Vivek looking for a non-violent or Academy Award nominated life arc, decided to join a kickball league, where he now plays on Booze on First and runs a kickball bookie shop out of the back of Shopper's Cafe.
Song or Video of the Week that Amuses Me (And Probably Only Me).
Naturally.
Miscellany
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| "How many innings should Tomorrow pitch?" |
- Please visit here for tonight's schedule. Remember we are playing WEEK 4's schedule and will be making up the rain outs as a series of double headers over the rest of the season. Confused? You better believe it.
- Please visit here for current league standings.
- Every week, I'm falling more and more in love with Shopper's Cafe. Why? Currently they have Boulevard Tank 7 on Draft. One of my favorite beers of all time. Come join us!
- May 4th is the Midseason Party. Howl at the Moon! See here for more details.
- Anyone willing to being the subject of the next "So You Wanna Be a Kickball Star?" biography please email me here.
- As always thanks to Tim Hoffman for use of his photos. Make sure you thank him when you see him at the field for making us look so damn good. (Well except for you Vivek.)
Diagramming an I'Don't Give a Damn to I'Don't Know to Who Double Play.
